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oddinary4bts · 1 year ago

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Emotions of the Soul | knj

☆summary: when Namjoon reappears in your life after thirteen years of absence, you find yourself unsure of what he means to you, and of what you mean to him. Anxiety reigns over you, but will it be enough to drag you away from Kim Namjoon?

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x artist female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: childhood/teenage lovers to strangers to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff

☆warnings: alcohol, anxiety, a reference to the reader in Now We Reign if you guys can catch it, cursing, stupid teenage threats of m*rder, an appearance from the reader in Forever, pet names, paparazzi, imposter syndrome, an ugly teenage breakup flashback, explicit content: mentions of blindfolding, switch!Namjoon, big dick!Namjoon, switch!reader, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, dirty talking?, balls fondling, face riding, breast play, fingering, protected sex, praise, hair pulling (ish), ass slapping, tummy bulge (? lmao), choking, cumshot, cum eating, unprotected sex, he calls OC a slut once or twice I think

☆word count: 36.3k

☆a/n: Oof I don't know why but writing this was so so hard?? I'm happy I finally managed to finish it tho! It delves into the subject of anxiety and its effects on people, so it's a little heavy, but I hope you'll still enjoy it <3 As always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3

☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!

☆☆☆☆☆

The music in the gallery was loud. It probably fitted a club better than an art exhibit, the upbeat melody having more than one person dancing and nodding their head to it. The atmosphere was warm, stuffy, even though the front doors had been left open in the hopes of getting the fresh November air in. It failed majestically, and you were sweating in your too-tight dress by the refreshment table in a corner, watching over the crowd.

You had never seen so many people in your gallery before. Had never thought your art would attract that amount of people, but it seemed the art enthusiasts of Seoul had flocked to your gallery tonight, looking to experience the art of a new talent firsthand.

At least that was what the journalists were saying, even though you had been an artist since you were a middle schooler. Fingers always stained with ink, teachers scolding you for never paying attention…

Middle school had seen your love for art blossom the way azaleas blossom after a long winter. With bright petals, vivid with life, though your art had first been the colour of the darkest nights. It had taken you years before you had incorporated colours into it, and now you were proud to see the myriad of shades painted on your pieces.

You sighed, and you reckoned maybe the mask you were wearing was the reason why you felt so stuffy. But you weren’t going to risk being recognized – no, you liked enjoying your exhibits in the anonymity of an art enthusiast. Rare were those who knew who the artist actually was, and you felt like it was the best way to have actual feedback on your art.

No one coated their words with sugar when they spoke with just another art enthusiast. So tonight, you wore the mask of the artist, the one people knew you for. It preserved your identity but also allowed people to know who the artist was when they had to. Like tonight, considering that it was the opening of your newest exhibit, The Colours of Fall.

You ordered a glass of apple-flavoured soju mixed with beer, bowing your head in thanks at the employee behind the table when they offered it to you. When you turned back around, your eyes trailed to the wall of windows on one side of the room. Though some pieces were hung there, with spotlights behind the windows to create shadows into the pieces, you still were able to see the black Sedan that was parking outside.

Paparazzi outside started flashing their cameras as someone walked out, and all you could see from where you were was a mop of black hair. More than one celebrity was in attendance tonight, so you didn’t pay attention to the person arriving more than necessary, instead focusing on the exhibit once more.

It was going well. Far better than you had first imagined it would. You had already sold numerous pieces, and your brain was running a mile a minute with ideas of what you could replace them with.

Your mask only hid the top part of your face, so you easily took a sip of your drink, inadvertently bobbing your head to the music. It was good music, it really was, but you couldn’t wait for the actual playlist you had chosen to begin.

Which wasn’t going to be for a whole other hour, unfortunately. After you said your speech and the lights turned to red, orange, and the rich yellow of autumn leaves.

Your manager moved closer to you, and she offered you a wide smile. You nodded your head and watched as she ordered the same drink as you, before standing next to you.

“The celebrity scene is going crazy over your exhibit,” Na Sooah said. “Most of those invited showed up.”

“I still can’t believe you invited the whole celebrity scene,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “Most of them know nothing about art.”

Sooah laughed. “Not all of them! Kim Namjoon just arrived.”

Your throat went dry, and the hand clutching your glass tightened at the mention of Namjoon’s name. Kim Namjoon. Your childhood friend Kim Namjoon. Your first kiss, your first time… and a member of the most famous boy group in the world. More than that, Namjoon was a fellow art enthusiast.

Namjoon’s love for art started at the same time as yours. He had been enthralled by your drawings, believing that you had a gift that needed to be nurtured and protected. Like his love for music, though his comparisons most often made no sense. To you, that is.

Namjoon had been your first heartbreak, back when every emotion felt deeper than the ocean, when anger, pain, and sadness ran longer than eternity. Back when he hadn’t even joined Big Hit yet.

“Kim Namjoon,” you repeated, tasting his name in your mouth for the first time since that ugly October night when you had told him you hated him more than anything in this world, and he had left without even a single look back.

You had never spoken after that. You had never talked about him anymore either, not to your friends or family. And when you had begged your parents to change school, they had caved in, letting you attend the same school as your cousin Miyoung.

Miyoung had been your closest friend since then, until Sooah had come into your life to form a trio with you and your cousin when you had attended college in arts.

“Yeah, he’s created quite a commotion outside,” Sooah commented, and you remembered the mop of black hair.

Could that have been Namjoon?

“And when he RSVP’ed, he mentioned that he would like to have a talk with the artist, so I hope you’re ready,” Sooah added, teasingly.

You glared at her through your mask. “You couldn’t have told me before?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes once more, not so playfully this time, taking another sip of your drink. “He’s Kim Namjoon, you could have let a girl prepare.”

At that, Sooah laughed out loud. “Got a little crush?”

“Quite the opposite,” you said through gritted teeth.

You hated Kim Namjoon.

You noticed him then. He was dressed simply, yet it was elegant, somehow. Or maybe it was the way he carried himself, with his large and tall frame, that made him elegant. Because you doubted a pair of jeans with a gray cardigan over a light blue polo was supposed to be this elegant. His long coat matched the colour of his cardigan almost to perfection, and he flashed dimples to the employee at the coat check as he took off the coat, revealing more of his large frame.

Needless to say, Kim Namjoon didn’t look like he could rip a log in two with his bare hands back when you had first known him. No, he had been a thin, gangly teen, with arms that seemed too long for his frame.

When he was rid of his coat, he moved to the side to let the man behind him give his coat away, and then the two of them started walking together.

You had no idea who the other man was, but from the looks of it, he was a friend, as Namjoon laughed along with him.

One of your hands moved to your face, gently grazing your mask to make sure it was still well-fitted. It was like one of those masks people wore at the Venice carnival. It matched the theme of your exhibit, with autumn leaves craftily molded into it. It was a piece of art in and of itself, like all the masks you wore as an artist.

He wouldn’t recognize you. You were positive he wasn’t going to be able to recognize you with just the lower part of your face on display, especially after so many years apart. Your voice had changed to – matured, aged, like your features, quite honestly.

After all, the last time Kim Namjoon had seen you, you had been a crying, yelling, angsty fifteen-year-old.

Sooah left you to a couple that was looking to buy one of the backlit art pieces, and you explained to them the process behind the creation of the art they had chosen, eyes once in a while flitting around to make sure Kim Namjoon wasn’t in your vicinity yet.

He wasn’t. He was perusing around the gallery, stopping to talk to other celebrities once in a while, and so far, you weren’t even sure he had looked your way. Which was a good thing, because that meant maybe you’d make it to your speech before he actually tried talking to you.

You could leave immediately after your speech, right?

“And what about the subject of autumn interested you so much?” the older man in front of you asked.

You blinked out of your reverie, offering him a practiced, easy smile. “If you had to choose, would you want to witness the beginning or the end?” you asked.

It was the catchphrase of your speech. Though people could argue that the year ended and began in the winter months, you had always seen a finality in the months of fall and had portrayed it in your art.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He cocked his head to the side, before glancing at his wife. “The end carries weight,” the wife said pensively. “It carries age and wisdom.”

You offered her a polite nod. “Exactly. I find beauty in the end and chose to portray it with the months of autumn. When life seems to come to its end.”

“Fall is beautiful,” the man agreed. “But wouldn’t you argue the start holds more beauty? With all the possibilities that it carries.”

“A different kind of beauty. Which, maybe it’s going to inspire my next exhibit,” you teased, secretively, and the couple laughed.

You talked to them a little more, and it seemed life had salvation to offer you because Sooah was the one that came to you first, and not Kim Namjoon. You said goodbye to the couple, before following your manager to the spot where you were to say your speech. As usual, nerves wracked your whole body at the sight of the standing mic, and you had to resist not to bring your thumb to your mouth to nibble on the nail. It was a habit you had gotten rid of only recently, and you really didn’t want it to come back.

Especially not in front of a crowd such as this one, in which you knew Kim Namjoon was standing.

Sooah stopped in the crowd, pushing you forward gently, inciting you to walk the rest of the way yourself. Your heart beat out of your chest as if it was about to escape your ribcage, and you took a deep steadying breath before moving out of the crowd.

The music stopped, and the lights immediately dimmed, until all that was left was a single spotlight, which shone on you as you stopped next to the mic. Back turned to the crowd, eyes skimming over the biggest piece of your exhibit. Ilsan lay before you, draped in the colours of autumn.

You breathed in and out one last time, and then you turned, stepping in front of the mic.

“If you could choose,” you started, voice steadier than you expected it’d be. “Would you choose the end or the beginning?”

The couple you had been speaking to smiled wildly at your sentence, and you let the silence linger long enough for people to whisper their own answer. Music started with low traditional instruments replacing the upbeat melody from earlier.

“There is a form of beauty in the end. In knowing you’ve seen it all, and that rest is at your door,” you continued. “There’s beauty in looking back, in wisdom, and in the Colours of Autumn.” You paused, looking over the crowd. You noticed Namjoon standing at the back, listening politely. “My exhibition carries this: the end of the year, of the cycle of nature. The beauty of fall, of leaves and October nights and November rains.” You wondered if people could tell that your hand was slightly trembling, where it held the mic. “When the wind catches and leaves blow, it is time to look back. So tonight, I want you all to take a step back, to look back on your lives and ask yourselves, ‘Have I found the wisdom of The Colours of Autumn?’”

The spotlight turned off, and you walked away from the mic to the crowd. When you turned back to look at the piece of Ilsan, a projector came to life and the story you had prepared started.

You tuned it out: you had seen the shadow and light projections so many times already they had lost all sense to you. It often happened – if you stared at your art for too long, it lost all its meaning. So you usually didn’t look back on a piece right away. You waited for the end, for the concretization that came with your exhibits, and only then did you look back.

Except the lights and shadows. You had watched those fifteen times yesterday only to make sure that everything was perfect. And you were quite the perfectionist, you knew that they were.

While everyone was watching, you slowly made your way to the back of the crowd. You surprisingly still had your drink in your hands, and you took a careful sip as you finally slipped out of the big of the crowd. The drink was flat now, and you tried to head towards the refreshment table in order to rid yourself of it.

It seemed your calculations had been wrong, because Kim Namjoon stood in front of you, in all his tall glory.

All his infuriating glory, as dimples graced his cheeks at the sight of you. They stopped you in your tracks, and you gazed up at him, eyes connecting even through the dim lighting. His friend was standing next to him, and your eyes flitted to him once before looking at Namjoon again.

Namjoon nodded his head, politely, before taking a sip of the beer he was holding. You nodded back, and then you resumed moving, thoughts spiraling like leaves in the fall wind. You made it all the way to the small door that led to the stairs to your studio before you were stopped by a large hand on your elbow.

You knew who it was without having to turn around, and you would have cursed him for not watching the show had applauds not sounded, indicating that it was over anyway.

“Hi,” Namjoon politely said when you were finally facing his way. His hand had long returned to the pocket of his jeans, and he looked infinitely nonchalant, standing there in front of you. “Sorry for the intrusion, but your manager told me to be quick to speak to you at the end if I didn’t want to miss you.”

Sooah could go to hell.

You offered a polite chuckle, though to you, it sounded like you were choking on air. Because frankly, you felt like you were. “I do usually slip away in the night,” you answered. You glanced at the door, hating that your salvation had been so close yet so far. “You caught me right before I was to leave.”

When you faced Namjoon again, you noticed the confused look on his features. His brows were furrowed over his eyes, his lips were slightly parted, and he had tilted his head to the side in confusion. His eyes, slightly narrowed, made him look like some sort of dragon, and God were you well placed to know Namjoon could breathe fire if he wanted.

At least when he was a teen, he could.

“I’ve been trying to get in contact with you,” Namjoon admitted. “Your manager said to come here if I wanted a chance to talk to you.”

You cocked an eyebrow, though the mask hid it from view. What the hell could Namjoon want to speak to you about?

“I’ve noticed you portray Ilsan in your art a lot, and since I come from there, I wanted to know if I could buy a piece,” he added to your stunned silence.

“You didn’t have to talk to me to ask for that,” you said, and you glanced around at the employees on the floor that were in charge of the actual selling.

“I wanted to have the artist’s insight on which piece she’d believe would fit best for me,” he continued, and he seemed to realize then that this was weird. He scratched the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Or maybe even have one made personally?”

Now, you remembered why you hated Kim Namjoon. “I do not take commissions,” you flatly replied. “If you wish to buy a piece, you can auction for one with one of my employees.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon quickly said. “I didn’t want to sound rude. Like at all. It’s just… there was this piece I really liked from your last exposition, Winds of the West? I couldn’t buy it in time.”

“I do not remake pieces.”

Silence followed your statement. Had he only then noticed how cold you were towards him?

“Right,” he eventually said. “How unfortunate. I think the person that bought it is here today. Might as well go talk to them.”

It was said like a joke, but you didn’t bite, remaining entirely stoic in front of him. Kim Namjoon didn’t seem to like it, as if he was used to people bending to his every wish, and he probably was.

“Might as well,” you agreed, hoping that it was going to make him leave.

It seemed it did the trick, because he looked over his shoulder, probably searching for the person in question. When his eyes settled back on you, he said, “Guess I’ll let you escape through the night.”

You pursed your lips, nodding once. And just because you wanted to preserve your artist image a little, even though you reckoned you had been rude to him, you said, “Good luck with getting the piece.”

At that, he lit up, and the dimples appeared.

You hated that after all these years, they still had an effect on you.

“Thank you, Maehwa,” he gently said.

Hearing him say your artist’s name had you freezing on the spot. You hoped he didn’t see the panic in your eyes, and the colours draining from the half of your face visible to people. He did furrow his eyebrows once more though, looking pensive, but you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. Indeed, you quickly wished him good night, before turning around and stepping through the door.

Once you were in the cool darkness, back pressed against the door you’d just locked, you took another deep steadying breath, like the one you had taken before your speech.

Maehwa had been Namjoon’s nickname for you, all those years ago. Because back then, you had mostly been drawing flowers and had been attracted to the maehwas, the blooms of a plum. But maehwas were common and loved, and there was no way he could have connected the dots. He didn’t seem like he had, or else you were pretty sure he would have approached you in an entirely different fashion. Indeed, back then, he had told you he’d kill you if he ever saw you again, which, in your fifteen-year-old heart, had been quite the threat.

Once you were calmed, you walked down the stairs, breathing in a sigh of relief at the sight of your studio. Right now, it was pretty much empty, save for the painting you had started for Miyoung’s wedding next summer.

She wasn’t even engaged yet, but her boyfriend Doyoon had let you in on the secret since you were going to help with the proposal in a few weeks. You glanced at the painting, almost wishing to work on it a little just to get your mind off things. But it was late, and you’d rather be at home, with your cat Gabi.

Was it your fault if memories of Kim Namjoon swam in your head until late that night? You highly doubted so. And looking back, you couldn’t see any beauty in your ending. You, who preached that all endings held beauty. Had you just been too immature then? You thought perhaps you had been, but it didn’t really matter anymore though, did it? It couldn’t.

Why, then, were you unable to shake Kim Namjoon out of your thoughts, until troubled sleep found you in its embrace?

*****

December was grand. With showers of fluffy snow that left a blanket on the world, and Miyoung’s engagement party. You painted, stained your fingers with blue and purple to match the colours of the winter landscape, and by the time January came, you had all but forgotten how Kim Namjoon had just reappeared one evening in late November.

Your studio was cool at this time of the year, and the windows at the top of the walls had iced with frost. You were wearing a thick sweater, with a pair of leggings you had long stained with paint, back when you were working on the fall Ilsan piece.

Indie music was playing in the background, a new artist that had been taking over Seoul and South Korea with her music. It was sad, but Miyoung had insisted that you listen to it, saying that the artist had been rookie of the year at MAMA last year. You had been supposed to accompany Miyoung to the singer’s stadium show too, but you had ended up being sick, and Sooah had gone in your stead.

The music was lonely, nostalgic, but the lyrics were powerful and inspiring. So you kept on painting, as the light of the rising sun slowly melted the frost on the window, though the corners clung to it like one clings to a lover just returned from war.

You hadn’t slept last night. Had stayed up working on your current piece, and exhaustion was slowly catching up to you, even though the inspiration hadn’t worn off yet. So you kept working, head tilting to the side whenever you finished a small part, waiting to know what the next step in the journey was.

You had a fist on your hip when Sooah and Miyoung both appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the basement, voices cheery and loud in the relative calmness of your studio.

“Please tell me you haven’t been up all night,” Miyoung scolded you, and your gaze slid to where she was walking down the stairs, hands holding up two coffees.

She handed one to you when she reached the basement floor. You took it gladly with the hand that was previously on your hip, shrugging your shoulders. “I was almost done.”

Both Sooah and Miyoung looked at the piece.

“Clearly,” Sooah sarcastically said.

Your eyes also slid back to your piece. You took a step back, and clearly, you were far from done. You had been working on the middle portion all night, but you still had only a vague drawing for the rest of the canvas. You sighed, putting down your brush.

“I meant I’m almost done with what I wanted to finish,” you specified.

Sooah nodded her head, before plopping down on the couch in one corner. Miyoung glanced once at her, before resuming her attention on you.

“Why did it take two months for me to know Kim Namjoon came to your exhibit?” she asked, with the most innocent voice.

Your mouth fell open. “What? It was all over the news.”

“You know I don’t watch the news!” Miyoung exclaimed. “Sooah mentioned it while we were getting coffee.”

“I-“

“And why did you never tell me you dated that guy when you were younger?” Sooah interjected, not letting you finish your sentence.

“Mimi!” you burst, and you jumped towards Miyoung, fully in the hopes of tackling her to the ground.

“The art!” Miyoung screamed as she escaped you. “Be careful with your art!”

You stopped in your tracks, electing to glare at her instead. “Why did you tell her? I was fifteen!”

“Still counts,” Miyoung replied, the innocent act still on.

But you wouldn’t be fooled. “It clearly doesn’t.” You turned your head towards Sooah, who watched with a giddy smile from where she sat. “Right? Who cares about a teenage ex?”

She laughed. “Clearly, you, if you get so worked up about it, what, thirteen years later?”

You frowned, shaking your head. Instead of replying, you took a long sip of your coffee, hoping it would give you something to reply to that.

“I don’t care,” you said when the sip was swallowed, and you couldn’t really wait anymore.

Sooah nodded, getting up from her spot on the couch to head in front of the painting you had been working on. You watched her go, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively.

“Well then,” she said once she was standing there, with her back turned to you. She smacked her lips once, the only way you knew she was up to no good. “You won’t care if I tell you he asked to film something in the gallery, and I said yes.”

You loved your friends. You really did. But sometimes you hated them too. Like right now, as your brain immediately started planning their murder.

“What the fuck?”

Sooah finally turned towards you, acting as if she didn’t just announce the worst news of your life to you. “Yeah. The pay is going to be worth it, and it’s going to give a lot of worldwide visibility to your art. It really is worth it.”

“But Kim Namjoon?” you complained. “Couldn’t you have chosen… I don’t know, some cool indie artist?”

“He’s a cool artist,” Sooah stated, shrugging her shoulders.

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is he really?”

“His music is good,” Miyoung cut in innocently.

Your head snapped towards her. “You listen to his music?”

“Yeah, the album he released in December is good.”

And that was how you found yourself sleep-deprived, listening to a music album made by your teenage ex, as your manager explained to you the deeds of the project Namjoon was going to film in the gallery. Even though Sooah was one of your closest friends, you couldn’t really say no when she asked you to do job things. You trusted her entirely on her choices, had always did, but today you regretted it just a little bit.

Luckily enough for her, your exhaustion won over your will to fire her – or worse, to murder her – and you headed home when you finished listening to the album, repeating time and time again to you didn’t think Namjoon’s music was good.

It had led to Miyoung innocently mentioning that your breakup had been ugly, and really you had to get out of there before you committed the irreparable. It was only a few hours later, after a well-deserved nap, that you realized something.

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery didn’t mean you had to be present, right?

*****

Kim Namjoon shooting a video in your gallery actually meant that you were going to have to be present.

You had been too tired, that day with Sooah. Had entirely not assimilated that the project he was filming was a series of short episodes where he met up with various local artists, presenting their craft to the world. He had chosen you for the painting episode, even though you were quite convinced there were way better artists out there that he could have chosen from. You didn’t really have a say in this – what Sooah wanted, Sooah got.

Still, you were given a reprieve – the date chosen for shooting was still in a week, and so you took to arranging your gallery the way you believed would work best. And though you were pretty sure it was ready, some late Thursday afternoon you found yourself moving around some paintings, deciding to change the location of the Ilsan piece that had been the vehicle of the shadow and light projection you had shown at your exhibit in November.

You watched as two employees moved the piece where you had asked them to, fists on your hips, when bells rang, indicating that someone had walked in. You didn’t dare look behind you, instead giving directions to the employees as one of them carefully climbed the two first steps of a stepladder to hang the painting where it needed to be.

You surveyed them until the painting was safely hung, almost forgetting that someone had walked in. You only remembered when you felt a heavy gaze on your profile, and a silhouette appeared. You glanced their way then, and almost let out a startled scream that would have clearly made the windows explode.

Kim Namjoon offered you a tight-lipped smile.

“Are you Maehwa?” he asked.

You put a hand over your chest, trying to keep your heart from going into arrest. “You can’t just sneak on people like this,” you grumbled.

Then, the weirdest thing happened. He started smiling, wide, flashing his insufferable dimples, and his eyes lit up from within.

“It really is you.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” You wanted to scold yourself for saying that, as if you wouldn’t know who Kim Namjoon was, even if he wasn’t your ex from so many years ago.

“Y/n, don’t play this game with me,” Namjoon said, teasingly. “I was pretty sure it was you in November, and now I have the proof.”

You scoffed. “What do you want?”

This time, his smile only allowed one dimple to appear, and you hated it even more. “Your manager told me that I could come over today to prepare for shooting. She said you were setting up the gallery.”

You would really need to fire Na Sooah, wouldn’t you?

You looked around, though it was pretty much ready. The filming crew was supposed to come at the beginning of next week to set up the spotlights and everything else they might need, as filming was only supposed to be Wednesday next week.

“Yeah,” you replied flatly. “What do you need to prepare?”

He tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and that’s how you speak to me? I remembered you to be a lot warmer.”

The nerves on this man…

“It’s been over ten years, I’ve changed.” You clenched your jaw once, before taking a deep, steadying breath. There were employees around, after all. “What do you need to prepare?”

He just smiled, mysteriously, before glancing around once. “Do you have an office somewhere around here?”

You looked up to the ceiling, rolling your eyes so far back you thought they were going to stick to the back of your head. “I have my studio downstairs,” you grumbled. “Follow me.”

He nodded, dimples flashing, and followed you as you made your way to the door through which you had escaped from him in November. Only this time, there was no escaping.

Namjoon’s heavy footsteps followed you down the stairs, and you braced yourself for the inevitable comments he was going to make about your studio. To your surprise, he remained silent, and you realized that he, too, had changed through the years.

No one remained quite like their fifteen-year-old self, didn’t they?

You moved towards the sitting area, vaguely motioning to an armchair. “Have a seat.”

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see Namjoon was looking at your current work-in-progress. It made you feel insecure, somehow, and you cleared your throat.

Namjoon’s gaze trailed to you. “Sorry.”

He walked towards you, and you felt small as he stopped right in front of you, still with that same infuriating, warm smile on his lips. “Your art has improved a lot through the years.”

You fled his gaze, motioning to the armchair again. “Do you want coffee? Or a tea?”

“Just water would be fine,” he replied, his smile falling for the first time since he had appeared in the gallery upstairs.

You nodded curtly, and as you headed towards the kitchen area of your studio, Namjoon got comfortable in the armchair. You brought back two glasses of water, mostly because you knew you were going to need something to hold to keep your nerves at bay. Namjoon accepted his with a slight bow of his head, and then you sat on the couch.

You exchanged a look, as you waited expectantly for him to say something. He remained silent, a pensive look on his features. It threw you off, as he had been the type to talk a lot back then.

“You’ve changed,” he stated out of the blue, and it made you cock an eyebrow.

“Obviously,” you drawled. “I would expect someone to change after thirteen years.”

Those stupid dimples appeared for half a heartbeat. “Yet you haven’t changed at all.” At your obstinate silence, Namjoon specified, “You’re still just as petty as I remember you to be.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you here to insult me or to prepare for shooting your show?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that had you busying yourself with a sip of water. He mirrored you, before saying, “I don’t mean to insult you at all”.

Should you call him out for his bullshit? Back then you would have, but you had grown up. So you remained silent once more, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just weird to see you again,” he said, and he motioned towards you with the hand holding the glass. “You look… good.”

Not at all what you were expecting. It made you gulp, and you hated that your cheeks were burning. “It is weird, right?”

He nodded once, eyes trailing away from you to look down at his glass. “I’m happy your dreams worked out.”

Now, the pang in your heart was unwelcome. Kim Namjoon shouldn’t have the power to make you feel like this, not after all the years.

“I worked hard,” you replied carefully. “As you have, I presume.”

At that, he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “I sure have.”

Another awkward silence and you glanced at him as he took a sip of water.

“So, what did you want to prepare?” you asked once you couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“Oh,” he let out. He sat back in the armchair, looking way too at ease with his thighs slightly spread. “I wanted to give you the list of questions that I’m going to ask so that way you can prepare in advance,” he told you, offering you another one of those disarming, dimple-flashing smiles.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have shared them by email?”

Another chuckle of his had you looking away, focusing on your project.

“I could have. But I wanted to see if my inkling was right at the same time,” he explained. “Before the day of shooting, that is.”

You sighed, before looking back at him. His eyes were already on you, and it made you gulp once more.

Namjoon had gotten really intimidating, after all these years.

“Well, now you know,” you said. “Was there anything else you needed?”

He seemed surprised at the dismissal in your tone. “Not… really.” He wet his lips, watching you carefully. “I just thought it’d be great to catch up.” His gaze moved to your surroundings, before settling back on you. “To get to know how you managed to get such a nice studio and all that. I haven’t heard about you since we broke up.”

“Because I wanted it to be this way,” you replied. “And why do you have to say it like you didn’t believe I’d make it?”

“Wait, no,” he quickly said. “That’s not what I meant.”

You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes. “Of course not.”

He laughed. “Really? After all these years, you’re still mad at me?”

“You did tell me you wanted to kill me,” you reminded him in a grumble.

He seemed surprised. He frowned, and his head once again tilted to the side. “Did I?”

“You don’t remember?”

At that, you were the one to be surprised. It had been such a pivotal piece of your existence, back then, that you expected it to be marked into his brain the same way that it was in yours.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I got super busy with being a trainee, and I just… I guess I forgot.”

“Oh,” you let out. The silence that followed was heavy, awkward, and you hoped it was enough for Namjoon to get the cue and leave.

Maybe he was still just as dumb and clueless as he had been then, because he said, “I was intense, wasn’t I?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

You held his eyes for a few seconds until your gaze dropped to your glass. You hated how you couldn’t look at him anymore, but gosh, he looked a lot better than he did then, and you had already found him attractive all those years ago.

“I…” he trailed off, nibbling at his bottom lip. “I was wondering if I could have your phone number, to send you the list of questions.”

“Uh…” You scratched the back of your neck, shrugging your shoulders. “You can send it to my manager, she’ll have it sent to me.”

If he was disappointed, he didn’t let it show. “I guess I’ll see you next week, then?”

You nodded once, before clenching your jaw. Because why did some stupid part of you not want him to leave right away?

“Did you eat? I was about to order fried chicken.”

He looked almost startled by your invitation. “I… have eaten, actually,” he replied truthfully, never one to lie. “But if you want company while you eat, I can always stay.”

You shook your head. “Nah, all good. I was just asking to be polite.”

He didn’t call you out on your bullshit, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile. “Then I guess I’ll see you next week.”

You walked him back upstairs, teeth nibbling at the inside of your lip as you tried to ignore the weight of the awkwardness between you. He wished you a good day, flashing those dimples of his, and he left, without once looking back.

You watched him as he climbed in a company car, and your gaze dropped to the ground as the car drove away, quickly disappearing from view.

What the hell had just happened?

*****

Namjoon’s list of questions was good. Mostly, it was centered around what you used as an inspiration, which other artists did you look up to, and what kind of music you listened to while practicing your art, if you listened to any at all. There was also stuff about where you grew up, and how it might have affected your art.

Nothing too personal, yet the fact that the questions were from Namjoon felt incredibly personal, and your hands were clammy, heart beating out of your chest, by the time the day of shooting came. It didn’t help that there was some problem with the cameras, which was only solved a few hours after the shooting was first supposed to start.

This meant you spent the most awkward, long hours of your life in Namjoon’s company, barely even talking because, frankly, you had nothing to tell him. He seemed fine with the silence, or maybe he just sucked at small talk just as much as you, and he didn’t say anything, just sat there scrolling on his phone until the director came to get the two of you.

And when filming started, Namjoon started asking you his questions, and you tried not to be a blushing mess as you answered. Tried and succeeded, you liked to tell yourself, because you were used to being interviewed.

The fact that you were starting to be renowned in Seoul’s painting scene helped, clearly, because you made it through the introduction and first few questions without stuttering.

They were the easiest ones, after all.

“At what age did you start painting?” Namjoon asked as you sat on the little balcony outside of your gallery, looking over the Han River.

Your breath turned into a cloud as you exhaled, and you followed it with your eyes as it moved up towards the sky. “I started when I was seven. But at first, I only drew, and then started painting when I tried it for the first time in middle school and fell in love with the craft.”

Namjoon was there that day. Had ruined your painting when he had fallen next to it, feet getting tangled in the pots of paint. You had been furious, but you had also been two laughing messes by the time class had finished.

You had started dating half a year later, making the decision right outside of the art class, where it had all begun if you were honest.

“What do you like so much about painting?”

You met his gaze, not really knowing how to answer that question. You had been searching for what to reply for hours the day before, and all you had been able to come up with was, “It allows me to create, to evacuate emotions and to make something that is worth looking back at.”

You weren’t sure it was the answer he was looking for, but you still said it. He offered you a secretive smile, as if it made all the sense in the world to him.

You hoped the camera didn’t catch your eyes flicking to his lips, before getting stuck in the dimple on his cheek.

“I think that’s understandable,” he replied truthfully. “Creating music feels a little like that, at least for me.”

You pursed your lips, not really knowing what you could say to add to the conversation. Namjoon took it in stride, following with his next question.

And it went like that for the whole interview. At some point, you moved inside, with the aim of talking about certain art pieces of your choosing. Namjoon asked questions about your latest exposition, about what it was like compared to your first one, and frankly, you didn’t see the time go until the director cut the tape for the last time, telling Namjoon that it was closing time.

To your surprise, Namjoon had one last question for you.

“As we bring this interview to an end,” Namjoon said, eyes finding yours, “I have one last question for our artist.” He waited a few seconds, as if to give emphasis to his words, before adding, “Why did you choose the name Maehwa?”

You stared at him, he stared at you. You were pretty sure he could read the answer in your eyes, and you were pretty sure you didn’t want to say it out loud. It felt awkward, and this time you doubted the makeup they had put on your skin before filming could hide the blush on your cheeks.

“Uh,” you let out, coughing a little. “When I was younger, a friend of mine used to call me that. I liked the nickname, and I guess it stuck around?”

‘A friend of mine translated’ to him, to Namjoon, and you hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you were spiraling, like a leaf caught in the whirlpool of a leaking sink. Because you were caught in the current, feeling like you were stupid, to have held onto a stupid nickname that meant nothing, that never should have meant anything.

“It’s a pretty name,” Namjoon reflected.

His eyes were heavy on you because, of course, he knew that it was him. Of course, he remembered the days of youth where you had learned about love, by his side.

He had been there after all.

“Thank you,” you replied, a little breathlessly.

After that, Namjoon closed the interview, and when the cameras turned off, you let out a long, wavering sigh. It made him chuckle, as people buzzed around you to put everything away.

“Everything okay?”

You offered him a no-bullshit look. “You didn’t tell me about that last question.”

It sounded accusing, and frankly, you were accusing him. He recoiled, just a little, losing the small smile that was gracing his lips.

“I honestly thought it up during the interview,” he admitted. “I should have warned you.”

You clenched your jaw for a few seconds, before releasing yet another sigh. “It’s whatever. Why did you even want to know that?”

“Because I gave you that nickname…” he said, looking suddenly ashamed.

As if he was a child getting scolded for making a mistake. You didn’t like that look on him, even though he entirely deserved it, so you softened your expression before saying, “You did.”

He held your gaze, and the space between you filled with memories, with his laughter and the rain that early June night when you had kissed for the first time. It made you long for the warmth of his honey-toned skin, taking you by surprise.

Yes, you had once loved Kim Namjoon, but that had been thirteen years ago, when you were too young to actually know what love was.

“Do you…” you started, not knowing where you were headed.

Yet it was like he knew. “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime this week?” he asked, finishing your sentence.

You smiled, looking down as if that would hide the blush on your cheeks. “Only if you take me somewhere nice.”

“You deserve the best,” he said, nodding once. “I know just the place.”

You met his gaze again, and the smile grew like flowers under the sun. “Then yes, I’d like to grab dinner with you.”

At that, he offered you an award-winning smile, with the infuriating dimples creating indents in his cheeks. “For a moment, I was convinced you were going to refuse.”

The blush on your cheeks deepened as you asked, “Why?”

“You haven’t been…” he trailed off, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to the both of you, but most people were busy putting away the lights and mics from the set. “You haven’t been very warm,” he finished as his eyes settled back on you.

You nibbled at your lower lip, nodding curtly. “Right.” You held his gaze for a few seconds, and then you found you were too much of a coward, fleeing his dragon eyes to look at the tiles of the floor instead. “We didn’t part on exactly good terms, you know?”

“Yeah.” He took a step towards you, extending his hand in front of him as if expecting you to shake it. When he added, “I’m Kim Namjoon, it’s nice to meet you”, you understood that he was, in fact, waiting for you to shake it.

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the hand.

He stubbornly kept it there. “Pretending that this is my first time meeting you,” he explained, even though it made little to no sense. When he saw the confused look on your face, he clarified, “So that way, we can pretend that the past never happened, and we can start again on better grounds.”

It made you giggle, a shy little sound that had you finally cave in, your small hand closing around his large one. “I already agreed to grab dinner with you, but…” you trailed off, finally meeting his gaze again. “Nice to meet you, Kim Namjoon. I’m Y/n.”

He held your hand for a second longer than necessary, before letting it go. Your fingers twitched as if wishing he had held on longer, and you hid it by hiding your arm behind your back.

“You come here often?” he asked, adding your name at the end. “I’ve never seen you around.”

You cocked an eyebrow, and you both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re bad at this,” you teased him. “We’re in my studio, of course, I come here often.”

He nodded. “Ah, I apologize. It’s my first time around, after all.”

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. It just made him laugh again, and there was something so familiar, so warm in his laugh that you turned wistful. He immediately noticed the shift in you, and his smile slowly died down to be replaced by a serious look.

“I’m serious,” he told you. “It’d be great to start on new grounds.”

“I know. I fully agree,” you said. “It’s just… who would have thought I’d accept to grab dinner with the first boy that broke my heart.”

He didn’t reply. Just turned a little apologetic, though you reckoned you had broken his heart too. You both had been young and dumb, there was no way to deny it. And it was strange indeed, that thirteen years later, you had met again. Both of you having changed, having grown until you weren’t sure you really recognized him.

Except for the dimples. The dimples were the same, a never-changing feature that you didn't doubt had stolen the heart of a million of his fans. It had stolen your heart back then after all.

“So,” he said after his manager told him that they were ready to leave, breaking the bubble of the little dimension you both had fallen in. “This time, I assume you’ll allow me to write down your number?”

You snorted, holding out your hand between the two of you, a little like he had done earlier though you were waiting for him to give you his phone. “Sure, I’ll put it in your phone.”

He pouted, looking like the child you had known all those years ago. “I lost my phone.”

“What?”

He repeated sheepishly. “I think I left it in the company car that dropped me off here.”

That was such a Namjoon thing to do you found your heart growing warm once again. “Okay then, I’ll write my number on a paper, and you text me when you find your phone. That works?”

The bright smile returned, and he nodded his head. “That works for me.”

You held his gaze for a few more seconds, before moving away to go get paper in your studio downstairs. When you came back up, he was still waiting, though this time his manager was next to him, looking somehow a little pressed. You felt bad, assuming that he was upset because you were making him wait, so you jogged to Namjoon.

“There you go,” you said, handing him over the paper. Your eyes glided to the manager, before returning to Namjoon. “Text me when you can.”

“I will,” he said.

It sounded like a promise, just as much as it sounded like a beginning.

*****

“You are shitting me,” Miyoung said, eyes wide like flying saucers.

Cheeks burning, you avoided her insistent gaze. “No…”

“You’re grabbing dinner with Kim Namjoon?” she repeated, and the words sounded so foreign in her mouth that you winced a little.

“Huh,” you let out. “Yeah, seems like I am.”

She shook her head in disbelief, before chuckling lightly. “I can’t believe him. You’re supposed to hate him. You didn’t even want to listen to his music, and now you’re going out with him?” She paused to laugh again. “Sooah won’t believe this.”

“Come on,” you whined. “It’s nothing.”

“Shut up,” Miyoung said as she grabbed her phone. “I’m texting Sooah right now to let her know.”

You tried to steal your friend’s phone from her hands, but she darted away, out of your reach, long enough for the message to be sent. You were pretty sure your cheeks had gone purple now, and all you could do was fold your arms on your chest as you glared at Miyoung.

“It’s just dinner,” you pointed out. “Nothing to freak out about.”

Miyoung narrowed her gaze, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why are you even grabbing dinner with him? What are you hoping to achieve?” Her gaze widened before you could even speak. “Are you only going because he’s RM of BTS?”

You rolled your eyes, looking at the ceiling of your studio. Miyoung had come over when you had texted her about the dinner earlier, claiming that she needed to see for herself if you were just playing with her.

“No?” you said. “I don’t care that he’s RM. I accepted the offer because… I don’t know, at the end of the day, he’s a childhood friend.”

“A childhood friend? He was your first everything.”

Touché. Today, you felt weird whenever you remembered that he had taken your virginity, when you both were so young you shouldn’t even have been thinking about that. You had regretted it for years after – mostly because you had started hating him so bad, but also just because you had been so young. It felt wrong somehow.

“Whatever,” you mumbled. “I only told you because I don’t know how to date. I never really go on dates.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh my God, it is a date, right?”

You felt yourself flush red, furiously, and your gaze fell to the floor. “I mean, I think so? Don’t you?”

“I thought it was just dinner with a childhood friend,” she mused, hands going behind her back as she rocked on her feet. She was teasing you, and you glared at her. “Alright, alright,” she let out after a few seconds of holding your gaze with a shit-eating smirk on her lips. “First, we’ll need to figure out what you need to wear.”

You nodded, nibbling at your lips. “He mentioned dinner at a restaurant.”

He had. Namjoon had texted you the night after the shoot, claiming that he had indeed forgotten his phone in the car. He had also sent you the link to a famous restaurant in Gangnam, one that you were pretty sure was way over your budget even though you were relatively well-off financially. He had told you he knew the owner, and that the restaurant had private rooms where you could eat without fearing for fans or paparazzi seeing you.

“So then you want to dress nicely,” Miyoung said, nodding once. “A nice pair of dress pants with a cute blouse would do. Or maybe that long black skirt you have that ends right over the knee? You could pair it with…”

“Y/n!” Sooah yelled from the top of the stairs, startling both you and Miyoung. “How dare you not tell me you’re getting dinner with a celebrity?”

Your gaze widened in fear as you watched your manager walking down the stairs, purpose filling her every move.

You were pretty sure the purpose was to murder you.

She pointed a finger at you in affront, her cheeks a little red from the anger. “This is manager business. You can’t just decide…”

“Cut it,” Miyoung interrupted. “You literally bet with me last week that it would happen.”

Sooah dropped the act, face cutting into a bright smile. “I sure did, and I won.” She held out a hand towards Miyoung, who begrudgingly took ten thousand won out of her wallet to put it in Miyoung’s hand. “Thank you,” your manager said. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“They’re getting dinner at a restaurant,” Miyoung declared before you could speak. “What’s the name again?”

You didn’t remember, so you grabbed your phone to look at your text conversation with Namjoon. “Huh…” you trailed off, scrolling up to when he had sent the menu. “Seasons of Seoul.”

Sooah’s mouth fell open. “The Seasons of Seoul? That’s one fancy-ass restaurant.”

You startled at the sound of the curse in Sooah’s voice, before bursting out laughing in time with your friends. “It is,” you said, voice lilting into a whine. “It’s definitely above my budget.”

“Namjoon seems like a gentleman,” Miyoung pointed out “I’m pretty sure he’ll pay.”

“For sure,” Sooah agreed. “When’s the date?”

You blushed, shrugging your shoulders. “We haven’t decided on a day yet.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll clear your schedule,” Sooah said. “I don’t care about any interviews when you can be going on a date with Kim Namjoon.”

You rolled your eyes, though a playful smiled teased the corners of your mouth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Yah, I believe I should be the first to know since I was helping you plan what to wear!” Miyoung interjected, which led to your two friends bickering, and then to them helping you out with what to wear. It was a little hard since you weren’t at home and couldn’t rummage through your walk-in closet. Since it was already running late, Sooah suggested heading over to yours, and that was how you found yourself sitting cross-legged on the floor of your living room, back against the couch, as you ate fried chicken and drank soju with your friends.

You were definitely a little buzzed by the time you finished eating, washing your hands at the kitchen sink before you aimed for your closet, where you started pulling out outfit after outfit.

You said no to all of your friends’ suggestions, mostly because it didn’t feel right. Sooah, growing annoyed, suggested to go shopping on the morrow, which made Miyoung jump in excitement, which in turn scared your cat Gabi away.

“Yes, please, please, please!” Miyoung exclaimed. “We haven’t gone in forever. It’ll be like when we were in college procrastinating studying.”

You laughed, brain swimming with alcohol. “As long as you don’t bring me to those fancy stores,” you said. “I hate when people talk to me while I’m shopping for clothes.”

Both your friends threw you no-bullshit looks.

“Come on,” Sooah let out. “Maybe we can even get you another nice outfit for the launch of your next exhibit.”

“I’ve barely even started working on it, it’s not going to be for another full year, at least,” you pointed out. “No need to shop for an outfit now.”

“Pleaseeee,” Miyoung begged. “It’s going to be fun. We can even go to that Samoyed café you like so much.”

The perspective of seeing the Samoyed puppies suddenly made a shopping trip all the more interesting. “Mmh,” you hummed. “I’ll consider it.”

“Bitch!” Miyoung burst, punching you in the shoulder hard enough to hurt. “We’re going tomorrow, just accept your destiny.”

You rolled your eyes as you massaged the spot she had hit, before finally nodding. “Alright, we’ll go. As long as you don’t make me spend my entire paycheck on clothes.”

“Your entire paycheck is like five times what I make so, shut it,” Miyoung pointed out.

“You did sell a piece for over 50 million won last week,” Sooah reminded you.

They had allied against you, hadn’t they?

“Right,” you let out.

“So you have nothing to say for your defense,” Miyoung said sternly, fists resting on her hips in mock authority. “We’re going tomorrow, and you’re coming with us. And,” she added, nodding forcefully, “And you will enjoy yourself.”

You laughed at how dumb she looked. “I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

To your surprise, you actually enjoyed yourself the next day. Miyoung and Sooah were great company, had always been, and it really had been a long time since you had spent time together like this. The whole day was spent laughing and gossiping and just enjoying yourselves, and you did end up buying a lot more outfits than you probably needed. Which would be a problem when it came to what to choose for the date, but you didn’t really care.

It was late in the afternoon when your phone buzzed on the table of the Samoyed café, and you picked it up as Miyoung cooed at the fluffy dog she was playing with.

It was Namjoon, asking you if you would be willing to go out with him this Friday.

“Oh my God,” you let out, and you felt your cheeks burning as your outburst had attracted the attention of other clients of the café. “He texted me,” you whispered then for only your friends to hear.

Sooah yelped, clapping her hands. She looked so far from the fierce manager you knew her to be you burst out laughing, slightly shaking your head.

“What did he say?” she asked.

You didn’t answer for a time, letting suspense hang in the air between you and your friends. When Miyoung got up, clearly aiming to grab your phone out of your hands and read the text herself, you finally spoke. “Looks like you’re going to have to clear my schedule this Friday night.”

Sooah shrieked as Miyoung grinned wildly.

“Consider it done!”

*****

You were anxious. Had been anxious all week, and it had shown up in the painting you were working on. It had turned into a hectic mess of colours, inching closer to a dark cloud than to anything else. It represented your mental state well, even though you tried to keep reminding yourself that it was just Namjoon. If there was such a thing as just Namjoon.

Gosh.

You sighed, looking at yourself in your standing mirror. You were wearing one of the designer outfits you had bought earlier this week, and the skirt hugged your frame well, enhancing your curves. You had curves, you were aware of it, but you weren’t sure they were supposed to look this good. Paired with the white blouse and black blazer, you looked like you were going on a date with a CEO, and not Kim Namjoon.

Though, nowadays it felt almost as if one was a synonym for the other.

You liked the fit, you really did, you were just afraid Namjoon would think you were overdoing yourself. But somehow, you felt really comfortable, ready to conquer the world if need be. Maybe just not Kim Namjoon.

But it was too late to back out of the date. Indeed, the doorbell rang, indicating that he was here, and you met your gaze in the mirror one last time before going to open the door.

Namjoon looked … incredible. With a pair of dark dress pants along with a pale cardigan over a yellow polo. Over that, he was wearing a long coat that looked way too expensive, yet still fit the look. It was more of an artist look than yours, and yet it suited him perfectly.

He was an artist, too, after all.

Most of all, he was holding a bouquet of pale flowers – rose and white and lilac – and he handed it to you as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented, and he flashed you a corner smile that had just one of his dimples appear.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded once. “You as well,” you said, grabbing the flowers. You hesitantly inhaled them, satisfied with the sweet floral scent that took over your nostrils. You glanced over your shoulder, before opening the door wider for him to come in. “You can come in, I’ll just go put these in water.”

He nodded, stepping in as you retreated into your home, searching for an appropriate vase for the bouquet. Once it was safely tucked in a vase with room temperature water, you moved back to where Namjoon was still waiting, right next to the door. You smiled, a little awkwardly, before putting on the high heels you had chosen for the date.

Namjoon patiently waited for you, and once you straightened, you put on your winter coat, grabbing your purse where you had left it on the table near the door.

“Ready?” Namjoon asked when your gaze finally met his.

You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yes. Let’s go.”

He smiled his dimple smile, and he opened the door for you. You walked outside, waiting until he had shut it behind him so you could lock it. The cold air hit you right in the face, and you hid your face in the flaps of your coat. To your luck, Namjoon had picked you up in a company car, considering he didn’t drive, and you climbed in first, quickly followed by him.

You sighed at the warmth in the car, and watched as Namjoon leaned forward to tell the driver the address, before sitting back comfortably next to you.

Conversation was somehow awkward at first, mostly because you struggled holding Namjoon’s gaze. In all truth, you reckoned the awkwardness stuck around until you got to the restaurant, and even still as you were led to the private room Namjoon had rented for you both.

He helped you out of your coat, ever so the gentleman, hanging it before taking off his own and putting it beside yours. You just stood for a time, not knowing what to do as you took in the elegance of the restaurant and the dim, private atmosphere that reigned.

You felt like you had stepped right into a palace and, frankly, you weren’t sure you belonged in such a place.

“Sit!” Namjoon quickly said as he noticed you were still standing. And then he rushed to pull the chair for you, making you chuckle embarrassingly.

“You don’t…” you trailed off as you caught a whiff of his cologne.

A dark, masculine smell that made your head a little dizzy. You couldn’t tell why you hadn’t smelled it before – maybe it was because of the coat. All that you knew was that the oaky smell wrapped around you comfortably, refusing to let you go.

“What?” he asked as he sat in front of you, offering you an encouraging smile.

You took a deep breath, chest moving up and down as you tried to regain your composure. When you felt like you could speak without embarrassing yourself further, you said, “Since when are you such a gentleman?”

That made him laugh, full of dimples again, and he slightly shook his head. “Wasn’t I a gentleman when we were dating all those years ago?”

Not at all. He had been an awkward teenager, and you both knew it. As such, you cocked an eyebrow, a teasing smile growing on your lips.

“Were you?”

He winced, chuckling again. “Not at all. But I grew out of it.”

He sure had. He barely held any resemblance to the boy you had once known, except for those damned dimples that were making it hard for you to focus. And now the cologne? You were done for.

“Bangtan changed you, didn’t it?”

He nodded pensively. “I think that, having to be the leader of all these kids? Yeah, it really made me mature faster than I thought possible.”

You furrowed your brows in question. “I don’t know a lot about Bangtan but… isn’t Seokjin older than you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty waitress walked in, pulling a cart with different wine bottles on it. She greeted you two, stopping next to the table before asking you what you wanted to drink. You glanced at Namjoon, who offered you an encouraging smile, as if saying, ‘I’ll have whatever you have’.

“This Cabernet is actually my favourite. So we’ll take this one, please,” you asked, and the waitress offered you a bright smile as she picked up the bottle.

You watched as she put it on the table, eyes trailing to Namjoon longingly. A fan – she was clearly a fan. Namjoon offered her a professional, practiced smile, and she flushed red as she grabbed a wine opener to uncork the bottle. She carefully opened it, before pouring you two a glass.

It was awkward, somehow. And it was only then that you noticed there was jazz music playing in the background. It felt odd that you hadn’t noticed it before – had the beats of your heart been too loud for you to hear it?

When the waitress finally left, offering Namjoon one last look over her shoulder, you cocked an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What?” he asked.

“Does this happen often?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with his glass as he evaded your gaze. “More than you can imagine.” He met your gaze then, and you watched his features as they softened. “But you don’t have to worry about us being here getting out in the media. The owner of the restaurant is an old friend, and she assured that all of her staff can be trusted.”

It hadn’t even crossed your mind, but you weren’t surprised that he had thought of it.

“That’s more of a relief for you than it is for me,” you pointed out.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “You have a reputation too! You’re an artist, just like me.”

That made you snort as you shook your head, eyes falling to your untouched glass of wine. “I don’t think I am in the same category as you, Kim Namjoon. I’m just a painter.”

“You’re much more than just a painter, Maehwa.”

Your throat went dry at the way he said the words, as if they held so much meaning they were heavier than the world. And you wouldn’t be surprised if they did – Kim Namjoon had always been a poet, after all.

“I’m not a member of the most popular K-pop band in the world, though,” you reminded him, and dimples answered you as he humbly smiled.

“Evidently not.”

A comfortable silence moved between you – the first of the evening, you reckoned – and your eyes once more fell to your wine glass. You picked up, spinning the wine to bring out the aromas of it.

“Want to taste?” you asked him, motioning to his own glass.

He picked it up, nodding his head. “Please. I’m surprised to know you have a favourite wine.”

“Trust me, it’s worth it.”

He chuckled, and you clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. You let the rich taste roll on your tongue, appreciating every milliliter of it until you swallowed, and even the aftertaste was good.

A really good wine, indeed. Way too expensive, in your opinion, but you had always liked expensive things. As your designer clothes could tell, and as your date across the table could tell, too.

Not that you were a snobby artist – you were far from it. But you had learned how to appreciate the good things in life long ago when you had first discovered art.

“I like it,” Namjoon commented as he put down the glass. “Nice choice.”

You smiled, relieved that he indeed liked your choice.

As wine flowed between the two of you, you found conversation with Kim Namjoon was a lot easier than you had initially expected. He put you at ease, like he did when you were younger. Together, you reminisced about middle school and high school, about that time he had spilled hot chocolate on his uniform and you had helped him clean up, which had brought you guys closer.

Until he had kissed you as you were doodling maehwas on his arm, and the rest was history.

“No, but,” he insisted, his cheeks turning a pale shade of pink as he closed his eyes in embarrassment. His dimples winked at you, and you looked at him as he collected his thoughts. “To be fair, I never planned to break it. It wasn’t even my fault.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “You were the one holding it,” you reminded him.

You were referencing a fragile plate your mom had offered Namjoon, from her collection of nice plates she usually only displayed during fancy events. Namjoon had broken it a whole hour after he had been gifted it, and to this day, you still couldn’t understand how he had broken it.

“You tickled me!” he burst out, narrowing his eyes at you. “It was entirely your fault.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, before chuckling lightly. “I barely even touched you.”

He glared at you, though it didn’t last, melting into a soft smile that had you looking down at the table.

Right at the same time, a lean girl walked in, clad in a chef’s outfit, holding up the food you and Namjoon had ordered earlier. She offered you a polite smile, and it turned nostalgic as she looked towards Namjoon.

Namjoon said her name, before turning to look at you. “This is the friend I told you about.”

She was beautiful, in an easy, elegant kind of way. Her shoulder-length hair swayed nicely when she walked, and you had half a thought that she probably should be wearing something to make sure no hair could get in the food. Then you figured she probably had taken it off to come here, and you only realized that she had spoken to you when both she and Namjoon settled their gaze on you.

“Nice to meet you too,” you replied, because you were 75% convinced that that was what she had said.

You were relieved when she smiled knowingly, eyes trailing back to Namjoon. They talked a little more, and it took you a moment before you understood that she was one of Namjoon’s friends’ ex. They continued speaking after that, as you listened politely, nodding whenever she looked your way to encourage her to continue.

She looked sad. Nostalgic. Whoever her ex was, you had the intuition that she still loved him.

“Have a good evening,” she told the two of you about a minute later, bowing.

You bowed your head back, as Namjoon wished her good evening, and then you watched her walk out of the room, hair prettily moving around her head.

“She’s Seokjin’s ex,” Namjoon let out pensively once she was out of earshot.

Your eyes widened, and you looked back towards him. “Your bandmate?”

He nodded. “They broke up a few years ago, during the pandemic,” he explained. “They were engaged.”

You weren’t sure Namjoon was supposed to tell you any of that. It sounded personal, and he seemed to get the cue as you remained silent, eyes falling to the steaming plate in front of you.

“Anyway,” he said, chuckling awkwardly. “Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied, a little too quickly.

It had both of you laugh, and the awkwardness lifted to be replaced by that same familiarity the evening had held until Seokjin’s ex had come in. It had you fall back in your nostalgic memories, as you ate the delicious food on your plate.

When you were done eating, Namjoon suggested dessert, and not really wanting the evening to end yet, you accepted. It led to you both drinking a little more, your inhibitions slurring as alcohol rushed through your bloodstream, making you feel young and alive.

The feeling lingered with your lively chatter, with the exchanged laughs and long looks. Sometimes, Namjoon’s eyes burned on you, and you found you were too afraid to hold his gaze, too afraid to let it mean anything. Whenever it happened, you looked down at your glass, and the tenth time that it happened, you found the glass to be empty.

No salvation for you there. Especially considering that dessert was eaten and long gone, and all that had been left was the bottle of wine.

“So,” Namjoon said as he, too, took in the sight of the empty glasses and bottle. “I…” He chuckled, ears turning pink as his dimples flashed on his cheeks. “Thank you for tonight.”

You couldn’t help your own blush as you replied, “I’m glad I said yes.”

He met your gaze, eyes darting to your lips once. When they settled back on your own gaze, you swallowed a sudden lump in your throat.

“We should…” he started, falling silent as he scraped his throat. “We should do this again.”

The lump dissolved into nothingness as you smiled, softly. “I would love to.”

“What about on Sunday? There’s this exhibit I’ve been meaning to visit, thought you might want to join?”

“You want to bring an artist to another artist’s exhibit?”

He seemed surprised at your question, as if it hadn’t even crossed his mind. And truth be told, you liked visiting your fellow artists. There was just something about a shared passion that made you feel calm, understood. As if, no matter the sorrows your life could hold, there would always be someone out there who understood. Someone who could share the burden, who’d offer you a helping hand in the form of art whenever you needed it.

So you quickly added, before Namjoon could say anything, “I’m kidding, yes, I’d love to accompany you.”

He looked so relieved something warm blossomed in your chest, and your cheeks burned.

“Well then,” he said, smiling that dimpled smile. “I should get you home, it’s getting late.”

The perspective of the date ending made your heart squeeze in your chest, for a reason you couldn’t quite understand. “Right,” you agreed.

It was all you said before you both got up, moving to retrieve your coats by the door. After that, you walked towards the outside world, and when Namjoon’s hand accidentally grazed yours – or perhaps it was on purpose – you hooked a finger around his pinky.

Looking up to him, you caught him looking down at you already. From so close, he towered over you, though there was nothing threatening with his height. It felt comforting, safe, as if you were under his protection.

By the warmth in his eyes, you knew you truly were.

You waited in the lobby for the car to come pick you up, Namjoon with his back turned to the people. Though no one looked your way, no one acknowledged your presence, and for a second, you wondered if you really were with a worldwide famous singer or if Namjoon was just a normal person.

Someone like you, someone who could revel in anonymity wherever he went.

“The car is here,” Namjoon told you as you were looking behind him, observing the patrons slowly exiting, laughing about a joke only they knew.

You smiled up at him, before letting him grab your hand properly this time as he led you outside. His large palm engulfed your small one, warmed it up, and your fingers were tingling by the time you reached the car door that Namjoon opened for you.

He really wasn’t a gentleman when you were younger. There was something oddly relieving to see him act in such a way now, showing you that he had grown since you were sixteen and too dumb to actually know what love was.

You settled in the car, reveling in the warm vehicle as Namjoon sat in the seat right next to you. And when the car jostled forward, you became all too aware of the place where Namjoon’s thigh rested against yours, and of where his arm pressed against yours.

You turned your head to look at him, admiring the soft glow on his features induced by the neon lights outside. He met your gaze, offered you a smile, and you felt yourself leaning forward. As if there was a pull between you, something that was inevitable. You had never been good at resisting, so you let yourself be pulled, let yourself find him.

He met you halfway, lips infinitely and surprisingly soft even with the cold January night out there. He sighed against you, shifting slightly so he could angle his head better, deepening the kiss.

And kiss you he did, with memories and yearning and nostalgia that had you part your lips when his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, only to meet it with yours. You remembered days of early art, of words whispered in the dead of night when nothing seemed like it could bring you apart, when you believed it was you and him against the rest of the world.

Your breakup flashed in your thoughts as he rested a hand on your thigh, carefully, but you pushed it away, refusing to let the memory stain this moment with him.

As much as the kiss was unexpected, bubbling out of neon lights on Namjoon’s soft features, it was also expected. As if fifteen-year-old you had expected to find him again, somewhere, even though you had fled to an entire other high school.

As if the story had just been put on hold then, to resume once the time was right. And as much as you usually were wary in your relationships, tonight felt right. It felt right in all the ways that mattered, in his arm on your thigh and the soft smile he offered you when he pulled away, reminding you that you weren’t alone in the car.

You chuckled, blushing deeply, and your hand landed on top of his on your thigh.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You leaned into his touch, sighing dreamily. “I don’t know if it’s the wine,” you said, low enough to make sure only his ears could perceive your words, “but I really want to kiss you more.”

That made him laugh, and his hand fell away from your cheek. “Not here,” he said, head motioning to the driver. “You’ll have to wait until Sunday.”

You pursed your lips, thought about it for half a second before you said, “Do you want to sleep over tonight?”

His grip on your thigh slightly tightened, the only indication that your words had had an effect on him. “You’d like that?”

You parted your lips, tongue darting to wet them. “Yes.”

It was no wonder Namjoon ended up pinning you against your closed door as soon as you walked in, locking you between his strong arms as his lips ravished a hungry kiss on your mouth. You grabbed at the lapels of his coat, trying to pull him closer, right as he slipped one of his large hands to arch your back, pressing your front against him.

The second he left your lips to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, you fought against his coat to rid him of the clothing. He sucked on your jaw as he helped you, and soon enough, the coat was abandoned on the floor, right as he pulled you in.

You kicked off your shoes, lips meeting again in a kiss that had your head spin, right as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He groaned when you bit on his bottom lip, and then picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He put you down on the decorative table near the door, and in an attempt to rid him of his shirt, you pushed a vase.

The sound that it made when it shattered on the floor startled both of you, and Namjoon looked down, eyes wide.

“Oh no,” he let out.

You caught his startled gaze, breathing raggedly. “Don’t worry, it was just a cheap vase.”

He looked down at the mess, nodding once. “I’ll buy you another one.”

And then he was finding your mouth again, sucking on your lower lip as he started to fight against your coat, trying to get you out of it. He shortly had to pull away, brows knitting together in concentration because, as much as he tried, the zipper of your coat wasn’t budging.

“Hold on,” you said, putting your hands above his.

Much gentler than him, you managed to unzip the coat, and he helped you slip out of it, throwing it towards his. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where your skirt had ridden up to reveal more skin, though you were wearing pantyhose. He ran his hand along your thighs, head hanging low. You watched him do so, watched his jet-black hair falling in his eyes until you couldn’t resist anymore, reaching between you to push it back.

The strands fell right back in front of his eyes, but it attracted his gaze. He looked at you through his hair, dragon eyes burning a hole through you, and you grabbed his cheeks to pull him into yet another heated kiss.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, and he subconsciously grinded against you, though the skirt and the fabric of his own pants kept you from feeling anything.

“You think we can make it to my room,” you whispered as he moved to your neck, kissing a hot kiss just below your ear.

“You’ll have to show me the way.”

You chuckled, gently pushing on his chest until he finally disconnected from your neck and took a step back. It allowed you to plop down from the table on which he had sat you, and you grabbed his hand, right as he dipped his head to kiss you again.

You kissed him back, moaning softly when his large hand cupped your ass, grabbing at the meat hard but not enough to hurt. It had even more heat pool at your core, liquid lava that was slowly making you unravel, and you needed more.

You pulled away from the kiss begrudgingly, mostly because you wanted to stay here, to be consumed with the passion Namjoon’s lips were carving against you.

You had to make it to your room before you went insane. So you pulled him behind you, not once looking back, or else you wouldn’t get there at all. Luckily enough, you held on strong, but the moment you crossed the threshold to your room, Namjoon pulled you against him, large hand resting on the base of your neck to keep you from moving away.

It took all of three seconds before your brain zeroed in on the spot where his hard dick was pressing against your back.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” he asked, voice low and husky, sending shivers all over your body.

You nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him access when he lowered his head. Too tall, he didn’t quite reach your neck, but his breath skimming over your skin made goosebumps erupt on you.

“I want you too,” you replied breathily.

You could hear a dangerous smirk in his voice when he said, “Take that skirt off”.

Something settled deep inside of you, making you into a puppet he could control. Stepping away from him, your hands went behind your back to unzip the skirt, and you let it fall to the floor. It pooled around your ankle, but when he stepped closer again, one hand squeezing the flesh of your ass, you found yourself unable to do anything.

“You should take off the pantyhose, too, before I rip them”, he added.

You didn’t doubt that Namjoon often miscalculated his strength. Even when he was just a gangly teenager, he already struggled with clumsiness. So you pulled the pantyhose down your legs, and you stepped out of the pile of clothing, waiting for him as he moved closer again.

This time, his hands slipped to your front, and he looked over your shoulder as he started undoing the buttons of your blouse, not even caring that you were still wearing the blazer. His breath skimmed on the side of your face as he did so, and your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on every brush of fabric against you while he worked his way down your blouse.

He pushed both the blouse and blazer off your shoulders when he was done, and they fell on the floor behind you. He didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his arm to your front, moving up until he grabbed your breasts through your bra, squeezing slightly.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded then, and still the good puppet you did, walking to the mattress and sitting down, eyes finally finding him again.

He didn’t say anything as he slowly undressed, pulling his cardigan off. It fell somewhere next to the pile of your clothing, and then he attacked the polo, taking it off in one swift motion that revealed the expanse of his wide chest.

His honey skin seemed to prettily gleam in the moonlight, where it was pulled taught over the big muscles of his chest. He looked sculpted in marble, big and buff, and you closed your thighs in reflex at the thought of his weight over you.

Needless to say, he didn’t look like that when he was a teenager at all. Adulthood looked good on him.

He unbuckled his belt next, taking his time as you just surveyed him. Even in the dim light from the full moon outside, you could see the bulge in his pants, and you salivated at the thought of wrapping your lips around him, of tasting him and making him feel good.

The belt fell with a thud to the ground, and your lips parted as he palmed himself, enhancing the size of his bulge. Your eyes widened slightly – he looked far bigger than you had initially thought he’d be, though you weren’t all that surprised with his large frame.

“Take off your bra,” he said next. “I want to see your breasts.”

You nodded, hands going to your back as you unclasped the bra. You slowly took it off, nipples perking when cold air hit them. You shivered once again as his eyes roamed over you, and even more so when he said, “Beautiful” as if you were a piece of art made for him to admire.

And with the way he was looking at you, you thought maybe, maybe you were.

He took a few steps towards you, and your eyes darted towards the lamp on your bedside table. Namjoon caught your motion, and he tutted lightly. “Not tonight,” he told you. “Tonight is about feeling, not about seeing.”

For some reason, you had expected him to be a lights-on kind of partner, but you weren’t mad about his will to stay in the dark. Because you knew all too well how much pleasure could course through your blood when your sense of sight was taken from you. As an artist, you relied on it far more than a lot of people – the loss of it made you weak, in a burning kind of way.

If you were honest, you enjoyed being blindfolded a lot, but you didn’t see yourself asking Namjoon to do it today. Lights off seemed the closest thing to it, so you didn’t argue with him as he used a knee to part your legs in an attempt to get closer to you.

He grabbed your chin, making you tilt your head back so he could catch your gaze. His eyes were dark, even in the silvery moonlight, and you gulped as he gently patted your cheek.

“You’re going to feel good for me, mmh?”

You nodded, entirely unable to use words right now. Mostly because you were but a puppet, and he the puppeteer. He smirked, satisfied, before unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes dropped, and you watched him do it expectantly, teeth gently digging into your bottom lip in apprehension.

The good kind, the one that made you burst into an explosion of flames.

“You think you can wrap your pretty lips around my dick?” he asked.

For a reason unknown, all you were able to mutter back was, “Namjoon.”

“Yes, baby?”

You gulped, and you looked up at him again. You didn’t watch as he took his pants and underwear off in the same motion, didn’t budge your gaze as you heard the slap of his hard dick on his abdomen. From the way his arm moved, large bicep popping slightly, you knew he was jerking off, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look down. Couldn’t bring yourself to gaze away from his eyes as they burned on you, searing their mark right on your soul.

“What is it?” he asked again, with a barely concealed warning in his voice.

He wasn’t one to have to repeat, was he? No, you were pretty sure Namjoon was used to being obeyed, with being the leader of a boyband like BTS. Pretty sure he expected to be obeyed, and somehow that turned you from puppet to puppeteer, as your hands rested on his thick, muscular thighs.

“You want me to suck your dick?” you asked, voice sultry as you moved your hands up, never touching him where he so visibly wanted.

His lips parted, though he remained surprisingly silent. He clearly didn’t expect you to take control of the situation, but from the way his features darkened even more, you knew he liked it.

“Want me to suck you dry?” you added. “Want to come down my throat?”

“Fuck,” he cursed, and he grabbed the base of his dick to gently tap it against the corner of your mouth. “Better get to work, baby. You’re a lot of talk for someone that hasn’t touched me yet.”

“Say please,” you teased, and you let one of your hands move between his legs so you could cup his balls. They sat heavy in your palm, seemingly ready to explode.

“Fuck,” he repeated, adding your name at the end. “Who would have thought you had this in you?”

Emboldened by his words, you licked at his tip, collecting the precum on his slit. “That wasn’t please.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes shutting in frustration before he finally said, “Please, baby. Please suck my dick.”

You sucked on his tip once, tongue swirling around it, before pulling away. “Good boy.”

That was Namjoon’s undoing. He let go of his dick, grabbed your head, aligning his dick with your mouth as he repeatedly cursed under his breath. You liked him like this, liked the power you had over him. So you resisted, just to piss him off further, but it only seemed to turn him into a whiny mess as begging mixed with cursing.

Only then did you finally start sucking him off, jaw straining from how big he was. It hurt, and your eyes watered as he reached the back of your throat with not even half of him in your mouth. All you could think of was that he was going to be quite a stretch down there, too, as you looked up at his features, casted in the soft silvery glow of the moon outside.

You pulled almost all the way out, but the hand on the back of your head held you in place, forcing you to keep him in your mouth. You played with the head of his cock with your tongue, swirling it around it, teasing the slit as the salty taste of precum filled your mouth. You moaned, softly, and Namjoon cursed once more, before falling entirely silent as he watched you take as much of him as you could again.

Once he hit the back of your throat, you swallowed, eyes watering again as you tried to hold in your gag reflex. It didn’t really work, and when you choked, Namjoon pulled out of your mouth.

“You okay?” he asked.

“You’re so big,” you praised, and you grabbed his dick with a loose grip, jerking him off slowly. Mostly, you spread your saliva on his length, wanting to make sure he was well-lubricated for what was to come.

“Why don’t you sit?” you told him, letting go of his dick.

He looked conflicted for about a second before he did. You readjusted yourself so you were kneeling between his powerful thighs, and the new position allowed you to bite at the hard muscles of his abdomen. He hissed, hand going to the back of your head as he guided you towards his dick once more.

“Suck me, baby,” he said, still sounding just as whiny.

Feeling like a brat, you replied, “What do I get in exchange?”

His forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, searching for something to reply. Though Namjoon was not a man of many words, always choosing his words carefully, right now, it seemed he was entirely silenced.

“I’ll fuck you good,” he finally answered, voice low. He bent a little, grabbing your face, and his thumbs stroked your cheeks. “I’ll fuck you good until your legs shake and you can’t walk anymore. Is that a good deal?”

You bit your lip as he let go of you, once again grabbing his dick so he could hold it up for you. Not moving towards it, you rested your head on his thigh, before reaching between his legs to cup his balls. They were heavy in your palm, and you gently massaged them, earning you a soft grunt from him.

“Careful with the balls,” he warned you.

You pouted before leaning between his legs. You avoided his waiting cock, instead aiming for the base of his dick, right between his two balls. You then licked a long stripe towards the top, and Namjoon cursed as you swirled your tongue on his frenulum.

“My bad,” you then apologized, letting go of his balls as you made a mental note that they probably were too sensitive for him to enjoy. “Let me make it up to you.”

He cocked an eyebrow in question, but the second your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock and you sucked hard, he threw his head back, cursing out loud. It finally convinced you to get to work, and you replaced his hand on his dick so you could jerk him off in time with the bobbing of your head.

As big as he was, you found you couldn’t keep going for much longer. So instead of taking all of him in – or as much of him as you could – you focused on his tip, jerking him off faster after having spit in your hand. Looking up at him, you noticed his teeth digging into his lower lip, a clear indication that he was enjoying himself, and then you closed your eyes, focusing on the job at hand.

Focusing on pleasuring Kim Namjoon.

You sucked him off for a while, long enough for his dick to turn rock hard under your ministrations. Long enough for him to be a panting and cursing mess, long enough for your jaw to hurt so bad you almost thought it was going to dislocate. When the pain grew too intense, you sat back on your heels, and stroked his dick, twisting your wrist as you reached the tip.

“So big I can’t even suck you properly,” you commented.

“I’ll stretch you wide open, baby,” he said, and he leaned back on his hands as he looked down at you. “I’ll stretch you so wide you’ll cry my name.”

It was so crass your hand slowed on his dick as you clenched your thighs. “Fuck, Namjoon.”

He smirked, dimples dangerously decorating his cheeks, but an expert motion of your hand had him close his eyes, mouth falling open on a low moan.

“Should I ride you?” you asked him. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

“You’ll need me to get you ready,” he answered once he was able to look at you again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You almost wanted to tell him that you were going to be okay, but he wasn’t wrong. Fucking yourself on him without having been previously fingered would definitely hurt like a bitch.

“Ride my face?” he suggested as you debated what to do.

You wet your lips, desire pumping through your blood before you told him, “Lie down.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and you quickly climbed on top of him, straddling his face. His large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and parting your cheeks as he licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He flicked his tongue against the bundle of nerves, and you hissed, fingers getting lost in his hair as you pushed it out of his eyes.

You maintained eye contact as you lowered yourself on him until you were properly seated on his pretty features. His tongue parted your folds, dipping in your entrance, and you instinctively grinded. He pushed the wet muscle deep inside of you, as deep as he could before arching it, searching for your sweet spot.

When you let out a soft moan, he flicked at the same spot again, and you grinded into his face once more.

“Fuck,” you told him. “Right there.”

He understood right away, and he started fucking you with his tongue, hitting that same spot again and again, making the corners of your vision blurry. All you could focus on were his eyes between your legs, and you moaned his name as his fingers dug into the skin of your ass. It hurt a little, and you wondered for a time if he was unaware of his strength.

You wouldn’t be surprised – he was a lot stronger than you had imagined he was.

As Namjoon kept working on you, eating you out and lapping your juices, you palmed your breast, rolling the sensitive nipple between your thumb and index. The added sensation had more of your vision turning blurry, making it hard for you to focus on Namjoon. So you closed your eyes, focusing on the pleasure moving through you, and soon enough, a knot started tightening in your core.

Instinctively, you started grinding into his face, following the rhythm of his tongue inside of you, and the knot tightened and tightened, almost painfully so. When Namjoon landed a surprising slap on your ass, you lost it, knot snapping as your orgasm hit you.

You came hard, walls pulsating around Namjoon’s tongue, and he milked all of your orgasm out of you, lapping your juices as you dripped on him. When you started getting oversensitive, you moved to sit next to him instead. Namjoon didn’t move right away, catching his breath, but when he did move, it was to wipe his chin with the back of his hand. He sat up after that, catching your lips in a quick kiss that left you breathless, mind spinning with the taste of yourself.

“Now I’m going to fuck you,” Namjoon promised.

All you could do was moan as one of his large hands moved between your legs. He pushed two fingers in, and they slid right in with all the lubrication your orgasm had just brought out of you. He fingered you for a few seconds as he littered small kisses on your shoulder and up your neck, and he nibbled at your ear once he reached it.

“You’re going to take all of me, mmh?” he asked right in your ear, voice so low and husky your walls clenched around his fingers.

“Yes,” you answered.

He pulled away, smirking in satisfaction before saying, “Get on all fours. I want to look at your ass while I’m fucking you.”

“You’d like that?” you teased him. “You want to see my ass bounce while you pound into me?”

Your two sentences were enough to silence him once more, and all he managed to do in reply was nod. It made you chuckle, and before you got into position, you crawled to your bedside table, fishing a condom out of the half-empty box you owned from a previous relationship.

“Put this on,” you told Namjoon as you handed him the condom.

He looked down at your hand. “What size is that?”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Regular.”

He laughed before shaking his head at you. You were about to argue when he got up, moving to his discarded pants so he could grab his wallet. “I need bigger than that, baby,” he told you as an explanation, and you rolled your eyes playfully as you put the condom back in your bottom drawer.

Namjoon fished an appropriately-sized condom from his wallet, and he was quick to get it out of the wrapper and put it on his hard length. He hissed a little as he rolled it down his dick, but once it was in place he moved back to the bed, kneeling behind you as you propped your ass up, keeping your face down.

“Gosh, you’re so sexy like this,” he praised you. “Ever since he saw you again, I’ve been wanting to see you like this.”

A drop of warning clouded your senses for a few seconds, but when he rubbed his dick between your folds, pushing it against your clit, lust took over once more. You grabbed at the sheets as he teased the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again, and when you had enough, you cursed.

“Fuck me,” you told him. “Fuck me before I change my mind.”

He slapped your ass. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

Before you could reply, he pushed the fat tip of his cock between your folds, and you moaned at the burning sensation. It was the good kind of burning, the one that left stars dancing behind your eyelids and on the periphery of your vision. It made you clutch the sheets harder, and then Namjoon pushed in, embedding himself deep inside of you.

He grabbed your hips, fingers digging into the supple skin so hard you were pretty sure they were going to leave marks behind, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you did was moan loudly, especially as he pulled almost all the way out before slapping his hips forward again.

It was rough, and your body jerked forward from the impact of his pelvis on your ass. You couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything other than the stretch between your legs, and when he started pounding into you, you felt him so deep you cried out his name.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged you. “You take me so well.”

He slightly slowed down, but his hips still snapped forward in quick and harsh thrusts as he leaned forward, adjusting the position. When he was satisfied by the new angle, he resumed his previous speed, as one of his hands grabbed at your hair, pulling it in a makeshift ponytail so he could keep you in place.

He didn’t pull on your hair harder than that, didn’t force you look back at him, and for a moment, all that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping on skin, and the moans and grunts you two were making. It was loud, and you were glad you lived in a house and not an apartment – you were pretty sure your neighbours would have heard otherwise.

When Namjoon landed another slap on your ass, you cursed loudly, and it made him still halfway out of you. He massaged the spot gently, soothing the skin with his warm fingers. “Do you want to switch position?” he asked.

As much as the current position felt good, you knew this angle would never make you cum. So you nodded your head, and Namjoon pulled out of you, sitting back on his heels. You turned towards him, and your eyes fell to his hardened length. To your juice coating the condom, and you got an idea.

“Lean back on your hands,” you ordered.

He cocked an eyebrow in question, yet he still obeyed. When he was properly positioned, you climbed on top of him, grabbing his cock to guide it towards your entrance. You help onto his shoulder with your other hand, and you slowly sunk on him until his cock hit your cervix. It hurt a little, the angle different from earlier yet making you feel so much more, and you grabbed onto his other shoulder.

“Shit,” you cursed.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “You’re so fucking deep.” And then you leaned back a little, and both of your gazes dropped to the space where your bodies were connected. To the bulge in your tummy as you slightly leaned back. “So fucking big we can see you in me.”

He moaned and threw his head back as you moved up, only to slam back down a second later. He put all of his weight on one hand, and his other settled on your waist, following you as you established a slow and sensual rhythm, rolling your hips whenever he was deep inside of you. It had his big cock rubbing against that sweet spot inside of you, and when the corners of your vision turned white, you started moving faster.

You grabbed onto his neck, not squeezing, and you felt him swallow under your palm. Your pleasure increased tenfold as the hand on your waist moved to cup your breast, and when he squeezed your nipple, you clenched your walls hard against his dick.

“Fuck,” he let out, and he looked at you.

The moment his gaze met yours, you started choking him, increasing your speed to chase your orgasm. His mouth fell open, and his dick reached deep inside of you as you kept going, kept splitting yourself on him.

When your orgasm hit, you wrapped an arm around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. He circled your waist, fucking up into you as much as he could in this position. He rode you through your high, and you were a shaking mess when he finally slowed down, hand rubbing your back soothingly.

“Lie down for me,” he gently said.

You were too lost in ecstasy to argue, and you craved his dick the second it was out of your pussy. He wasn’t out for long, and he kneeled between your legs, holding them to his chest as he pushed in in one powerful thrust. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head with the sensation, and you moaned out his name as he established an unforgiving rhythm.

When his teeth sunk into your calf in a clear attempt to muffle his own moans, you clenched hard around him, and it was enough to get him close. To your surprise, he pulled out of you, quickly taking off the condom, and he pumped his dick, emptying his load on your stomach and pelvis. The feeling of every hot spurt on you had you reach between you, and when some landed on your fingers, you quickly brought them to your mouth, getting a taste of him.

Namjoon grunted, and he slowly decreased the rhythm of his jerking off until he was just holding his dick over you, one last drop of cum meeting the rest on your stomach. You didn’t move for a long time, both of you trying to catch your breath. It took a while, but once your pulse had stopped racing, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking at the white mess on your stomach.

“You made quite a mess,” you teased him.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly said. “Was that okay?”

You nodded. “As long as you clean it up, yes.”

He laughed, bending so he could retrieve some tissues from your nightstand. He first cleaned his fingers, and then your stomach, making sure not to leave a single drop behind. Still, you felt sticky, and when you offered him to take a shower, he agreed right away.

You let the warm water run on your body, taking with it your sweat and Namjoon’s cum, as you ran your hands through your hair. You sighed, opening your eyes to the sight of him as he looked down at you, a fond smile on his lips.

“Can you pass me the shampoo?”

He nodded, but instead of giving it to you, he motioned for you to turn. “I’ll wash your hair.”

The domesticity of the action had your cheeks burning, and all you could do was hope he hadn’t noticed. You still turned, and when he started massaging your head, you shut your eyes, sighing in contentment. When he was done, he made you turn around so he could wash the shampoo out of your hair, making sure you didn’t get any in your eyes. After that, you switched place so he could wash his own hair, while you busied yourself with cleaning your body, erasing what was left of the action that had transpired between you and Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t speak more in the shower, though you did exchange a slow kiss once you were both entirely clean. Namjoon’s lips seemed more hesitant now, but as you wrapped your arms around his waist, it was his turn to sigh in contentment. His kiss grew more affirmative now, as if he was trying to tell you that he, too, felt a certain way with you.

Because right now, you felt like you were floating, like you were an astronaut in zero gravity. It was dizzying, but in a beautiful way as you held onto him, and he held onto you. It was filled with memories of the past, yes, but also of promises of the future.

That was when you remembered what he had said right before you had started having sex. How he had been imagining you like this ever since you had met again, thirteen years after you’d disappeared from his life. The previous wariness returned, and you pulled away from the kiss to rest your forehead on his chest. He let you do it, unaware of the drop of doubt that was solidifying into lead in your stomach.

After the shower, you lied in bed, Namjoon by your side, unable to form a sentence. Unable to breathe your worries into words, unable to share with Namjoon that you were afraid he only wanted you for sex. And you tried, you really tried to speak, but all you could do was slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm your racing heart before it burst inside your chest.

Right when you thought you had gathered enough courage, Namjoon softly snored next to you, and you realized that, after all, it was too late to share your concerns.

*****

You stared at the scenery out of the window. You hadn’t been to Ilsan in a long time, but when Namjoon had mentioned he was going to visit his family, offering you a ride – a company official ride, considering he couldn’t drive – you hadn’t been able to say no. So you watched Ilsan from the window of your parents’ kitchen, remembering growing up.

Remembering days of childhood innocence, and of teenager crushes. Of teenager fights, and breakups that had shaped who you had turned out to be. It was strange to think that you were going to circle your way back to Namjoon, that you were going to come here to Ilsan, with him.

You hadn’t told your parents. When they had seen you arrive, they had asked how you had gotten here, considering your car was nowhere to be seen. You had lied through your teeth, saying that you had taken the train, and they hadn’t pushed, knowing that you indeed often took the train anyway, in an attempt to clear your head and sketch some ideas for your next art piece.

Instead, you had been at the back of a company car, chatting the ride away with Kim Namjoon as if it wasn’t only the tenth time you had seen him again after your breakup thirteen years ago. It was like you had never parted – complicity between Kim Namjoon and you was easy as breathing, as natural as the sun shining in the sky overhead. And the sun had shone all the way home, as if to tell you that your worries meant nothing.

But your worries were still haunting you. Hadn’t stopped haunting you since you had sex with him, chasing you through your days, taunting you through your nights. You weren’t able to escape them, especially not as he acted the way that he did.

That is, as if you were far closer than you were. As if the years hadn’t come and gone, as if thirteen years had been just the blink of an eye. It was strange to you, stranger still, that whenever you were with him, you tended to forget too. Tended to bask in his warmth, and it was no wonder your relationship was so physical.

Indeed, sometimes you even thought that it was all there was. Because each time you had seen him after your date had been physical, his body on top of yours as he fucked your brains out. As you climbed on top in an attempt to gain control, but you doubted you’d ever have the control when it came to Kim Namjoon.

So you looked outside the kitchen window, trying to remember who you were. Trying to remember what you wanted, and trying to figure out what you should eat for dinner later.

You were here for four days, and though you had brought supplies so you could paint here, hoping your childhood home would bring you inspiration, all you had been able to do was worry about Kim Namjoon and what he meant in your life.

You weren’t sure it mattered. Because even though your relationship was purely physical, it still brought you satisfaction. Always left you swimming in ecstasy, always made you sleep soundly for a few days.

It had been weeks since your date. Almost two months, actually. Namjoon had texted you regularly, though the conversation never really delved into subjects that mattered. He was too busy to hang out often, but he made you feel as if he was making time for you. Yet you couldn’t shake what he had said out of your mind.

Did you want to just be someone Kim Namjoon saw when he needed to fuck? When he needed to paint himself on you, to bring more confusion into the mess of art your mind had been since the date?

The answer was easy. No, you didn’t wish to be just that. You’d never been one to have fuck buddies, and every time you saw Namjoon, the impression was reinforced. Perhaps because he made small comments, about how he was glad he could fuck you, glad you were in his bed.

Glad you moaned out his name whenever you came, and evidently, he made you come plenty enough. But yet you needed more, and you hated yourself for it.

Why complicate something that was so easy? So you remained silent, never said anything, though you did hold onto him as much as you could when you slept in his arms, trying to remind yourself that if he just wanted sex, he wouldn’t sleep over, or ask you to stay.

Would he have offered to drive you to Ilsan if you were nothing to him? You highly doubted so. Especially considering how he had talked to you, how comfortable he was next to you.

You sighed, looking away from the window as you turned towards the living room. Your father was napping on the couch, and your mother had gone to the market, declining your offer to come with as she had claimed you needed to work on your paintings.

You had been staring at the canvas for an hour before you had come to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and you had already finished it as you had watched the world outside the kitchen window, lost in thought. You figured taking a walk would help clear your mind, and you hoped you’d find inspiration by the time you were back home.

Though the weather was warmer outside than it was weeks ago, when you had your date with Namjoon, you still wrapped a thick scarf around your neck, burying yourself in the warm coat you had brought here. You put on your Chelsea boots, and the minute you stepped outside, you loosened the scarf.

The air smelled fresh and hinted at spring. There was no snow, most of it having melted under the peculiar warmth, and by the time you made it to the end of the street, you unzipped your coat too, feeling too hot.

You turned to your left, bowing your head slightly at the older couple that you passed. They reciprocated, but you didn’t pay attention to them more than necessary as you walked towards the park behind your middle school. The middle school where you and Namjoon had first fallen in love when you were dumb and young.

Ten minutes later, the building came into view, and memories swarmed in, chasing Namjoon out of your thoughts. Well, chasing current Namjoon out of your thoughts as you remembered your classes, and the teacher that you had always hated. As you remembered sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field, chatting the evening away when you were supposed to be home.

It was no surprise that you found yourself making your way to those bleachers, and you sat as high as you could, eyeing the empty field. It was the middle of the week, and the soccer field was empty save for birds searching for worms in the wet grass.

You leaned back on your hands so you could look up, gazing at the few clouds in the sky. Wind played with your hair, blowing it in your face, but you ignored it, focusing on the fresh air. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you inhaled deeply.

You were calm and content... until you let out a startled cry as someone said your name. Your eyes flew open to the sight of Kim Namjoon at the bottom of the bleachers, looking up at you.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you told him, hand on your racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just out on a walk,” he informed you. “Didn’t expect to run into you.”

He walked up the bleachers, sitting next to you before you replied. “Your parents are bothering you?” you teased, gently nudging him.

“Nah,” he said, laughing. “I’ve been songwriting since I got here? Can’t get this song right, so I decided to walk. Thought it’d help clear my mind.”

Of course, he was out and about for the same reason as you. Because you and Kim Namjoon were far more similar than you wanted to believe it. Sometimes, it led you to think that you were two of the same person, and usually, whenever you thought that you had to rein yourself in, reminding yourself that all he did with you was have sex.

“Couldn’t paint,” you admitted.

“Your parents are bothering you?” he asked, repeating your question with a corner smile and a single dimple.

This time, you pushed him, laughing before replying, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned, though you both fell silent as your gazes moved up to the sky, and you enjoyed the afternoon warmth. You knew the night would get cold, but you still had a few more hours of sunlight before the world gave way to darkness.

“You know,” he said as your eyes chased a white cloud on the cerulean expanse of the sky. “I was hoping we could hang out, while we’re here?”

He said it like a question, as if asking for permission, and it had your heart race in your chest. “Aren’t you afraid of your parents asking questions?”

“Not really,” he answered. “They know that you came with me. They want me to invite you over for dinner.”

Your gaze widened as it dropped to him. He was already looking at you, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Is that something that we’re supposed to be doing?” you enquired.

It seemed to take him by surprise. “What do you mean?”

You reckoned now was a good time as any to voice your concerns. Perhaps because the scene was familiar, safe, and you couldn’t deal with the concern gnawing at your nerves anymore.

“What are we, exactly?” you said, softly, finally giving voice to the worries.

Namjoon’s eyes went round as blush crept on his cheeks. “What?”

The drop of lead from that first date grew inside of you. “It’s just… we’ve only been hanging out for sex, correct?”

“Is that what it is for you?” he enquired after a few seconds of silence, of him just watching you with a somber expression.

You chuckled awkwardly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t do this. So no, I’d hope it’s not that, but…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the field in front of you. “You haven’t really made me feel like you’re in this for more than just sex.”

He leaned forward as if trying to gain your attention. As your gaze remained stubbornly on the empty field, he said your name once. His voice was soft, gentle, and that, more than anything, made you turn to look at him.

“I thought we were… dating?” he admitted. “I… I’m sorry if I just… assumed?”

It was such a Namjoon thing to do that you couldn’t even blame him. His revelation made the lead melt away to be replaced by a sweet warmth much like the one the sun rays carried. “Oh?”

As you didn’t say anything else, Namjoon straightened, putting a little distance between the two of you. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

In truth, yes, it probably was what you had been wanting since the beginning. Since he had arrived at your house with the flowers before the date, and since his lips had found yours for the first time again after thirteen years apart. You had been wanting him, more than just physically.

“I mean…” You chuckled awkwardly again, shrugging your shoulders. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

He grinned, dimples flashing blindingly, even more so than the sun in the sky up above. “Good. So you’ll come over for dinner?”

This time you laughed, and you cocked an eyebrow. “With just a few hours notice?”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “My parents already know you, what does it change?”

And when you held his soft gaze, you decided why not? Why not dive in feet first, and not care about the consequences?

You doubted there’d be anything negative to come out of a dinner with Namjoon’s parents. And turned out you were right – both of them were happy to see you, and Namjoon’s mom kept repeating how proud she was that Namjoon had found you again, in Seoul. To Namjoon’s dismay, she told you about just how much Namjoon had cried after your breakup, and about how much it had encouraged him to become a rapper. Namjoon was red up to the tip of his ears as you looked at him, yet he didn’t scold his mother, didn’t tell her to stop.

And this, most of all, was the Namjoon you remembered from thirteen years ago. A shy, sweet boy who was always good to his elders, always polite and ready to help. He did help his mother, doing the dishes along with you after you’d eaten, and when it was time for you to leave, his father scolded him and told him to walk you home.

Namjoon grumbled that he was already going to do so, and you said your goodbyes to his parents before walking out into the night. It was a lot colder than it had been during the day, and you buried your hands in the pockets of your coat as you walked close to Namjoon, his arm brushing yours with every step that you took.

“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologized.

You glanced up at him, gazing at the aura around his head caused by the streetlight behind him. “About what?”

He shrugged. “The dinner. I didn’t expect my parents to be weird about it.”

“They weren’t,” you reassured him. You walked in silence for a time, eyes moving back to the street in front of you. It was empty, even though it wasn’t particularly late at night. Perhaps it rendered you bolder, because you said, “I’m really happy I said yes. I missed them.”

He smiled, softly. “They missed you too.”

A comfortable silence moved between you, and you basked in it as you made your way home, with your teenage lover by your side. It was hard to believe that he was next to you right now, and just like that, you knew what you were going to paint when you were home.

“The night is beautiful,” Namjoon said softly. “Makes it feel like we never left, you know?”

“Like it hasn’t been thirteen years, right?”

He nodded. “The weight of the years does feel lesser since we’ve reconnected.”

His words had warmth blossom in your chest, heating up your body in the cold early spring night. They had you glance at him, and when you found him already looking at you, you stopped. He stopped just a step ahead of you, turning to look at you.

“Do you think we were just right people, wrong time?” you asked. “I’ve been thinking… it’s been so easy with you, since our date. It’s strange to believe that it would be, no?”

“The years haven’t changed us as much as you’d imagined they would,” he agreed. “Like…” he glanced up at the sky, searching for words to voice his feelings. “BTS came into my life after you. I’d say it changed me, made me grow up far faster than I thought I would. Being the leader and all, I had a lot of responsibilities on me, you know?”

You nodded, not really knowing where he was going.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to be the leader,” he continued, revealing something you weren’t sure he had said out loud to anyone before. “I wish I didn’t have this weight on me and… in November, when I saw you again, I was going through a hard time. I didn’t entirely recognize you at first, but I was drawn to your gallery again and… I tried to find a reason to visit. To find a reason to talk to you.”

His eyes met yours again, and you almost balked at the intensity of his gaze.

“I felt lighter with you than I’d felt in years. So, when you say right people, wrong time, I think you’re right. I think thirteen years ago was all fucked up for us, but I think we were always meant to find each other again, through all the craziness of the world.”

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him down in a kiss. He kissed you back instantly, though his lips were slow against yours. Soft, anchoring you in this moment, in this space that had used to be yours when you were younger. He kissed you like time had slowed for you, like you had all night to stay right here, in this spot.

Your heart found a soothing rhythm in your chest, one echoed in his own ribcage, and his large hands found your waist to pull you closer. When he slipped his tongue in your mouth, you sighed dreamily, the taste of him so heavenly now that the lead in your stomach was gone that you thought you were going to start flying right here, right now.

Namjoon pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, and your breaths moved up in the sky, forming a single cloud over your heads.

“Had I known that you were worried I wasn’t into you like this, I wouldn’t have had sex with you every time we hung out,” he admitted, softly.

That, more than anything else, finished reassuring you.

“Hey,” you let out. “It’s okay. I should have spoken to you about it before.”

He pecked your lips once more before pulling away. He offered you his hand, and you gently took it as he smiled at you, his dimples so familiar on his cheeks that you wanted to drown in him.

“Let’s get you home,” he said. “I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.”

“I’m an adult now,” you reminded him, earning a laugh as he pulled you towards your house.

He shrugged. “They are still your parents; they’ll always worry for you.”

His words held truth, so you didn’t resist as he finished walking you home. You stood in front of the gate, looking at each other, and Namjoon gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed down your face until they rested on your jaw, and he leaned down to press another gentle kiss on your lips, one that had you wish you didn’t have to part with him for the night.

One day, you liked to believe you wouldn’t have to part at all.

*****

Being in a relationship with Kim Namjoon was easy. The weeks following your trip to Ilsan had you growing ever so closer, and you accompanied him to a dinner with all of his members. There, you saw what it meant for him to be the leader, but you kept your hand in his, bearing the weight of it along with him, even though it wasn’t like he had to keep them in check in private.

You had left early as you needed to go to your studio early in the morning, but had been unable to part with Namjoon, which wasn’t all that surprising to you or him. You both liked sharing a bed, liked the closeness that it allowed you. So you stayed the night, and the next day you made your way to your studio level-headed, ready to paint all day after your meeting with your manager. Your phone was dead, but you knew she wasn’t one to miss a meeting, and you figured you could always charge your phone when you got to the studio.

To your surprise, Sooah wasn’t alone when you got there. There was a suit-clad man, and he bowed his head at you respectfully as you walked in. You threw a curious look to Sooah, and the expression on her face made your heart drop to your ass, if that was possible.

“Hi,” the man politely said. “I’m glad you’ve finally showed up.”

He sounded annoyed, and it grated your nerves right away. You cocked an eyebrow before saying, “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“I am Jo Jonghyuk,” he answered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Hybe representative.”

You let out a nervous chuckle. “What’s bringing you here?

Sooah was the one to answer. “There’s been leaked pictures of you and Namjoon,” she informed you carefully. “They are… all over the media this morning.”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down your spine. “Excuse me?”

You hadn’t noticed it before, but the man had a briefcase. He quickly opened it, getting a stack of papers out of it that he handed to you unceremoniously. You looked at them, eyes widening as you saw the series of pictures, all of them of you and Namjoon.

And your face was far too recognizable. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t you, couldn’t pretend you had no idea what the man was talking about. So when he asked if there was a space where you could sit down to discuss, you let Sooah suggest heading downstairs. You followed them with fear in your gut, and even when you were sitting on the couches downstairs, you still couldn’t stop your heart from racing in your chest.

“So,” the man said. “We’re aware that our artists have lives outside of the company.” He paused, watching you carefully. “But we need to preserve their image. I’m sure you can understand?”

Sooah saved you by replying. “What is that supposed to mean for Y/n?”

“Namjoon is currently in a meeting with other representatives. He will be asked the same thing as you,” the man offered as an explanation.

You cocked an eyebrow. “And what is it that I’m going to be asked?”

“Keep the relationship behind closed doors.” The man motioned around you. “As an artist, I’m sure you understand how one’s image is important. The stocks are going to be impacted if it is said that Kim Namjoon is in a relationship, and not for the better. We are going to release a statement later in the day to refute the rumours.”

It wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be, yet you still felt sick, down to your very core. “And this needed an early morning meeting?”

You’d like to think that you sounded arrogant, defiant, but your voice was filled with nerves, shaking pathetically.

The man offered you a polite smile. “No. I’m here to have you sign an NDA.”

That made more sense. And still, it wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be – it wasn’t like you were going to scream about your relationship with Namjoon. After all, it still was fairly new, and you also wanted to preserve your anonymity.

In that instant, as the man pulled out said NDA from his briefcase, you understood something. Your anonymity was gone, gone like the winds of winter as the world outside slowly turned to spring.

Your face was visible in the pictures. People had seen you around the gallery, outside of official events, when you wore your mask.

You signed with a trembling hand, barely recognizing your own name on the paper, and the man offered you a copy of it before saying that he had to go. He thanked you for your cooperation on the way out, and when he was gone, disappearing at the bend in the street, you turned towards Sooah.

“I’m fucked,” you said.

She pursed her lips, concern moving on her features. “You are not. There’s no indication that people will associate you with Maehwa. I don’t think this will affect the gallery.”

You shook your head. “You don’t understand.” You scoffed, gaze dropping to the floor as the lead you had felt after your first date with Namjoon rematerialized, turning into a reality you didn’t think you were ready to gaze at. “It’s just a matter of time. His fandom discovers everything. They will know it’s me.”

“Then we’ll use it as publicity.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at your manager. “You can’t be serious.”

“Your art is beautiful,” she reminded you. “You’ve been building your reputation for years. Why would you being a human, having relationships, impact it?” She paused as if to give weight to her question. “It’s just going to put emphasis to the emotion in your art. People won’t see you as a masked individual anymore, but rather as the person behind the artist.”

You didn’t want to hear her. Knew she was being rational, yet couldn’t bear the truth in her words. Perhaps because you had always loved your anonymity. Always wanted to keep it, to use it to protect yourself from the world of fame, a world you had never wanted for yourself.

No, you just wanted to make art. To enjoy the science behind the pieces, the emotions that made you create. You were afraid it was going to be taken from you now. And who were you to blame? It was just a question of time before people connected the dots between you and Namjoon, thanks to the pictures, yes, but also to the interview that had yet to be released.

“Deep breaths,” Sooah said calmly, cutting through your spiraling. “I promise it’ll be okay.”

“What if it’s not?” you asked. “What if I can’t paint anymore?”

“You’ve been painting your whole life,” she reminded you. “You won’t suddenly stop because of rumours about you.”

See, that was the logical way to think about it. You clung to the words, held them close to your heart and let them replay in your head. It eased the anxiety that was building inside of you, and soon enough, your frantic breathing returned to normal.

“Shit.”

Sooah raised her eyebrows, waiting to make sure your spiraling truly was over. When you didn’t say anything else, she nodded once, patting you on the shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. And besides, congrats on your relationship with Namjoon?”

She said it like a question because, frankly, you hadn’t told Miyoung or Sooah a lot about you and Namjoon, except that you were taking things slow. It was the best you had been able to come up with, back when you thought he was only seeking carnal union with you, and you hadn’t changed the narrative after you and Namjoon had made it official in Ilsan.

And later, as you worked on the painting you had started in Ilsan, you pictured the cold night, when he had kissed you under the streetlamps. When you had realized that you had truly been wrong all along, that life was a cycle bringing you back to him. Back to where it had all started. You remembered his soft lips on yours, and that, most of all, finished calming you down from the anxiety.

Every stroke of your brush on the canvas, every new line, meant a thousand words, as you painted. As you created art from nothing but the memories your art held, as you put them together to form the image that had come to you that cold night. It was beautiful, in a heavy kind of way, because the emotions were heavy. The love, the recognition and the knowledge of life and the cycle of it, all entwined together to form something that only you and Namjoon could understand.

And as you worked, forgetting all about the world outside, all about the threat to your anonymity, you believed everything was going to be alright…

Almost.

*****

“Thank you,” you thanked the young girls after they were done perusing your gallery.

It had taken all but a few hours for your artist self to be associated with Kim Namjoon and your gallery. On the same day, you had received more visitors than you had ever had, and though you had donned your mask, you knew it was pointless.

Knew from the looks and the whispers that people knew. Still, for the next following days, you kept wearing your mask. Kept trying to ignore how people weren’t here for your art anymore, but rather for you as a person. For your connection to Kim Namjoon, for what you meant to him and what he meant to you.

Namjoon had been understanding when you had told him how anxious the situation was making you. Had suggested avoiding public spaces altogether, and so far, you had only been able to see him once for dinner two days ago.

The dinner had been spent in far more silence than usual, while you both contemplated what this meant for you. You had settled on really taking it slow, letting the rumours die of their own volution instead of doing more about them. Because Hybe had released a statement, and already Dispatch was on the newest rumour, forgetting all about your possible connection with Kim Namjoon.

Except for the fans, that is. Because the fans came to your gallery, complimented your art, though you did see them snickering in your back. Before, you had believed you were above this, above petty gossiping and jealous bullying, especially coming from younger people. After all, younger people were that – young, and youth often held an amount of stupidity that was rarely found elsewhere.

As it had been the case for you and Namjoon, thirteen years ago.

Still, you found you were increasingly anxious, and instead of expecting Namjoon’s next message, his next call, you started dreading them. It was vicious, poisoning your blossoming relationship without him even being aware of it.

How could you blame him? He was used to this life, after all.

You sighed in your mask, hating the way your eyes burned. They burned more now that you wore the mask more often, drying out whenever you breathed out too strongly. You had gotten artificial tears, and you couldn’t wait to be able to lubricate your eyes as you watched the last few people milling about your gallery.

It was almost closing time, and you were looking forward to it more than you usually did. Mostly because you wanted to bask in calmness and silence for a while, if only to be able to get a grip on the anxiety.

Two older women approached you, hands behind their backs, where you stood by the big painting of Ilsan. They bowed politely, and to your relief, asked you if one of the pieces was for sale. Art enthusiasts, then. It was reassuring to see some of them in your gallery, even after all the recent events.

“Yes,” you answered them politely. “It’s currently on auction for the month. You can put in your own bid if you’d like.”

The smallest one pursed her lips, tilting her head to the side. “How expensive was the last bid?”

Even though this was supposed to be Sooah’s job, you still had access to the app where the bidding took place. So you took your phone out of your pocket, heart dropping in your chest when the screen lit up to show you three texts from Namjoon. You ignored them, swiping the phone open before clicking on the app.

As it loaded, you looked up to smile at the women. “Just a moment.”

They nodded in understanding, yet one of them looked over her shoulder as if annoyed. You felt bad, but it wasn’t like you controlled the technology. All you could do was wait, and the second the app opened, you scrolled down to the current bidding.

You hadn’t checked it since the bidding had started. Lowest bid had been set at 5 million won, but right now, the number you were reading on the screen didn’t even make any sense.

“Huh,” you let out, and you looked at the women, chuckling awkwardly. “It seems the bid for this piece has gone out of the roof.”

That was putting it lightly. Because, looking at the amount on your phone, you believed the bid had been sent to outer orbit.

The smaller woman winced. “How high?”

“1.2 billion won,” you replied. You checked your phone to make sure and even showed the screen to them.

“Oh,” she said. “We can’t afford that.”

You offered them an apologetic smile. “I have more pieces that are on sale and not on auction if you want me to show you.”

The one that seemed like she wanted to leave suddenly widened her gaze. “Oh, that would be lovely.”

They ended up buying a smaller drawing, saying that they were sure the value of it would skyrocket if they ever wanted to sell it. You wanted to tell them that it probably was just a bubble caused by the rumour and that it’d soon burst. Evidently, you couldn’t tell them that, both because of the NDA and because you were growing tongue-tied with the praise they were sending your way. Instead, all you did was offer them a wink, saying that you hoped they’d hold onto it dearly, and then you walked them to the door as it was closing time anyway.

When the door was locked behind them, you leaned against it, sighing shakily. With trembling hands, you fished your phone out of your pocket, and you went through the different pieces you had on auction. Half of the profits were going to a charity for abused women, and still, it’d leave you with much more money than you ever thought you’d own.

You called Sooah, but it was her day off. You didn’t expect her to pick up, as she had told you she was going to be busy tonight, and of course, she didn’t. You still sent her a text to tell her to check the auction app, and then you pushed up from the door, heading to your studio downstairs.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, amidst the brushes and pots of paint you had left hanging around, not really caring about cleaning after yourself when you were in the arms of inspiration. But right now, the mess was making you feel like an imposter, like people would soon find out that you weren’t worth it.

It was then that you finally checked what Namjoon had sent you.

I hope all is well, his first message read. It was followed by, I’ll be in the studio until later tonight, but would you like to hang out after? Finally, his last message was, I’m going to come over to your studio after closing hour with take-out

For some reason, the thought of him coming here made you want to disappear through the floor, but it was already too late. Indeed, your phone started vibrating in your hand with an upcoming call, and his name on the screen taunted you, telling you that, yes, you were just an imposter.

You picked up, hands shaking slightly as you brought the phone to your ear.

“Busy night,” Namjoon said as a greeting.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. You’re on your way?”

“I’m outside,” he admitted. “Just waiting for some people to walk away before I come in. I assume it’s locked?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “I’ll come open for you.”

There was an awkward silence as if he expected you to say something more. When you didn’t, he said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, and cringed at yourself. You weren’t a liar, hated lying, and lying to him felt like you were eating something foul. “Just tired.”

“Well, I hope you’re excited for some take-out. I got your favourite.”

Now, your heart ached in your chest. Because that was Namjoon. Namjoon would always get your favourite food, would always know what to do to cheer you up. Tonight, it felt wrong, as if you didn’t deserve it.

And really, did you deserve it at all? Did you deserve the attention that he had brought to you? Did you deserve the shine in the spotlight?

You highly doubted so.

Walking upstairs felt like a trek to the top of Mount Everest. You were aware that it was anxiety, that you probably shouldn’t listen to the thoughts right now. But they were taunting you, haunting you, a thousand little ghosts spinning around your head in dizzying circles until all that was left was a broken piece of you.

The sight of Namjoon, hood up and mask on, on the other side of the door wasn’t a relief. It was a hand clutching your throat, choking you up until you were left gasping for air on the ground. You stalled for a few seconds, and you wondered if he could feel your hesitancy. If he knew the spirals you had been going down, if he knew you were questioning everything.

You clenched your jaw, sighed deeply, and somehow a small spark of light split the darkness. Because this was Namjoon. This was the same Namjoon as a decade ago. The first boy you had ever loved – could he still really just be that today?

Finally, you walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it for him. His dragon eyes were unreadable, but they were questioning. You felt as if they were asking questions to your soul directly and, ever bared in front of him, you were pretty sure your soul was answering.

“Hey baby,” he greeted you as he walked in, and you quickly shut the door and locked it behind him.

“Hi,” you said, voice vulnerable in the midst of your anxiety.

“You’ve been busy?” he asked, the soothing tone of his voice dragging a gentle hand on your back, telling you that maybe, maybe if you could let go of the anxiety, everything would be okay.

But could you, when its talons had sunk so deep into your heart you couldn’t quite tell if it was still beating?

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’ve been working on a piece and… didn’t see the time fly.”

He nodded understandingly. “Of course. That’s why I brought food.”

And that was how you found yourself sitting next to him on the couch in your studio, eyes trailing to your piece of art. You wondered if he could see your anxiety in the swirls of darker colours on the canvas. Could he tell you were haunted?

Could he be the solution?

“I think my album is going to be good,” he said as he swallowed the fried chicken he was eating. “You’re going to love it.”

You pursed your lips, not willing to tell him that you’d always loved whatever he made, even back then. “Of course.”

He flashed you a smile, but you could see that it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, and you both finished eating in silence. When you were done, Namjoon sat back in the couch, letting out a long sigh as one of his hands gently landed on your thigh. You immediately tensed, and his hand slid away, fingers flexing as if they wished they could hold onto you, but knew it was best not to.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his deep voice surrounding you, echoes reverberating through the fabric of your soul.

Could you tell him? Could you be honest with Kim Namjoon, or would it make him run away?

A scary thought formed in your mind, coming from the dirtiest part of your soul. Would it be better if he ran away?

“A lot,” you admitted, unable to hide the truth from him. “Quite a lot.”

You met his gaze for a few seconds before finding solace in your painting again.

“You know you can talk to me,” he gently said.

“I know.”

But you couldn’t. You didn’t want to have to tell him that this was all too much for you. That it was too quick, that you felt like you were stuck in a train aiming for a wall at top speed.

“I’m sorry,” he said after the silence had stretched so much, you thought it was about to rip the fabric of reality itself.

“What for?” you asked, genuinely wondering.

He leaned his elbows on his knees, pulling at some calluses on his palm that he got from working out without gloves on. “We haven’t really talked about the rumours.”

You hadn’t. Hadn’t even mentioned anything once, preferring to act as if it had never happened. Foolishly, you’d hoped that it would preserve your anonymity, even after it was gone. Even after the first fans stepped foot in your gallery, even after you’d seen articles about you in the press.

“Yeah.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” he asked, and he turned his head towards you.

From this angle, it was entirely too hard to avoid his gaze. Instead, you latched onto it, hoping it would make everything better.

“It might be,” you said. You sighed, wetting your lips before you added, “It is.”

“How have you been feeling?”

You weren’t sure there was a way to answer the question. Because you didn’t want him to know just how bad the anxiety had gotten, didn’t want him to know that your life changing so much in such a short amount of time was the scariest thing that had ever happened to you.

“Stressed,” you answered, deciding to use a lesser word in the hope that it wouldn’t hurt him too much. “Especially now that the anonymity is gone.”

He nodded. “I was expecting that to happen.”

You cocked an eyebrow, but found yourself unable to say anything else.

“I’m sorry I took that away from you,” he murmured, and a flash of pain in his eyes told you that he really was.

That Kim Namjoon felt guilty when it came to you, more than he had probably ever felt guilty about anything in life.

“You didn’t mean to,” you reassured him. Because it was the truth – you couldn’t be angry at him for what had happened. You had been part of it just as much as him.

“But it’s still my fault,” he added. “It’s because of me if the media has been after you.”

“It’s not because of you.” You paused, searching for the right words to convey the meaning you wanted. “It’s not you as a person, but rather what you mean to the world.”

You slightly winced, convinced that you had somehow landed on the wrong words after all.

“Possibly,” he said. He sighed, before once again sitting back on the couch. His fingers twitched before he clenched them on his thighs, visibly resisting the urge to do something.

To touch you, you assumed.

“Possibly,” he repeated. “But it’s hard to separate the person that I am from the person that I mean to others. To me, it’s just me, both of these.”

You nodded, because you already knew that. Namjoon was authentic through and through, with everything that he did and was. With every single one of his words – he was a cool-minded reflective person, and it was one of the things you liked the most about him. Maybe because it was such a stark contrast from when he was young, blood boiling at any minor inconvenience.

Maybe because it was an anchor in an otherwise stormy life.

“I know,” you said. “And that’s why I don’t believe it’s your fault. You didn’t mean for any of that to happen. And neither did I.”

“Still sucks that it did.”

You’d never heard a truer sentence before. And it was rhetorical, didn’t mean for a reply. All that you could do was nod, gaze escaping from his to find your wriggling fingers in your lap. A new silence stretched between you, still as heavy. Heavier than gravity – was it going to form a black hole between you and him?

“What’s that painting you’ve been working on?” he asked.

You glanced towards the art. Observed the paler backdrop, the painting that you had started in Ilsan. Your anxiety had splashed swirls of darker blue over it, adding melancholy to it that you’d never really visited in your art before.

“Something to get my mind off the edge,” you admitted. “I’ve been trying to pour my thoughts into it. To escape reality for a time.”

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. Weeks later, you’d look back on this moment and realize that it was the catalyst to the destruction. But right this instant, you couldn’t even think past the words.

“To escape?” he prodded.

You nodded. “Don’t you use music as an escape?”

“Yeah,” he said, but somehow his voice was flat.

It brought your attention back to him, and you noticed his eyes on you. Noticed the grief that your words had instilled behind his pupils, hiding somewhere in the deep brown of his gaze.

“So I assume you must understand.”

He didn’t answer right away. Held your gaze as if time had stopped, and maybe it should have. Maybe time should have been kind to you and him, in its chronology.

“If you need an escape from this,” he said, motioning vaguely between you and him, “maybe we shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, turning cold. Anxiety flooded in, washing away everything that you once were. You felt naked, young, as if you’d gone back in time and were watching him walk away again.

“I never said I needed an escape from us,” you said, and the venom in your voice surprised both you and him.

“Are you happy right now?” he enquired. In a whisper, as if it was the scariest thing. And scary words could never be uttered too loud – wouldn’t they just break everything in their wake?

“I’m not sure.” You saw the flash of hurt on his face, and you quickly rushed to add, “I’m just so anxious.”

“I’ve been making you feel anxious?”

You shook your head. “No. Not you. The situation. The sudden fame. The spotlight and my art being sold at crazy prices. The fact that I have to worry about paparazzi, about what I do or say. It’s so sudden.”

Namjoon didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked at you, gaze heavy with feelings you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Maybe it was understanding – because of course he’d understand what you were going through. He was going through it too, though he’d known this life for years now.

“I’m sorry I brought this to you,” he eventually chose to say, carefully. As if he was aware you were fragile glass right now, one wrong move and you’d explode into a million tiny little shards. “I can take it away easily,” he claimed.

You cocked an eyebrow, because was he offering you salvation? You highly doubted he could.

“How?”

He pursed his lips, features turning apologetic for a time. “We break up. We go our separate ways, I get the rumours off your back. No one’s going to be after you anymore if they think I’m with someone else.”

The loudest sound in the universe was your heartbeat, in that instant. It was so loud even your thoughts became distant little specks, unable to break the wall of sound.

“What?”

He sighed, shrugging. As if he was giving up, as if he’d given up even before he’d gotten here. “If being with me makes you so anxious,” he started. “And by that, I mean not me as a person. What I mean to the world, or whatever it is that you said earlier. If it makes you too anxious, I’m just going to remove myself from the situation.”

Were you stupid, for being unable to reply anything other than ‘what?’ again? Perhaps you were. Especially as he scoffed this time around, and something started aching in your chest, differently than it was before.

“I think it’s better for you if we break up,” Namjoon explained. When you remained silent this time around, he slowly shut his eyes, head hanging low. “I don’t think I could reassure you enough when it comes to your anxiety for us to be able to be together.”

Your heart felt as if it had slowed down in your chest, so much so that the world surrounding you turned silent, soundless. You heard the breath of air that you took in, cringing as it did nothing to ease the slowly rising panic in you.

“I don’t want us to break up,” you said, murmured, though the moment the words crossed the threshold of your lips you realized that perhaps this had been what you were aiming for all along.

“I can’t date someone that gets so anxious just because they’re with me,” he answered, and he looked truly apologetic. Guilty too, as if he had committed the worst crime humanity could witness.

And perhaps breaking a heart truly was the worst crime out there.

It felt unlike Namjoon. You’d gotten the impression that he was someone reliable, someone cool-headed who’d be able to support you, to help you go through your anxiety. But as you stared at him, sitting there on the couch in your studio, you realized that he, too, struggled with his own anxiety. Had probably struggled with a lot of it in the past, so much so that he couldn’t afford to put himself in a situation where he’d only get bad again.

The only solution appeared like a dark cloud looming over the horizon of your conscience. You wished wind could blow it away, wished you were strong enough to manage your anxiety without losing him, but you knew it’d be easier once he was gone. Knew your sleep wouldn’t be as troubled, knew you’d be able to dwindle away into anonymity once more.

You had to let him go. For your sake, mostly, but for his too. Because he deserved someone who could shine with him in his spotlight, someone who’d be able to accept all of him, including his fame. And that just wasn’t you.

“Namjoon…”

“It’s hard for me too, you know?” he added. “To watch the person that I love getting worse every day, knowing that I’m the cause of it. Y/n…” he paused, and this time he was the one to look away. “I haven’t even seen you smile in weeks. Ever since the rumours.” He shook his head. “Even before that. I’m not sure you’ve been happy since we started dating.”

“That’s not true,” you declared, trying to put as much conviction in your words as you possibly could. “I was happy in Ilsan. I was happy when we came back, too. It really is just the sudden fame that’s been throwing me off.”

You were relieved you’d finally found words to explain your anxiety. And somehow, them slowly falling out of your mouth eased the anxiety, eased the fear.

But you knew you were going to let him go.

“Then we take a break,” he continued. “I don’t want to be the source of something negative in someone’s life. We take a break, let the rumours dwindle away, and when it’s safe, we can try again.”

Your eyes blurred with tears. If he saw them, he ignored it, instead focusing on the calluses in his hands again.

“If that is what you want, I’m not going to force you to stay with me,” you said, voice small in the enormity of what was happening.

He scoffed. “What I want is just impossible. This is just second best.”

“Breaking up with me is second best?” you asked, anger and bitterness swirling under the surface of your ache. “It’s that easy for you?”

He frowned, meeting your gaze again. “Who said it was easy?”

“You’re the one that claims it’s a good thing. Second best.”

At that, he rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head again. “This is not what I meant.”

Maybe your anxiety was winning against you, maybe the knowledge that you had to let him go was stronger than anything else. Because you couldn’t watch him anymore. Couldn’t gaze at his deep brown eyes anymore, knowing that they’d become ghosts in your memory in just a few moments.

A few moments of breaking, of a glass heart dropped to a stone-cold floor.

“Then leave, Joon,” you said, voice unwavering even though you felt like ice was clutching your entire being. “Let’s take this break, let’s see if it’s better for both of us.”

The dark cloud rolled closer, engulfing you. Especially as he didn’t fight more. As he nodded his head, got up and motioned towards the stairs. As if that was enough when he was dropping you, giving up on you.

But weren’t you giving up on him just as much?

That night, you sat cross-legged in front of your canvas, watching the opened paint pots littering the floor around you. When your eyes slid back towards the canvas, a single tear escaped the confines of your eyelids, rolling along your cheek.

Deep brown eyes looked back at you, shining with their own unshed tears, reminders of where you failed in the timeline of your life.

*****

Thirteen years ago

You were going to kill Kim Namjoon. You would kill him, and be happy about it.

You’d heard from a friend of a friend that he had been hanging out with a certain Jeon Yuri, a beautiful, popular girl that had every reason to be liked by a guy like Namjoon. It was understandable – everyone loved Yuri.

Only, Yuri hated you. Always did, and took to insulting you in that covert way of hers that made people think she was complimenting them. But you saw right through her – you knew she was just a conniving rich girl. So you hated her back, with all the hate your little heart could summon.

To think Namjoon was hanging out with her? You’d kill him for it.

So you waited outside the gates of your childhood home for him to show up. You had been waiting there for a while already – partly because you needed to cool off, but also because you wanted to avoid your parents’ questions. Because obviously they loved Namjoon.

Everyone loved Namjoon, and everyone loved Yuri. You knew you were going to hate the both of them.

Namjoon arrived with a smile on his face, dimples flashing as if they’d get you to fold, to forgive him. To be fair, he did not know about your history with Yuri, as you never spoke about it to anyone. But when he saw your features, his smile immediately crumbled, replaced by worry.

“What’s wrong?” he instantly asked as he stopped in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” you repeated, before scoffing. “Why did I have to hear from Kim Haru that you’re hanging out with Jeon Yuri?”

His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong with hanging out with her?”

Your eyes widened and your fists landed on your hips. “Everything? She’s just a bitch.”

“Excuse me, what?” Namjoon let out, and you could tell by the reddening of his cheeks that he was already getting worked up too. “You told me to never call a girl a bitch and now you’re doing it?”

You rolled your eyes so far back you thought you could see your brain. “It’s not the same thing.”

He scoffed, in that condescending way of his that he always used when he wanted to win an argument. And you saw red. You saw blood red, scarlet like you were but a bull attracted to a flag.

“Don’t you fucking condescend me right now.”

“Don’t you fucking curse at me.”

“No seriously,” you continued. “I don’t want a guy who’s only after popular girls.”

“I am not,” Namjoon drawled. “I’m tutoring her and Park Seojin in maths. You already knew this.”

As a matter of fact, you did not. “You never told me.”

“Because you never listen to me,” he spat. “You’re always just drawing your fucking drawings as if that’ll lead you anywhere in life.”

“Kim Namjoon!” you burst. “And you’re always just going on about how you want to be a rapper. You’re a kid, dude, stop chasing after pointless dreams.”

He stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stood your ground, crossing your arms on your chest. “You’ll be sorry you ever said that. Oh, you’ll be so fucking sorry.”

“I don’t think I will. I don’t even think I’ll remember you.”

It was a low blow, and you could tell it hit him right in the gut. “You’re breaking up with me over such a stupid thing?”

“I’m breaking up with you because you’re a liar. You said you were with your friends, and then I learn that you were with Jeon Yuri?”

He sighed for a long time, shaking his head in frustration. “Oh, so this is really what it is about? Maybe there’s a reason why I didn’t want to tell you I was tutoring her.”

You scowled. “Why?”

“Because I knew you’d throw a jealousy fit. You think you’re entitled all of my time.”

“Fuck you,” you growled. “Fuck you. I have all the rights to be jealous when my boyfriend hides stuff like that from me.”

“Boyfriend? I thought you broke up with me.”

Your gaze slightly widened. “What?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore,” he said, adding your name like it was an insult. “Get over me already.”

“Do you even love me?” you replied, your anger suddenly dying down to be replaced with gut-wrenching pain.

But you knew better than to expect his anger to ever die down. It took forever for Namjoon to calm down, and you feared you had crossed a line tonight.

“Not when you get mad at me for no valid reason.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “I just don’t like her. Can’t you tutor someone else?”

“No.”

The simple negation brought back a shade of anger to you, and you said, “Then perhaps we really should break up. Maybe I can find someone that actually respects me.”

“Because I don’t respect you?” he said, hands moving around his frame in anger.

“Clearly not.”

“You’re right then,” he continued. “I don’t respect you. I don’t love you either, apparently, so I’m done.”

“Joon…”

“No, Maehwa,” he said, and this time the nickname broke your heart in two, splitting it right in the middle. “You don’t say my name like that.” He slowly shook his head, seething. “As a matter of fact, I don’t want you to ever speak to me again. To ever look at me. I don’t want someone that acts like a fucking child.”

“You act like a child all the time,” you interrupted, but he ignored you.

He ignored you, in favor of turning around to walk away. You watched his back, before taking a step towards him, yelling his name again. He stopped, but didn’t turn to look at you. Instead, he said, “I’ll kill you if you follow me.”

You scoffed. “Oh please, as if you’d ever hurt me.”

“I’m serious, I’ll fucking kill you if I ever see you again.”

It felt enormous, to say such a thing. And perhaps youth was that – enormous in its drama. So you replied, “I hate you more than I hate anything in this world.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and then he walked away.

He walked away into the October night, and your cleaved heart shattered in a million tiny pieces.

☆☆☆☆☆

Read the rest of the fic here bc tumblr sucks and now we can't write posts longer than 1,000 blocks

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emmasbrain · 7 months ago

Text

Miscommunication (the fun kind)

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: slight alcohol consumption? i think that’s all, nothing NSFW in this one

Synopsis: Your good friend Penelope sees you in a bar and begs you to sit with her and her work friends. You realise you like one. She also realises you like one. She however, thinks you like the wrong one.

The moment Penelope spotted you, she gasped. “Oh my god!” You spun round on your seat on the bar towards her running over to you in unrunnable heels, a brilliant smile gracing her face and a surprised one falling to yours as you saw each other.

“Penelope?” You hopped off your bar stool and pulled her into a hug. “It’s been too long darlin’. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in years.” You gushed, definitely over exaggerating your circumstances.

“Didn’t we go for coffee last Thursday?” She giggles, and you see the familiar glint in her eye that she only got after a couple of margaritas.

“Like I said, years!” You giggled right back, and she held your hands, leaning in towards you more.

“Who are you here with?” She questioned, looking around.

You shrugged casually, “I came with some girls from work, but they all left with guys and I decided to drink my loneliness away… Except I haven’t actually had a drink yet because I’ve been sitting here debating whether I really want to drink alone.” Your words, though holding a little weight, came out with a laugh and a self deprecating sigh.

Penelope gave you a look, and you knew she was brewing something. “What if… you come sit with us?” Before you can ask questions or protest, she continues, “You know I’ve always wanted to introduce you to the team, which is who I’m here with, and it would be good for you too ‘cus it means you can drink not on your own.” She gives you puppy dog eyes, and clasps her hands together waiting for your answer.

You relent, deciding the sooner you had an interaction with her FBI friends the sooner it was over. You had heard some things, and they seemed lovely, but they were her friends and you had the feeling you wouldn’t be very welcome with your job as a journalist. “Okay fine, but you can’t mention my job. I don’t want them to hate me on the first impression.”

“It’s okay they know, I told them ages ago about what you do. Alright you stay here, I’ll go tell them and then I can introduce you.” She was practically buzzing, so excited you could see it in the air around her. She shuffled away happily, and came back to drag you over a moment later.

As you approached the group, she introduced you in order of where they sat around the table. “That’s JJ, Derek, David, Hotch, Emily, and Spencer. Everybody, this is my friend Y/N.” She smiles all big and goofy and then scrunches up her face in disappointment. “There’s no chairs left.”

You take this as an opportunity. “Well, I suppose that means I should g-“

“Here, you can have mine. I’ll grab one from over there.” Spencer quickly finds a solution, standing to walk over to an unused table and fetch another chair. You follow him with your eyes as he lifts it over. Doctor Spencer Reid. Penelope had mentioned the man on multiple occasions. Ever the problem solver, you gathered from her ramblings on the things he would do and say.

Penelope sits in the chair between JJ and Derek, and the latter lets his arm rest on Penelope’s shoulders. As you sit down in Spencer’s sacrificed chair, he pulls another one in between you and JJ, and you both awkwardly smile at each other before you look down to your hands in your lap. “Thank you.” You whisper to him.

“What for?” He whispers back.

“The chair.” You mumble, and he nods.

“It’s no problem.”

“Okay, I say we get some drinks. How bout it, pretty girl?” Derek's words snap you from your awkwardness, and you smile, realising he’s given you a nickname already.

“I am in dire need of a beer.” You reply, and Emily looks at you from your right.

“Beer, huh? I woulda coined you for a vodka redbull kinda girl. All for the thrills.” She looks at you with a smirk and you shake your head with a giggle.

“I’m normally a whiskey kinda girl actually, I get that from my parents. I only very rarely drink vodka, it just makes me want to make out with people.” The embarrassment soaks in the moment the words come out of your mouth and you realise you’ve just told a group of behavioural analysts that vodka makes you horny.

“Alcohol oftentimes does have the effect of making you sexually confident and can heighten feelings of affection and make you more open to try things sexually. One could assume that your specific set of hormones are just more affected by the chemicals in vodka in comparison to other alcohols.” Spencer pulls his lips into a straight line, and you giggle at his readily available information. Penelope wasn’t joking.

“Thanks, Doc.” You bump his shoulder, and he looks a little confused but mumbles a “No problem” anyway. As he looks away towards Derek and Penelope, you take the chance to study his features discreetly. The angle of his jaw perfectly contrasts the softness of his eyes, the honey brown colour almost sparkling within the dim lighting of the bar. His cheeks are tinged pink from the currently inaudible teasing from Derek, and there’s a little smile on his lips that you could almost envision yourself kissing.

Derek breaks you out of your head a second time. “Hey pretty girl, you wanna go get those drinks now?” He flashes you a grin and you smile, nodding.

“Yea let’s do it. Does everyone know what they want?” As you’re trying to split everyone’s orders between you and Derek, Penelope gives you a look that says “do you have the hots for my friend?” and you give her a look back that says “maybe..” she gasps and the whole table turns to look at her, making her realise that she’d turned the conversation into an out loud one now.

“You know what? Us girls can handle those drinks, Derek. Why don’t you have a seat.” She drags you up to the bar and orders quickly before she forgets, and then whips round to face you.

“You like him. I saw it on your face. You like him!!” She whisper shouts and you glance back to Derek and Spencer hunched over the table chatting. You smile.

“Look at him! Of course I like him, who wouldn’t like him? He’s simultaneously cute and hot and I swear men aren’t supposed to work like that.” You whisper shout back at her, and her smiles sadly.

“I wish I could set you up, but he’s taken. And his girlfriend is amazing so I can’t even be mad about it.” She sighs, and you slightly deflate.

“Oh man, I can’t believe the first time in years that I actually want a guy he’s taken. Just my luck, I suppose.” You laugh, and grab the drinks that have been sat on the bar. “Well, it was nice while it lasted.” You shrug your shoulders and head back over to the table with her, handing everyone their drinks and sitting back next to Spencer to sip your own.

After an hour or so, conversation was going a tad dry, and you decided to use an old icebreaker your college roommate had taught you to get things flowing again. “Okay, one after the other I want everyone to tell the group something embarrassing. It can be anything, as long as it’s about you.” Everyone nods in agreement, and Derek starts.

“There was this one time I was flirting with a girl while I was out with my mom. Now that was my first mistake, my mom comes over and starts talkin to this girl askin if she’s my girlfriend. I said momma I’ve only just met her, and she said ‘well then you better hurry up, this girl is far too beautiful for you to pass up’. Before I could even speak, the girl says ‘I think you’re too beautiful to pass up’. She was talkin to my mom! And I just thought hey maybe she’s just tryna get on moms good side, you know? You win over mom, you win over me. But then she spent 10 minutes flirting with my mother until I had to drag her away. My mom will not stop bringing it up just to mock me.”

Spencer cracked up beside you at the story, and you couldn't help laughing a little with him.

Penelope pipes in, “Tell them when this happened.” He grimaces.

“Last year.” He barely says it loud enough to hear, but you all catch it and it sends you all into a fit of laughter.

Rossi reminisces about the time he proposed to one of his ex wives, and she said no. In public. Then later in the day said yes, telling him she just wanted to embarrass him the way his public proposal had embarrassed her.

Hotch talks of the time he finished work early and decided to pick up Jack from school. The teacher had asked him if he was Jack’s grandfather, and he had to explain that he most definitely was not.

“I once hugged my friend from behind to tell her goodbye at a party. It wasn’t my friend.” Is all Emily gives for details. She grimaces at the sheer memory of it, and you can’t help the little smile that graces your lips.

“My turn then?” You question the group, and they nod. “I probably should’ve used this time to think of what I was gonna say. Well I suppose I’ll use the only one that’s currently present in my mind,” You turn to face Spencer, “I was gonna ask you out before Penelope had to drag me away and tell me you were taken. Which was slightly embarrassing for me in the moment, but as I’m saying this I realise I’ve just embarrassed myself even more.” You nod through your internal pain at how stupid you felt, and took a deep breath before trying to move on. Spencer looked too taken aback to let that happen.

“You were gonna ask me out? And Penelope told you I was in a relationship? Why would she do that?” He looks plain confused now, and you mirror his expression.

“I never told you Spencer was in a relationship. I told you Derek was in a relationship, because I thought he was the friend you said you liked! Wait. So when you said he was hot you meant Spencer?” Now even Penelope looked confused, although not exactly for the same reason you were.

“Yes! Of course I meant Spencer! No offence Derek, you’re lovely but you’re not my type.” You rushed, giving him a sheepish smile.

“And I am?” Spencer speaks again.

“Pretty much yea.” The smile he gives you at your words makes you look away nervously.

“So what you mean is that if you hadn’t been told I was taken I could have went on a date with you?” He’s looking inquisitively at your face now, tracing for signs of a lie as he waits for you to respond.

“You still could go on a date with me.” You suggest, with a little shrug and a smile that reaches your eyes.

“I’d like that.” He nods, slightly enthusiastic but trying to play it cool.

“Me too.” You nod with him. “I should probably be heading home, I have work I still need to catch up on. But I could give you my number and you could take me to your favourite place or something. Somewhere I can get to know you just from looking around.” You suggest, gathering your things and scribbling your number down on a spare napkin.

“That sounds good- great. That sounds great.” His eyes are filled with a mixture of excitement and something else you’re not sure about, but the look on his face makes you smile.

“Call me then.” You nod finally, getting up to leave. You give everyone their goodbyes, hugging them all lightly and giving Spencer a little wave.

Over the next few days the anticipation of his call is almost overwhelming. And when your phone begins to ring, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen, you bite your nail before clicking the answer button. “Hello?”

“Hi.”

A/N: I don’t actually really like this, but it’s fine. I wanna do a part two, someone tell me to do a part two plsplsplspls. (May rewrite this once i’m not jet lagged and cramming it between studying but idk)

#doctor spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds

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atavist · 1 month ago

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On the eve of (the latest) most important election of our lifetimes, Mira Ptacin tells the story of the journalists, World War II veterans, rabble-rousers, lumberjacks, and policymakers who, when he tried to build a training compound for fellow fascists, ran a neo-Nazi out of rural Maine.

Issue no. 156, "The Crash of the Hammer," is now live:

Once he’d settled in Maine, Hammer kept his followers abreast of his progress breaking ground, frequently posting photos and uploading videos to Telegram. There was Hammer standing next to a pile of freshly chopped wood, snowshoeing through the forest, holding a beer in front of a bonfire. Followers saw him cradling an AK-47 in his arms. (Caption: “All this Slavic war training in the Maine woods has me exhausted!”) Hammer posted footage from a celebration he held with about eight of his followers, where he claimed they sacrificed a goat. Another clip showed Hammer helping a man in a balaclava slice the palm of his hand as part of an initiation ritual.

Hammer appeared excited, optimistic. He was careful—or thought that he was careful—not to reveal his exact location, lest it attract unwanted attention from his enemies, including the media and the FBI. If people wanted to join him at the compound, they could get in touch directly.

But unbeknownst to Hammer, he was being followed. A longtime Mainer was determined to wipe the smirk off the neo-Nazi’s face.

#election #fascism #neo-nazis #white supremacy #trump #Maine #true story #longreads #longform #atavist #The Atavist #blood tribe #racism #bigotry #hate

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jrswritings · 3 months ago

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Tingles and Giggles - Chapter One - Tyler Owens x Reader

Chapter One - Nice Try, Owens

It was the end of the second tornado-chasing season for (Y/n) and the Storm Riders. A couple of years ago a local bar in Oklahoma named the Dust Devil Dive hosted a yearly celebration party for all the storm chasers to relax and share stories from the year's chases.

Granted, most times it was just your team, a few from Storm Par, another smaller team named Atmosphere Aces, and the Tornado Wranglers. Thankfully when the owners, Kathy and Randy, threw this party they closed the place down to outsiders, which included all of the Tornado Wrangler fans. You and your team got tired of having their fans around constantly just because the leader, if you could call him that, was good-looking and charismatic enough to make any girl who looked at him melt. That man is Tyler Owens.

While, yes, he is good-looking and a smooth talker, he was also reckless and annoying. There were numerous times you had watched him and Boone drive into the middle of a storm in that old red truck of his and put it in park to then shoot fireworks up into the tornado. You’d have to admit that his bravery and respect for the storm were admirable; driving into the middle of a tornado was not as admirable.

You smirked to yourself while sitting at the bar while sipping your whiskey and diet coke thinking of all the crazy stunts the Tornado Wranglers have pulled. You turned your barstool slightly to watch the teams intermingle on the dance floor, forgetting about all the turbulence everyone had gone through the last few weeks.

As Rodney Atkins played throughout the bar, you turned back to the bar and finished your drink hearing everyone sing along at the top of their lungs.

“If you’re going through hell, keep on going, don’t slow down!” They all sang, “If you’re scared, don’t show it, you might get out ‘fore the devil even knows you’re there!”

In the corner of your eye, you could see Tyler playing pool with Dexter while trying to teach Ben, a journalist from a city near London. You smirked while watching Ben try to use the cue to hit the white ball on the table which was basically lined up with the seven ball and one of the corner pockets.

While he took his shot and missed horribly by barely hitting the white ball and almost falling onto the table, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. That caused Tyler to look up from under his cowboy hat and make eye contact with you.

For a man you didn’t necessarily enjoy talking with, he sure did something to your brain chemistry. You lifted your new drink and slightly tipped it toward him in a cheers manner. He did the same with his beer bottle, the two of you both took a drink and you turned back to the bar where the bartender was asking if you needed anything else.

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, placing your glass back on its chintzy bar coaster. You took your phone out of your pocket and scrolled Facebook for a minute or two to catch up on your family's lives that you had been missing for the last few years while out storm chasing.

“It’s hard for you, too, huh sweetheart?” A voice you knew instantly asked from beside you.

You glanced over and saw Tyler sitting on the stool while putting his bottle on the bar to signal the bartender for another.

“I wish I could go back more and- wait. Why am I telling you my sap story of not seeing my family for the last couple of years?” You laughed, putting your phone down and grabbing your drink.

“Because I’m just another friendly face at the bar?” He said, looking over at you and smiling slightly.

“I don’t know about friendly, but definitely another face,” you said, stirring your straw around.

“Ouch, okay, (Y/n)’s in that type of mood tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m in no mood, Tyler,” you stated, “Just stating a fact.”

“I see how it is,” he chuckled, “And to think I was talking to quite a beautiful face.”

This statement took you back slightly, you were used to Tyler picking on you and calling you other things like your last name and calling you Salado, which is the town in Texas you’re from that’s about 45 minutes away from Waco, Texas. Salado is a quaint village with what you can call an artistic flair. While your parents were cattle farmers, you did your chores and spent time with a few favorite cows; you also liked going to the heart of the small town and enjoying the artists painting and sculpting in the parks and the numerous bands playing around the town in the little saloons. That’s where you fell in love with music and tried to pursue it as a second job aside from helping out on the farm as that was a full-time job.

When that fell through, you moved up to Oklahoma to try storm chasing as you had always been in love with storms when you were little. Instead of hiding under the covers or running to your parents, you were at the big picture window in the living room watching the lightning and trees blowing in the wind.

You were jolted from your thoughts by Tyler nudging your elbow with his.

“Hmm?” You asked.

“Dance with me?” He asked, standing up and holding his hand out to you. In the mirror behind the bar, you could see the teams paired up in couples to do their best slow dancing.

You laughed slightly, “Nice try, Owens.”

“Please? We’re the only ones not dancing right now,” he said, taking your hand off your glass and pulling you to the dance floor to the tune of ‘Made For You’ by Jake Owen.

He didn’t give you much of a chance to say no as he pulled you to his chest, his right hand going to your waist and his left finding your hand. You sighed to yourself and put your left on his bicep, which was more muscular feeling than it looked. You figured as long as you were here, you might as well enjoy the dance since the last time you slow danced was with your dad at a friend's wedding.

You weren’t sure if he was just that intoxicated or if he was fully coherent, but he was rubbing small circles with his thumb on your hip while you both swayed to the music. While your body relaxed you took a deep breath in, smelling the mix of leather, dried rain, an almost musky smell, and a hint of sweat. All of it combined made your heart swoon for this crazy cowboy.

“Hey (L/n)?” He whispered in your ear, holding his head close to yours.

“Yeah, Owens?” You whispered back.

“Think maybe sometime I can take you out?”

You looked up at his blueish green eyes that looked down at you with the most sincere look.

“Why?” You asked, giggling slightly, “Why would Tyler Owens want to go out with someone like me?”

“Because the girl I’m holding in my arms is the best woman I’ve met in my years of livin’,” he stated, pressing the bridge of his nose to the top of your head.

“Yeah right, Tyler,” you said, sighing, “Everyone knows you got a thing for Kate.”

“But she is nothing compared to you,” he said, pulling you closer slightly, “Call me crazy, but I fell in love with you when we first met and I knew I’d have to try and get closer to you somehow. I just hate that it’s taken me this long to finally say somethin.”

“I guess I don’t believe you?” You said softly, taking in the scent you’ve grown to want more of.

“I mean it, sweetheart,” he said, “It might be, well, I know it’s the beer talkin’, but everything I’m sayin’ is true. You’re one of the smartest and most beautiful girls I’ve seen. And that’s sayin’ a lot since I’ve seen my fair share of gals.”

“I can’t tell if that last part is an insult or a compliment,” you whispered, Tyler kissing the top of your head softly.

“Always a compliment when it comes to you, baby girl,” he said, pulling away and twirling you as the song ended and ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ by Luke Combs started.

You looked back up at him, his eyes looking back at you with happiness sewn in them.

“I suppose one wouldn’t hurt, just no YouTube star Tyler, got it?” You said, walking back to your seat at the bar. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked away.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, following you to the bar.

“You should probably get back to your game of pool before Ben hurts someone,” you giggle, Tyler looking over and seeing Ben almost hit Boone in the gut with the end of the cue.

“Good call, I’ll be back once we win,” he said while grabbing his beer.

“If you win,” you state, taking a drink of your now watered-down whiskey coke.

“Don’t test me, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your head, kissing it before walking back to Dexter and Ben.

You shook your head and laughed softly. If the tornadoes you chased didn’t do anything to you, this cowboy definitely would.

Want more? Here's Chapter Two! Masterlist :)

#tyler owens #twisters #tyler owens x reader #glen powell #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens twisters #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you #twisters x reader #tyler owens fanfiction

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wardenparker · 27 days ago

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Bones Full of Words, Epilogue

Javier Peña x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

“He pleaded so much that he lost his voice. His bones began to fill with words.” ― Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Javier Peña had no way of knowing for certain the American journalist he sometimes sees sniffing around the embassy for her stories is also getting information about the narcos from the same girls that he is. After Helena is brutalized by sicarios, it is that same journalist who comes to take her away and look after her -- giving Javi reason to pause and reconsider his opinion of the woman he had previously not considered as anything more than eye candy.

He has no idea that once she has walked fully into his life, he will be battling with himself over whether or not he should stop her from walking out it of again.

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Cursing, alcohol, food/eating, talk of weight or size, domestic fluff, sass, married flirting, pregnancy, childbirth Summary: Thanksgiving time has come again, but the Peñas are in for more than just a nice meal this year. Notes: It has been such an amazing journey following these two through their love story! We hope you've enjoyed it as much as we have 🧡🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12

There is nothing unusal at all about the dog being the first one to spot the car, but you're still slightly startled by the commotion when the hound in the living room starts howling to sound the alarm. After that it's the two kids who come scrambling out of their room and bounding down the stairs screaming "Daddy's home!" as if he had been gone more than just a few hours.

The whole brigade has sounded the alarm, and you can't help but grin.

Hearing the dog barking and the kids scrambling around in the house before he ever even hits the door, Javi is chuckling as he grabs the deli bag and his bag filled with papers he will need to read sometime over the holiday break. “Shit.” He hisses, turning back to the car to grab the drink carrier, knowing you would be disappointed if you didn’t get your root beer.

"Boys, you have to let your Dad into the house!" You call, coming out from the kitchen with a dishrag in hand. You had been chopping enough onions to sink a ship and washing the smell off your hands was extremely necessary.

“It’s okay!” Javi calls out, although it’s a juggling act to keep the drinks from spilling as the two exuberant kids launch themselves at him.

"You're going to fall over, babe." It is okay, though, and you're both laughing even as you reach forward over two young boys, one ambling basset hound, and a seven-month pregnant belly to grab multiple bags from his hands. "How was class?"

Javi snorts. “Half the class didn’t show up.” He chuckles. “I don’t blame them, I wouldn’t show up either.” He admits, knowing he had wished he was home with you and the boys rather than sitting in his lecture hall. “‘Professor Peña, whhhhyyyy do we have to do reading over the break?’” he pitches his voice up and imitates one of his students. “I really don’t give a shit if they read it or not, but they annoyed me so I assigned it.”

“Your reading list always makes for interesting dinner conversations, I’m sure.” There’s a grin on your face when he leans over to kiss you then head to switch gears immediately to catch your younger son as he launches himself into daddy’s arms. “It’s Steve’s book isn’t it?”

“Of course it is.” He flashes you a grin before he turns his attention back to his youngest child. “Were you good for mama today?” He asks, knowing that he is the mirror copy of a young Javier. So the answer is probably no.

“Yeah!” Your youngest affirms his innocence wholeheartedly, but you roll your eyes playfully.

“Come on boys, Daddy brought home lunch for everybody so let’s wash up.” It earns Javi another grateful kiss from you, since tuna sandwiches from the shop over by UGA campus are your new pregnancy craving. A tuna sandwich on their toasted oat bread, loaded with veggies and American cheese, with an ice cold root beer. He’s brought you home that same lunch every day for a week, and today he brought lunch for him and the boys too.

After the capture of the Rodriguez brothers and the take down of the entire Cali Cartel, Javier had been told his services were no longer needed in the DEA. Which was fine with him because he was going to tell them to go fuck themselves. He had thought about going back to Laredo, and you did for a month or so, but then a teaching position for criminal justice and political science became available at a respectable college and he took it. It only took two year for the University of Georgia to recruit him for their staff.

The blue house on the edge of campus with its white-trim windows and fenced-in yard has been your home ever since he took the job. The boys have started their lives here despite your oldest being born just before you left Colombia, and when they begged for a puppy last year it had been a beautiful basset puppy waiting for them under the tree on Christmas morning that really tied the bow on this being home.

“How are you and my baby girl doing?” After setting Oscar down to run after his brother, Javier pulls you by the waist to him, his hand moving to rub your stomach lovingly. He adores when you are pregnant and it’s especially sweet since you decided this was the last baby, and a little girl.

"We are not big fans of onions today." You grimace, knowing that it could be worse but that it feels like it's the only thing you've done all morning since getting the boys settled in their playroom. "But Marco came up wtih a new name he wanted to add to the list." The notepad on the refrigerator is where you keep the ongoing list of baby name ideas, and every once in a while the boys or another family member will contribute an idea as well. It was Chucho who ended up naming Oscar, and your brothers had pitched the name Marco originally. Names have become something of a family effort.

“Oh?” Javi hums, impressed by his excitement for the little sister due in February. “What did he come up with?”

The smirk on your face says you know Javi won't be as excited for long, considering his son's current favorite movie. "He would like to name his baby sister Donkey."

“That fucking movie” Javi closes his eyes and sighs, hating the fact he had taken Marco to see Shrek. Even though he loves it better than any other movie in the world. “Please tell me you didn’t write it down?”

"Oh no, I didn't." Your grin turns shit-eating as you point to the refrigerator where Marco's large, shaky handwriting clearly spells out the word and takes up four times as much room as any other name. "He asked to write it himself."

“Well I hate to burst his bubble…” Javi snorts at the slanted handwriting and the misspelled Donky written on the board. “We will not be naming our baby girl that.”

"Of course not." And that is where your expression turns fond again, shaking your head at your oldest baby but proud of him for wanting to contribute to a big family decision. "But I love that he's thinking about it."

“God.” He snorts, grinning at the antics of his children, but like you, he’s proud of them. “So no onions today, huh? Made you gassy?”

"The smell made me sick first thing," you admit. After washing your hands with the kids, the four of you can sit down at the table to have your lunch. "But I powered through. I don't even want to think about the chaos tomorrow would be if I couldn't make stuffing because of an onion aversion."

“You should have let me handle it when I got home.” He frowns at you, huffing slightly. “I know I can’t cook like you, but I can follow directions passably well.”

"I know you can, babe." The smell of tuna is like a balm over your senses when you unwrap your sandwich and you sigh happily. "But you have to go to the airport tonight to pick up our parents, remember?"

“I can do both.” He knows you want to have the perfect holiday, it’s just how you are. Even the few times you had thrown dinner parties in Colombia, you had wanted everything to be just so. Of course you want a family holiday to be perfect. “Let me help you. I know you’ve got to be tired.”

"I've got a plan." Having the biggest house out of your siblings after everyone had settled down and being the first one with kids has meant that the Peña residence in Athens, Georgia is now family holiday headquarters. While you love it, it is also a lot of work, so you've been working on creating a system. "Once everybody gets here this afternoon there will be plenty of childcare and Michael's wife insisted they're getting pizza and salad for everybody for dinner tonight. Paper plates and plastic cups so we don't make more work for ourselves. At that point there will be lots of helping hands and the work will go a lot faster."

“Beer is in the back of the car.” He had picked that up on the way to the deli you love. Thanksgiving wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without some Budweiser while watching the football game. Although he makes sure everything is done and you are sitting beside him before he sits down.

"Perfect. Thank you, cariño." Having a partner for a husband feels like it sets you apart from the other faculty wives that you end up spending time with, but not in ways that you're upset about. While the other ladies are rightfully bitching about how their husbands don't help out around the house or don't do their part with the kids, you tend to just keep your mouth shut. Javier is always there to support you and share the workload, helping to raise the boys as their other parent and not as a third, older child you constantly have to prod at. Right now is a prime example of it, as he gets the boys set up with their shared sandwich so that you can dig in to your lunch right away.

Javi moves to pour the kids juice into their cups. Marco has a Shrek cup and Oscar with his favorite Barney cup and then he cracks open a ginger ale for himself. The days of starting to drink right after coming home are long past him and he doesn’t miss it as much as he might have expected.

"So, Papa's flight lands at 3:00 this afternoon and Grammy's lands at 3:15." You managed to work the flight times out for both of your parents to come in at the best possible time. "Joey and his wife want to rent a car so they'll get down here on their own after they land, and Michael decided to road trip from Chattanooga so they'll probably be in last even though they're aiming for the same time as everyone else." Coordinating the families does take a little work as they grow, but it's work that you're all willing to put in. Especially so all the kids can spend time with their cousins a few times every year and really get to know each other.

“Okay.” He nods and smirks. “I would have driven to Atlanta to pick them up, but I’m happy as hell I don’t have to.” Both his father and your mom opted to fly into the smaller, local airports so they can be with their grandchildren faster.

"It worked out, thank god." The boys are currently engrossed in a conversation about something Saturday-morning-cartoon related that you can't quite catch, so with the first few bites of your sandwich you enjoy the relative peace. They'll be up early tomorrow to see every second of the Macy's parade so any peace you get today is wonderful. "And I am not grappling with your dad's addiction to pecan pie this year. I ordered one from the bakery along with the apple. Homemade pie crust is officially my nemesis."

Javi chuckles and nods. “Good choice” He teases. “Do I need to go brave the stores for anything else?”

"At this point, if we don't have it, it's not ending up on the Thanksgiving table." And that's the final word as far as you're concerned. "The last thing is picking up the pies, and my sisters-in-law already offered to make that trip tonight for us." You smirk, knowing your brothers' soulmates fairly well at this point. It's only been a few years but you're a tight knit family. "If they're willing to do the last errand, I'm not going to begrudge them getting out of the noisy house for a half hour later on."

“Damnit, she figured out why I always make the last run.” Javi grumbles, but he winks at you playfully. He actually enjoys when the house is in chaos and noisy. Far different from his own solitude for so many years. He’s less in his own head these days.

"Big time." You grin at him, stifling your laughter by having another bite of lunch. "You're the one who wanted a big house, babe. The price we pay is being the holiday house."

"I don't mind it." He had insisted the kids all be able to have their own rooms and he had wanted you to have a dedicated office as well as him. That required a big house.

As it does so often with him now, your smile softens at the edges. "I don't either. And it's going to be even nicer not having to bundle three kids into the car or onto a plane a couple of times a year to see family."

"Well, we had already agreed that the kids having their holidays at home was the most important thing." He reminds you. "Luckily our parents agreed and are willing to come to us."

"Marco gave us that privilege," you remind him, glancing over at your boys. "My mother would have flown to Timbuktu to see her first grandbaby."

"That's true." Your mother had been upset when you hadn't wanted her to come to Colombia for the last month of your pregnancy and the birth. She had flown to Texas to meet him as soon as the three of you had returned to the States.

“And honestly I’m glad that we’re close enough for your dad to get here without much trouble.” Chucho is still pretty spry for his age but that doesn’t mean you aren’t grateful for the quick flights between Laredo and Athens.

"I think dad enjoys flirting with the flight attendants." Javi jokes, shooting you a smirk.

“Probably,” you agree, smirking even though you shake your head. Chucho isn’t the kind of guy who would make trouble, so it’s harmless as long as the attendants don’t mind. “Gives the waitresses at his bar a break.”

"He's asked about your mother a lot." He waggles his brows suggestively. "We might have to put bells on our parents at night. Make sure they stay in their rooms."

“Nothing could be weirder.” The look of absolute confusion and discomfort in your face is immediate. “Our family tree does not need to tangle that way.”

He laughs at the abject horror in your eyes and reaches over to squeeze your knee under the table. "I'm teasing, sweetheart." He promises. "Pop asks about your mom, but only in a friendly kind of way." He can't be offended at your reaction, he would have the same kind of instinct if he heard something like that.

“Oh thank god.” You huff, trying to recompose yourself. “I know we live in the south. But we don’t need to be a stereotype.”

He huffs again, amused as you continue to shake your head. "Pop has started seeing another widow, someone from that support group you turned him on to." He had never really thought about his dad needing to talk to other widowers who had lost their soulmates, but you had seen it. Another reason he loves how you have folded into his life so perfectly. You softened his rough edges and noticed the unspoken needs of both of the Peña men.

“Oh good!” That seems to wipe the other thought clean from your mind. “I mean I didn’t show him those groups thinking he’d start dating, just that having some friends who went through what he did would be good for him.”

"Mama wouldn't have wanted him to be alone for the rest of his life." That he knows, having discussed it with her when it had become clear she wasn't beating her cancer. She had known that Javier could and would hold a grudge if he had thought it was disrespectful to her memory. So she had made her wishes clear to her only son. "It is good for him. He said he feels like a kid again."

“I wish we had known before.” Having devoted half your sandwich already, you reach for your soda. “I would’ve have invited her, too. Though in sure she has her own family to see.”

"She is visiting her grandchildren." He nods. "Although pop said he might ask us to come out to Texas this summer to meet her?"

“Absolutely.” That sounds just like your father-in-law. Chucho plans for the long term much better than short term in all areas of his life. “By then our little girl should be okay to travel a bit.”

Javi grins. "I think that was his plan. Show off his newest grandbaby."

“Donkey!” Marco supplies cheerily, having heard his mother say the word girl.

Javi rolls his eyes and sighs heavily while you giggle. "I'm glad you think this is funny." He huffs quietly.

“I have final veto naming rights on anything that comes out of my body,” you remind him with a smug grin. “Of course I think it’s funny.”

"Thank God for that." He rolls his eyes again and gets up when he sees your drink is finished to get you a glass of water.

“You won’t be saying that if I name her something ridiculous in a fit of sleepless silliness.”

"I don't think you want to give our daughter a name that will embarrass her." He points out and licks his lips before voicing something that he's been thinking about since finding out that that baby is a girl. "Is it strange or inappropriate that I was thinking about Helena for a middle name?" He asks softly, watching you to gauge your reaction.

“Oh.” That makes you pause, but when he puts the glass of water down in front of you, you reach for his hand rather than the glass. “I—I actually think that’s so nice,” you admit with tears in your eyes. Though your contact with Helena has waned slightly in the years since she moved to America, you still send each other letters a few times a year to keep up. “Someone we both love dearly…I think that’s a very sweet gesture.”

“I—” he flounders slightly. “She is the reason we found each other.” He murmurs. “The reason we have this life, our children.”

"She is." He is completely correct, and you squeeze his hand tightly for just a brief moment. Now that he's suggested it, there is no other possibility in your mind. "Whatever we pick, it has to go with Helena."

Javi sighs softly, smiling at you before he leans down and presses his lips to yours. “I wasn’t sure how you would like the idea.” He admits. After all, both of you had slept with her, so it could have been a horrible idea in your mind.

"I don't think it's a conventional decision, but we aren't very conventional people." Looking around the table, though, and then back up at him, you shrug. "At least, we didn't used to be."

He chuckles at that and shoots you a grin. “We have slipped into domesticity with surprising ease, haven’t we?” He asks you.

"We really have," you agree, leaning up to kiss him again when the phone on the wall rings.

"You stay there." Javi pulls back and points at you, knowing you would try to heft your pregnant belly out of the chair to rush over to the phone. "I’ll get it." He steps over to the phone and picks it up, reminding himself that he needs to get another cordless phone set so you can just carry one around. It would make it easier and the last one had been broken by the movers. "Peña residence." He answers.

“Hey mijo!” Chucho’s voice is cheery through the cracking connection of the cellphone that Javier had bought him to have while he traveled. “I just boarded and that gorgeous wife of yours said to call before I left Texas.”

“Hey pop.” He twists his body around and winks at you. “Yeah, she worries about you.” He tells his father while watching you. “Didn’t want you to get lost in the airport and miss Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Not a chance.” Chucho chuckles at that. “Tell my grandsons I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“They will be looking forward to it.” He promises and then hangs up the phone after Chucho says goodbye.

“Is Papa here?” Oscar asks hopefully, having heard his father refer to Pop and knowing that holidays mean his favorite family member in the whole world will be coming to play Spacemen with him.

“He will be in just a few hours.” Javi lifts a brow. “If you take a nap, he will be here as soon as you wake up and you will have allllllll the energy to play.” He’s not above making a nap sound like a good thing. Not if it lets you get a nap while he’s gone to pick up the parents.

"All done!" Your youngest announces with an enormous amount of ceremony, pushing away his plate – which actually is empty – and throwing up his hands as it was proof of having finished his lunch.

“Good job, buddy.” Fatherhood has taught Javier a patience he never knew he could have, and he’s been rewarded for it. His boys are already far better than he ever was and he knows they will only become better men than he ever could claim to be.

Getting the boys down for a nap is one of Javier’s best Dad chores, but when he comes back down twenty-five minutes later with the baby monitor in hand you both breathe a sigh of relief. “They missed you this morning,” you tell him, smiling softly over the kitchen clean up. “So did I.”

He hums, knowing that he had missed them too. “Too bad I can’t just lecture from my office.” He shrugs, moving over to where you are rinsing the glasses and softly shooing you out of the way. “Go sit sweetheart.” He huffs. “I know your back is hurting.”

"I won't fight you on that." Your back was a bit of an issue with your second pregnancy so you know Javi is being extra watchful this time around. The balance is good, though. Otherwise you would just go-go-go as much as possible.

“I know you didn’t get any writing done between the kids being out of school and prepping for tomorrow.” He talks as he continues the chore and loads the dishwasher beside the sink. “But how’s the chapter coming along?”

“Honestly I’m a little blocked,” you admit, leaning back in your chair and sighing at the slight relief on your back and belly. “I’m hoping that focusing on family this weekend shakes some words loose.”

“They will come.” He knows that. You are too good of an author for words to fail you. “Anything else you need to prep tonight?” He asks.

“I can wait until more people get here and hand out prep jobs. We like sitting around the table and bitching while we work.” It’s practically a family pastime, if you’re honest. Which is why it’s so fun. “There’s a few things to do but we’ll manage okay.”

“Sooooo.” He closes the door to the dishwasher and stands straight, turning around while he wipes his hands in a dishrag. “What about a nap for mama?”

"Could." You agree, folding your hands under your belly to support the bump. "But Mama missed Daddy and wants to actually see him a little."

He smirks and pushes off the counter to move over and lean down for a kiss. “How about I lay down with you until I need to leave for the airport?” He offers. “I’ll even rub your back.”

"You tryin’ to get me into bed, Peña?" You raise one eyebrow at him and smirk, pointing to your belly. "That's what got us this in the first place."

He smirks again. “Oh I know.” He grunts. “I was there for the whole thing.” You are absolutely irresistible to him when you are pregnant, even more than normal. He loves you carrying his babies. Although, right now he’s simply trying to get you to rest. He worries about you taking on too much this late in the pregnancy.

"Okay, okay." It's not difficult to see the worry in this eyes, and you put up one hand in defeat. "Help me up, love? We can snuggle in bed until it's time for you to leave."

“Okay.” You gave in far too easily, telling him that you are more exhausted than he imagined.

“I’m okay.” At the top of the stairs he is practically cradling you and you kiss his cheek in reassurance. “It’s just third trimester, that’s all.”

“I’m going to worry.” He’s good at that, but the worry over his family is far more meaningful than worrying about sicarios and drug dealers

“I know.” And just the fact of it brings a soft smile to your lips. “I love you, too.”

******

“You look amazing.” Your mother beams at you, eager to see her glowing daughter happy in your last months of pregnancy. “You’re carrying low, I’m so surprised it was a little girl on the ultrasound.” She teases. “What are you going to do if she was hiding a little thingy?” She works as she asks, filling the little tartlets that will be the appetizers first thing.

“We’ll be just as happy to have another boy if it turns out that way.” You promise your mother. While she fills the ham and cheese tarts for the appetizer table, you’re making the stuffing for the mushroom caps, and on your other side your oldest brother is making his jalapeño popper dip.

“Oh I know you will.” She assures you. “Javier is a wonderful father and you make me so proud.” Her voice cracks up a little, looking over into the living room where Chucho is keeping the boys entertained and Javier is diligently cleaning up when one of the boys had broken the rule of ‘no drinks in the living room’ and spilled it on the carpet in his excitement to see his family. “You have an amazing little family.”

“It won’t be so little pretty soon.” Michael’s soulmate, your sister-in-law Maria, reminds the table happily. Being in her first trimester with their first baby, she is sharing in the joy of pregnancy very happily. “Five counts as a big family, I think.”

“Not as big as some, but nowadays some couples are only have one child.” Your mother tuts, as if only having one child is an offense.

"Mom..." You shoot her a warning glance, reminding her silently that Javi is an only child. "All we care about is the kids being healthy and happy. One or two or three... it doesn't matter."

She grimaces and glances towards the living room, remembering that detail. She knows from talking to Chucho, they had wanted a big family. “You are right.” She quickly agrees. “Healthy.”

"Especially since this is the last one." Both of your families know that you're planning on a more permanent form of birth control for your family now. It didn't seem kind or reasonable to let your parents keep wondering if more and more grandkids would keep coming. "The only things I'm birthing after this little girl are books."

“How is your next book coming?” Her eyes widen with anticipation. “When I tell you, the book club is salivating over your last one, I mean they have extended the read.”

"I'm pretty sure your book club are my advanced sales every time," you laugh, grateful to your mother for all of her support in keeping your dreams alive and being just as proud of you as she possibly could be. Your family have really been your biggest cheerleaders. "This one is coming on a little more slowly."

"Pregnancy brain?" Your sister-in-law only half jokes. She's already experiencing some of that for herself.

"Absolutely." More laughter is shared at the table. "Pregnancy brain and being tired all the time."

Chucho ignores your protest and makes it a game, the boys competing for who can make mama the most comfortable.

"I was trying to prevent a fuss." Even though you direct the comment at your husband it seems to fall on deaf ears as everyone moves around again, and your other brother takes over making your mushroom recipe so you can go and lay down. Chucho and the boys have moved the pillows around the couch for you and while Marco is ready to give Mama and Baby Sis cuddles, Oscar has offered up his favorite teddy for your comfort as well. It's moments like those -- the most meaningful gestures from your young kids -- that tell you unquestionably that you and Javier are doing a good job. At their ages your boys have gotten past most struggles with sharing and have instead become compassionate kids who want everyone around them to be happy.

Javi grins as he brings you a Shirley Temple in a cup with a lid and straw. “You think a fuss wasn’t going to be made over you this weekend?” He huffs in amusement.

"I'm not the only pregnant woman in the house," you point out, gesturing toward your sister-in-law who is still sitting at the table.

“But I’m not as pregnant as you are.” She snorts, smirking when you huff. “You can cater to me when I’m about to pop, okay?”

"Thiry-two weeks still has a little way to go," you argue, though you sigh measurably when one of the couch throw pillows hits your back just right. It really is hell on the body to be pregnant, that's for damn sure.

“I hoping for a Christmas baby.” Your mother admits and Javi snorts, shaking his head. “Don’t put that on our baby girl.” He huffs playfully. “She would hate her birthday falling on a holiday where her brothers get gifts too.”

“Healthy and happy.” Michael recites your mantra for you, since you’re a little still trying to get comfortable. “But yeah, Ma. Don’t wish a Christmas birth on your grandkid. That’s hard for anybody.”

Your mother sighs softly and shrugs. “You’re right. I was just thinking about how wonderful the birthday pictures would be.” She admits with a laugh.

“What if we made a flower wreath for her, Mom?” You offer, setting it as nondenominational but evoking that beautiful celebration that she imagines. “An oval one big enough to lay her in for pictures?”

“That would be lovely!” Her eyes light up at the possibility. “She would look so beautiful.” The baby isn’t bore, but she already knows she will be the prettiest baby. “I loved your baby pictures.”

"And you'll love your granddaughter's too." Even through another wince, you have no problem promising your mother that. She has loved every picture of each of her grandkids and you know the next will be no exception.

Javi doesn’t notice this next pain since he’s walking back into the kitchen, but Chucho does. Glancing at you and then at his watch discreetly. “Boys, I think it’s time for bed.” He announces after a moment. “Do you want to say goodnight to everyone?”

Marco and Oscar go around giving good night hugs and kisses to everyone individually before Chucho volunteers to bring them upstairs and go through their nighttime routine with them. He always brings a new book of kids stories with him whenever he visits and this is no exception, so doubtless he'll read them a brand new bedtime story tonight as well.

Javi fixes everyone else drinks, another Shirley Temple for your sister-in-law and wine for Michael and your mother. He cracks open a beer for himself, but he doesn’t take a drink yet, waiting for his pop to come back downstairs.

When Chucho does finally reappear in the living room, he wipes his hands off in a show of a job well done. "They needed two stories, but they're out now," he tells you and Javi happily.

“That’s good.” Javi hands his father a beer and motions him into the living room. “Go keep your favorite daughter company.” He tells him. “I’ll help finish up the food.”

"I can make a little room," you offer, starting to shift on the couch.

“No, you stay put.” Chucho insists, taking the recliner next to the couch where Javi would normally sit and watch the news. “You need some rest.”

"I was fine all day." A fact which frustrates you to no end. Only starting to feel exhausted and a little unwell after your nap is a nuisance. "This is just a pain in the ass."

You wince again and Chucho hums, glancing down at his watch again. “Each time is different.” He reminds you. “You were so sick with Oscar the first few weeks.”

"This is Marco's fault," you joke, not meaning a word of it. "My first pregnancy was easy right until the end and it made me think more would be the exact same way."

He chuckles as he sets his beer down. “You were floating on air when you were in Colombia. Even with the stress Javi was under.”

"It was our honeymoon phase." As patently absurd as that might sound to anyone else, it's true. You and Javi were as blissful in your actual relationship at that time as any other pair of soulmates could hope to be.

“He has really changed with you in his life.” Chucho admits. “I used to worry about that phone call, you know the one I mean. Knowing how easily Javi would follow someone to hell to do the right thing - in his mind - it was hard to let him live his life.” He smiles. “When you came back to him, he was determined to do things right. To be the best man he could and I think he’s done it. Not that he was ever bad but his rough edges have been smoothed out by you.”

"We did that for each other, really." Reaching over, you set your hand on Chucho's and give his a gentle squeeze. "I needed him to soften and bolster me just as much as he needed me."

He turns his hand and his smile widens when your little grunt of pain comes again. Almost silent if he wasn’t looking for it. “And soon, your family will be complete.” He murmurs.

"Just a few more weeks." Your other hand soothes over your belly, urging this to just go away. If it's the baby being active, you want her to calm down. If its Braxton Hicks contractions, you're just going to have to wait until they pass. Either way you just want to get past it.

“More like a few hours, mija” He chuckles. “You are in labor.”

"It's probably just Braxton Hicks." Saying it out loud, the thought in your head, makes you firm on the point. The best you can do is just shake your head and press on. You've had two babies, already. You would surely know if you were really in labor.

“Pains are about twelve minutes apart.” He tells you, leaning back and smirking and looking very much like his only son.

"Pops." You groan, throwing him a pout. "You've been timing me?"

He snorts. “That’s your gripe right now?” He shakes his head. “You’re perfect for my son. I will say it again.”

"It's just Braxton Hicks. I'm not going to the hospital." The warning in your voice ends up making it rise and three heads whir in your direction.

“You don’t have to go yet.” He promises, reaching out and patting your hand gently.

"Hospital?" Your mother looks up, finding Javi's eyes with worry.

Javi glances over at you and knows what you’ve been trying to deny. “She’s in labor. Has been for a few hours.” He trusts you to know your body, even if you are denying it right now. You might not want to believe it, but you wouldn’t put your baby in any risk.

It’s like hearing it from your husband cracks the dam, and the near-instant spring of tears to your eyes makes your voice waver too. “I can’t be in labor!” You sniffle, dropping your head back on the couch. “It’s Thanksgiving!”

Javi stifles a chuckle and moves over to you from the kitchen, kneeling down beside you and cupping your cheek. “It just means we will have to be extra Thankful this year, sweetheart.”

“But what if she doesn’t like pumpkin pie?” Is, probably, the silliest worry and most ridiculous sentence to ever come out of your mouth, but it’s clear that the extra emotions and hormones and worries flooding through you are in control of your thoughts at the moment.

Everyone starts to chuckle and Javi grins at you. “There’s always pecan pie.” He reminds you, kissing your hand.

“I know how stupid I sound,” you huff, laughing along with them in spite of yourself, and look back at Javi with concern. “She’s early,” you point out, concern lining your eyes. Marco Was born four days after your due date and your labor with Oscar started in the wee hours of the morning on your due date. Early is a new concept for you.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Even though that worry is one he shares, right now his job is to keep you calm. “Why don’t we go out to the hospital and make sure?”

“I haven’t even packed my hospital bag yet.” He’s right. You know he is. That especially if the baby is going to come early, you should be at the hospital and not take any chances. But you just haven’t gotten yourself ready yet. “I guess it doesn’t matter now?”

“Tell me what you want.” Your mother is abandoning the food and immediately jumping to her feet. “I’ll go pack you a bag.”

You describe the place in your closet that you keep your most comfortable clothes and are specific about the ones you want packed, also asking her to add your slippers and a few hygiene items to your yoga bag.

The onesie you’ll bring your baby girl home in is the same one her brothers were brought home in too, and having goes to get that from the laundry room once you’re on your feet. “Honey?” You stop him in his tracks, but a smile is peaking through your nerves. “Don’t forget to grab the list from the fridge.”

“I won’t forget.” He doesn’t remind you that he’s done this three times now, but he knows you are starting to panic slightly. “I’ll double check it.

“Thank you.” With a heavy sigh and a hiss of pain, you look around at your brother, sisters-in-law, and your father-in-law and half-laugh. “I guess she just really wants to meet everyone.”

“I’ll stay here with the boys.” Chucho tells you, wanting you to feel good about having to leave tonight.

“And we’ll come back first thing in the morning to keep Chucho and the boys company.” Joey promises. With his own soulmate pregnant they had booked a hotel room this year, but nothing will stop them from being on board to keep their nephews busy while Mama welcomes the newest member of the family. “In fact…” He glances at Michael, who nods. “Mickey and I are going to cook dinner. Everything we planned on and have prepped. So tomorrow when the baby’s here we can bring you Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Sounds like we’ve got everything planned.” Chucho chuckles as Javi starts cursing from upstairs. “Let me go help him with your list, mija.”

“Of course.” It wouldn’t do any good to remind them that you can still waddle upstairs — no one in this house would ever let you.

He disappears upstairs and everyone starts to move, getting things together and murmuring about what you might need at the hospital.

It's an hour before Javi is pulling the car up to the emergency room door, and by this point you're past denying that you're in labor. Your mother opted to drive her rental car behind the two of you to be with you in case a second pair of hands is needed, and you're climbing out of the car with Javi's help when she pops up on the sidewalk next to you.

“Let me get the bags.” She insists. “You get her inside, Javier.” He barely resists rolling his eyes and smirks at you slightly. “Sure thing.”

"Inherited trait." You hum under your breath, knowing that both your boys are stubborn as well.

“Don’t I know it.” He huffs, as if he’s not just as stubborn as you, maybe more so. Love and marriage, having children has taught you both to compromise a little more than you would normally, but the only place Javier will never compromise is yours and the boys’ safety and welfare. “I’ve got you.” He holds tight when another contraction hits you and you have to stop walking to concentrate on breathing.

"I can check you in." The nurse at the desk waves to Javier to get his attention.

He cuts his eyes up, his expression not exactly relieved. “Maybe after my wife finishes her contraction.” He snorts.

She smiles, polite and professional, but already has one hand on the phone to call up to Labor and Delivery as soon as she has a patient name. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Only when you sigh softly, the signal that the pain has passed, does Javier even attempt to urge you forward. “Come on sweetheart.” He chuckles. “The sooner we get to a desk, the sooner you get to ride in the wheelchair.”

“Yes please.” It will be a relief to be whisked around the hospital in a wheelchair instead of hobbling around trying to balance between contractions, and you give Javi’s hand a grateful squeeze before letting go to pull your ID and insurance card out of your purse. The nurse at the counter is sweet enough but you’re rather task oriented at the moment.

“I’ll fill out the paperwork.” Javi tells you, taking the clipboard when it’s offered. “You sit down, sweetheart.” He looks up at the nurse. “She’s six and half weeks early right now.”

“I’ll tell the L&D nurse.” Though the desk nurse betrays no concern the speed at which she picks up the phone says otherwise.

“We’ll get you up in the room, and then the doctor will tell you that everything is fine.” Javi reassures you - and himself. Babies come when they want to, not on your schedule. “Maybe you can even have a glass of wine with Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Maybe.” His demeanor being as calm as it is makes you so grateful you could cry again, but a nurse comes over with a wheelchair to get you situated and soon enough your mother is there beside you again. It is going to be alright; you tell yourself over and over. Because you’re taken care of and your little girl will be, too.

Javi is holding your hand. “You want a drink sweetheart?” He knows that if you are having the baby tonight, soon enough they will limit you to ice chips.

“Might as well, while I still can.” You’re thinking the same thing he is, and gratefully accept the water bottle he hands you. “It’ll be ice chips before too long.”

“Yes it will.” He leans in and presses his lips to your hairline. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.” And that, especially right now, is enough to make the difference.

******

You are definitely in labor. Javi holds your hand and reassures you through the pain. The doctor monitoring your progress for hours until suddenly everything speeds up and you are wheeled into the deliver room, Javier smocked up in a gown and gloves. He’s been present for both of the boys’ births and he’s not missing this.

It’s just after midnight when your little girl makes her squalling entrance into this bright new world, shaking her fists and blinking with wonder at all the new things to see and hear and feel.

Like the boys, Javi cuts the umbilical cord and is the first to hold his daughter when the doctor hands her to him, bringing her up to you. “Our little girl.” He chokes out with tears in his eyes from joy and relief that she seems just perfect.

“She’s perfect.” At five pounds and six ounces she’s a little on the small side, but the doctor seems satisfied that she’s healthy and was just determined to arrive early. “She really is perfect.” You have cried at the arrival of each of your babies and have absolutely no impulse to hide it, open shedding tears of joy as your little girl stares with wide eyes up into your face.

“Just like her mama.” Because of the risk of complications, only he has been allowed in the delivery room, giving you three time together. “She’s our perfect little joy.”

“Joy.” Your eyes turn up to his, barely able to tear them away from your daughter except to smile at your husband. Your soulmate. “Joy is a nice name.” But since you try to infuse their family heritage into each of your children’s names, you end up smiling wider. “Alegría. We could call her Allie for short?”

“Alegría Helena Peña.” He tried out the name and smiles softly, reaching out to caress her still wet hair. “It’s perfect”.

"I love you." Three words murmured to your soulmate when you smile up at him again, and repeated to your baby girl when you can't help but look back down at her again. "And I love you, Alegría. We both love you more than you'll ever know."

It wasn't on the list, but you don't care. The overwhelming happiness of this moment being immortalized by your baby girl's name is a perfect homage to all the unplanned things that have lead you to this point. Sometimes the best laid plans go awry, and sometimes that is exactly what fills you with love and happiness right down to your bones.

After a few more minutes, the nurses take Alegría away to do all the tests and clean her up. Javi holds your hand while other nurses help clean up the afterbirth. “It’s a good thing I got your gift early this year.” He chuckles, kissing your lips again. “I’m so damn proud of you, sweetheart.”

"I'm just glad she's healthy." It was your greatest fear and you know it was his too. Being left alone in that quiet hospital room together is almost deafening in an odd reversal of the sensation after so much commotion during Alegría's birth. "No NICU. No scary uncertainty. Just an eager little preemie who wanted to meet her whole family at once."

“Our Thanksgiving baby.” Javi smiles. “Even though her birthday won’t fall on Thanksgiving every year.”

“November 22.” All you know is that is after midnight, so it’s technically Thanksgiving Day now. “Add that to February 3 for Marco and August 15 for Oscar. Thank God they’re all well spaced out so they never have to share.”

“True.” He flashes you a grin. “Although the boys might be jealous when she gets a special dish on Thanksgiving.” He teases.

“Birthday cake is about to become a Peña Thanksgiving tradition,” you joke, knowing it could well become true.

“Baby, thank you.” His hand is holding yours again and he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon. Even though you are tired, sweaty and would probably say you look horrible, you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, right after the birth of all three of his children. “This is for you.” He offers, holding out the small velvet box he had shoved in his pocket hours earlier.

"Cariño." He has become a fan of push presents ever since first hearing about them, and while you always insist they aren't necessary when asked, it is a special kind of keepsake to have an item that reminds you of this moment. The first moments are the births of your children have all been special in their own ways, so you don't protest, but accept the box from him with a kiss. "I love you," you murmur against his lips, savoring the sensation before cracking open the box in your hand.

A beautiful three stone diamond ring winks back at you, the three baguette cut stones lying end to end in the beautifully carved band in the same metal as both your engagement band and wedding band. A third piece to complete the set like your complete set of three beautiful children. "It's beautiful."

“I figured it could be worn on the other side of your wedding band.” He explains, playing with the jewelry in question. Luckily your hands had not swollen with pregnancy like they had with Marco. “Your children represented on one side.” He murmurs softly. “And my commitment to you on the other.”

"Happily. Without hesitation." You lean over to kiss him again, wading through this feeling of exhausted euphoria for all that you can.

The doctors finish with Alegría and bring her back over to you, making Javi smile at the image when you greedily pull her close. “Do you want me to go get your mom?” He asks softly.

"Yes, please." Nodding and sniffling happily at having your daughter back in your arms, you tilt your chin up to ask for one more kiss before he goes. The new ring has settled on your finger comfortably but all of your attention is back on your little girl. "She'll text the rest of the family for us. At least the announcement is easy this time."

“No international phone calls.” He snorts, letting his lips linger on yours before he bends down more and kisses his daughter’s head. “I love you, mija.” He whispers softly, just like he had when you were carrying her. His life has been changed completely by you and the kids. For the better in every way. Javier knows joy, knows peace, and he knows that his family is the most important thing he could ever fight for. He had decided that he couldn’t let you walk out of his life a second time, and it was the best decision he had ever made.

------

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

BFoW: @haileymorelikestupid @theorganasolo @missladym1981 @alexiamargot06 @southernbe @cloudroomblog @the-queen-of-sorrows

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x female reader #Javier Peña x f!reader #plus size reader #Narcos #Narcos fanfic #soulmate au #forced proximity #and they were roommates #enemies to lovers #pregnancy #pregnant reader

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glossdebut · 3 months ago

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Take a Bite Ch. 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

Chapter 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so.

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in.

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much.

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Jordans ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.”

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake.

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer.

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke.

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning.

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do.

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.”

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage.

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

#ugh i hope the formatting on this isn't trash i tried so hard #take a bite #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x oc #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi fic #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #minors dni #glossdebut #Spotify

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mcflymemes · 7 months ago

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GONE GIRL (2014) PROMPTS * assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

what are you thinking? how are you feeling? what have we done to each other?

i felt i needed to shoot something.

we've never fucked in a bookstore.

you know i have to kiss you now.

sometimes i want to punch us in the face, we're so cute.

when you're upset, you bottle up.

brought you a present.

i need you. now. touch me.

that's very sweet of you and very unnecessary.

pour me a bourbon, would you?

it's a bad day.

i'm so crazy, stupid happy.

i met a boy. a great, gorgeous, sweet, cool-ass guy.

things could get ugly.

whose beer am i drinking?

i prefer men who are funny, not "funny."

i'm the guy to save you from all this awesomeness.

it's hard to believe you. i think it's your chin.

you are way too into that cat.

tell me how it ends.

i'm not someone who hits the panic button, but... it's weird, right?

you mind if we look around?

so what do you do now? for work.

perfect, time for a quick tour of my failings.

i love your parents, but they can be assholes.

people want to hear from you.

i thought that'd be embarrassing.

i am here on a strictly journalistic capacity.

[name], you are beyond amazing. you are incredibly smart but entirely unsnobby. you are kind, but never a martyr.

you surprise me. you challenge me.

isn't it time we fixed that?

we're going to take this very, very seriously.

i go there for the quiet.

we're still not sure what we're dealing with.

please don't take that tone with me.

everyone told us... and told us and told us... marriage is hard work.

technically we're supposed to fuck at the next stop.

books, sex, bourbon... life is good.

i knew you shouldn't have moved back here.

maybe i'll teach you a thing or two.

i'm a little drunk.

let's swear we will never be like them.

everything else is background noise.

why are you throwing that in my face again?

it's like you're daring me to be someone i don't want to be.

i'm not that person. i'm your wife.

suddenly i knew everything was about to get worse.

i'm asking you nicely.

everyone is projecting their shit onto me.

i feel like i could disappear.

i've been so worried about you.

i don't want to fight. i just want to be with you. that's all i want.

you fucking lied to my fucking face.

for valentine's day, i thought i'd buy a gun.

you have to fucking talk to me!

i'm not going to be scared anymore.

this man of mine may kill me.

men always use that as the defining compliment, don't they? she's a cool girl.

i will admit. for someone who likes to win, it's tempting to be the girl every guy wants.

we were happy pretending to be other people.

i need to show you something.

see we have the same taste in men.

you're reading it again? you know how it ends.

whatever the hell they found, we have to assume it's very bad.

everyone would hate me.

why are you so good to me?

my defense is the truth.

i've never seen it in my life.

i feel myself fading.

i just said what you wanted to hear.

take off your clothes.

i'm a fighter. i fought my way back to you.

kiss my cheek.

you're not at risk anymore.

you know you can sleep with me, right?

we should hold hands.

you called me a murderer.

i haven't touched you.

i've killed for you.

#rp meme #mcflymemes #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompt #rp starters #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #sentence starter prompt #sentence starter #sentence starters #gone girl #dramatic prompts

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kaiijo · 2 years ago

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CAUGHT IN 4K — ITOSHI RIN

pairing: itoshi rin x fem! reader content: based on prompt 5 on this list, one physical description of reader (dimpled cheek), rin’s a lovable jerk and bad at flirting notes: rin has my entire heart <3

There are many things in life that Rin dislikes. Rainy weather. Clingy people. Overly crowded places. His brother — though, admittedly, his relationship with Sae is much more complicated than any other thing on this long list of “Things Itoshi Rin Dislikes.”

There are a few things on the “Things Itoshi Rin Likes” list, including good running shoes, horror movies, and ochazuke with bream. And, at the top of the list, competing for first place, are soccer and you. If he really had to choose, Rin knows that you eke out soccer, which says something.

And Rin’s unwavering love for you is also the main reason for another item on his dislike list: when people ask how you met and got together.

“Come on!” Bachata grins, throwing an arm around your shoulder, beer bottle in his other hand. “Tell it again! It’s such a good story.”

Rin’s glare is withering. “You were there for it.”

“But I like reliving it through the retelling,” Bachira replies.

Isagi smirks. “I want to hear it again too.”

“Me three!” Reo chimes in, and Rin is regretting letting you talk him into inviting his teammates for a get-together with each passing second.

Rin scowled. “All of you were there.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, leaning against Rin on the couch. He instinctively wraps his arm around you tighter, frowning in a way you always tell him is actually pouting. “I’ll do it.”

Bachira and Isagi always made fun of the fact that the only sort of media interaction Rin was ever willing to do were press conferences about the upcoming seasons. “There’s nothing but soccer in that head, huh?” laughed Bachira, and Isagi joined him with a couple of their other teammates snickering. Rin always sneered back, “As if any of you lukewarm fuckers have room to talk.”

But they weren’t wrong; Rin was notorious for brushing off any questions that were not soccer related, fixing an incredibly cold glare at whatever reporter dared to try. But he was typically focused when it came to these press conferences.

“Underlashes Junior,” Shidou said, kicking Rin under the table. Rin snarled at him and Shidou, unbothered, continued, “they asked you a question.”

Rin turned back to the mass of reporters. “Repeat it.”

“Do you think your approach to your gameplay will be any different this season?”

Rin doesn’t even remember what he said, turning his mic on and rattling off something about how his skills will just be even better than last season, eyes not even on the reporter but to another journalist a few people to the left of them. You were waiting patiently to ask whatever question your bosses drafted for you. At first, Rin’s eyes were drawn to your pretty face and the little dimple in your cheek that deepened when you smiled. And his eyes probably would have stayed staring at your face, if not for the necklace hanging around your neck along with your press pass.

Kunigami took the next question and Isagi leaned over the Rin, asking, “What’s up with you today? You’re pretty distracted.”

Rin glances back at the journalist — you — who he had been staring at and he answered, “That’s the ugliest necklace I’ve ever seen.”

Isagi’s jaw dropped as the rest of the reporters and their own teammates grew silent. All eyes turned to you, the only person wearing a necklace noticeable enough from where the soccer team was sat.

Rin’s eyes widened a little. Fuck, he hadn’t turned his fucking mic off. Shidou, Otoya, and Karasu roared with laughter at his expense as Isagi apologized on Rin’s behalf and, on Rin’s other side, Bachira chimed in, “I like your necklace! Very colorful!” with a little thumbs up.

Rin ventured an (admittedly embarrassed) peek at you as you gave Bachira a thumbs up back before your eyes settled on Rin, expression morphing into something he couldn’t read and he couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t said stuff before that had garnered disapproval from everyone for being ‘rude’ and ‘unnecessary,’ and he generally didn’t care. But there was something about this instance that had guilt creeping up in his gut.

“You need to go find her and apologize,” was what Reo said immediately when they finished the press conference.

“Can we go watch?” Shidou asked. “Maybe she’ll slap you.”

Rin glared at him and stalked off ahead of his teammates. He wasn’t about to tell them that he had already planned to do that.

You were finishing the last of your notes, standing just outside the venue that had been in when Rin found you. He stopped a few feet beside you, shifting his weight on his feet and running a hand through his hair. The movement caught your attention and you turned to look at him.

Rin couldn’t help but glance down at that necklace. Hideous. Absolutely, positively ugly — an explosion of mismatched beads and tasseled pieces with dried macaroni. Who in their right mind would wear that?

You and Rin stared at each other for a little, and Rin opened and closed his mouth no less than three times, mind in overdrive. He was supposed to say, “I’m sorry for making such a rude comment about your necklace.”

Instead, what came out of his mouth was, “Why the hell would you wear that?”

Your eyebrows raised again in the same way they had when he first said it but to his surprise, you just looked amused. “You don’t think it suits my outfit?”

Rin looked you up and down quickly. Your pantsuit was a nice, neutral color that complimented your skin tone and was tailored well to your body. The rest of your jewelry was simple and classic. “No,” Rin said.

Your mouth twitched into a smile, that dimple returning, and Rin felt his ears heat up. You just hummed and replied, “Not that I need to justify myself to you but this fine piece was handcrafted by my favorite artist.”

“Who would that be?” Who the fuck would make jewelry that ugly?

“My nephew.”

And suddenly, it made sense and Rin felt himself flush, unsure if it was from shame or from your unfettered attention but he found himself mumbling, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier.”

You crossed your arms across your chest and said, “I don’t know if I can forgive you for insulting his hard work.”

Rin frowned and racked his brain for what else to say. What did his teammates say to pretty women when they got in hot water? “Maybe I can take you out to dinner then?” he asked, cringing a little as the words left his mouth.

You snorted, “Hmm, no thanks.” And Rin’s heart sank. You instead said, “Maybe I’ll consider forgiving you if you stop by at my nephew’s birthday this Saturday.”

“Really?” he asked, tone flat.

“He’s a big fan. You’re his favorite player, which I can’t say I necessarily agree with.”

Rin scowled. “Who’s your favorite then?”

You shrugged. “Yoichi Isagi.”

Rin’s scowl only deepened. You stepped closer to him and Rin could smell your perfume and it made him a little weak in the knees. You added, “If you come, maybe we can grab dinner afterwards.”

“Okay,” left his mouth before he could think and you grinned, reaching into your handbag. You pulled out a business card and a pen, scribbling your cell phone number and an address on the back.

You pressed the card against his chest and Rin grabbed it as someone shouted your name from a car. You turned on your heel and called over your shoulder, “I’ll see you Saturday, Itoshi!”

“I still can’t believe you went on a date with him after all of that,” Kunigami says, and you giggle. Rin grunts in disapproval and you just lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

His eyes flicker to Isagi, who’s grinning wide. “I never heard that part where you said I’m your favorite player.”

“Yeah, Rin definitely omits that part,” chimes Reo.

“Shut up,” Rin growled.

“Don’t worry, babe,” you say. “You’re still number one in my heart.” Rin rolls his eyes as his teammates chuckle and you snuggle deeper into him. He watches with an embarrassingly fond gaze as you carry on talking with the others, your eyes lighting up, that dimple appearing in your cheek as you laugh.

He may hate the way he comes off in the story of how you met, but he can safely say that he doesn’t regret a single thing.

#itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock scenarios

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pandapetals · 13 days ago

Text

Sanctuary - Part Two

Logan and Wade are sent by Stryker to find a journalist who has been digging around trying to expose Team X. Logan isn't prepared when he meets an intriguing neighbor causing him to question himself and the mission.

origins logan howlett x fem!reader - team x mission, shy reader, no y/n, she/her pronouns used instead of you, logan's pov, origins wade, awkwardness, guarded feelings, angst, AU, crushes, logan kinda being a stalker, stryker and victor cameos, fighting, cussing, wade being a good friend, reserved logan

apparently this is too long to post in one go so here's part one and here's part two

word count: 40k

Logan knew he shouldn’t be jealous, but he couldn’t help it. Jared had started working his way into her life, filling the spaces Logan had been dancing around for weeks. Jared was walking her home after her shifts, casually showing up at the bar to chat with her, and Logan was pretty sure he’d seen him drop flowers off once. Every time he looked, Jared seemed to be there—closing in, leaving little room for Logan.

Wade, of course, was delighted by this turn of events and took every opportunity to dig the knife a little deeper.

"Guess the infamous Jared is busy tonight,” Wade quipped, glancing over to where she was wiping down glasses behind the bar, focused and oblivious to their presence. “Better get your ass over there, lover boy, before he shows up and sweeps her off her feet again.”

Logan shot him a glare, his jaw clenched tight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but his eyes drifted back to her. She looked calm, and relaxed, humming to herself as she went about her work. The sight only made his chest ache more.

“Oh, come on,” Wade snickered, taking a sip of his beer. “Just admit it—you’re jealous.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his fists tightened on the table. He hated that Wade was right. The jealousy gnawed at him, a constant, dull ache that made him restless and irritable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing her, and he hated that he wasn’t even sure he’d ever had her to begin with.

Before he could second-guess himself, Logan stood up, ignoring Wade’s raised eyebrow as he crossed the bar. She looked up as he approached, a small smile flickering across her lips.

“Hey, Logan,” she greeted him, her tone warm but casual like they were old friends—just friends.

Logan nodded, trying to keep his tone light. “Hey. Just… wanted to check in on you.” He hesitated, then added, “I saw Jared hasn’t been around tonight.”

She shrugged her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Guess he’s busy,” she said lightly, going back to drying the glass in her hands. She didn’t offer anymore, clearly brushing it off, but Logan couldn’t let it go.

“Do you… do you actually like the guy?” he asked, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

She paused, glancing up at him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. “Why do you ask?”

Logan shifted, feeling foolish but unable to drop it. “Just… curious. Seems like he’s been around a lot lately. Walking you home, stopping by during your shifts…”

She let out a sigh, setting the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “Logan, what’s it to you?” she asked, a touch of frustration slipping into her voice. “I mean, I don’t ask about the women in your life.”

The remark stung, and Logan took a breath, struggling to keep his frustration in check. “I just don’t think he’s good enough for you,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not good enough? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Logan opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure how to explain the knot of jealousy and protectiveness he felt without sounding… ridiculous. “I just don’t like the way he acts around you. Like he’s… entitled to your time.”

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation in her gaze. “Logan, he’s just a friend. If he wants to walk me home or drop by the bar, that’s his choice. It’s not… some grand conspiracy.”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, growing increasingly frustrated. “Yeah, well, he’s not doing it just to be nice.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable, then let out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Why do you even care so much? I don’t get it.” She paused, searching his face with a look of confusion. “Why are you acting like this? You’ve always been… protective, but this is different. I don’t understand.”

Logan felt his heart sink, a cold realization settling over him. She didn’t see it. She didn’t see him the way he saw her—didn’t even consider the possibility that he might want to be more than just a friend. Or maybe she just… couldn’t imagine it. Couldn’t imagine him as someone she could be with.

“Why am I acting like this?” he echoed, his voice low, bitter. He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching her eyes for any glimmer of understanding, but her expression was still clouded with confusion. “You really don’t know?”

She blinked, her brow furrowing, then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Logan, I…thought you were…you’re my friend. I mean, that’s what you’ve been, right? I don’t—” She broke off, biting her lip as if she didn’t know how to finish the thought.

Logan felt his chest tighten. There it was, plain as day. He’d been standing here, trying to protect her, trying to be someone she could rely on, someone she’d choose. But she couldn’t even see him like that. He was just Logan—the guy who watched out for her, the guy she talked to when she needed someone to listen. Nothing more.

“Right,” he said, his voice rough, barely masking the bitterness that threatened to spill over. “Just your friend.”

Something in his tone must have reached her, because she looked up, her eyes softening, almost as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. “Logan…” she said her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

He shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?”

Her eyes searched his face, a flicker of something close to regret passing over her expression. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again, her shoulders slumping. “I didn’t mean to… hurt your feelings,” she murmured. “I just didn’t know. I thought—”

Logan took a step back, feeling the weight of her words settle over him like a stone. “It’s fine,” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “Forget I said anything.”

He turned, feeling her eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look back. He didn’t want to see the pity in her gaze, the confusion, or worse—the faint flicker of understanding that came too late. He walked away, his chest tight. It was too late for that now. She’d seen him as a friend from the start, and no amount of jealous glances or awkward conversations was going to change that.

Logan pushed through the bar doors, letting the cool night air hit him like a slap. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging inside him, the mix of frustration and hurt that he couldn’t quite shake. He’d thought he could handle her not seeing him that way, but hearing her say it out loud—just my friend—had cut deeper than he’d expected.

He barely made it a few steps when he heard her voice behind him.

“Logan, wait.”

He stopped, surprised, turning slowly. He hadn’t expected her to follow. She stood there in the doorway, her face lit by the neon bar sign, eyes wide and uncertain like she was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. She took a tentative step forward, wrapping her arms around herself, the vulnerability in her posture catching him off guard.

“Why did you…?” she began, then hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Logan let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Say what? That I see you as more than just a friend? That every time I saw you with that guy, it felt like I was watching you slip away?” He shook his head, his voice rough. “I tried, but… you just didn’t see it.”

She bit her lip, looking down, her cheeks flushed. “I didn’t see it because… why would I?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he had to lean in to catch the words. “I mean, look at you. You’re… you’re handsome. You could have anyone. And I’m just… me.” She let out a shaky laugh, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m quiet. I’m… awkward. I was rude to you half the time, and the other half I was too shy to even look you in the eye.”

Logan felt his chest tighten as he took in her words. He stepped closer, his voice gentle, almost pleading. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why.”

She looked up, her eyes meeting his, confusion etched in her face.

“Look,” he continued, struggling to put into words everything he’d been feeling. “You’re real. You’re not trying to be anyone else, not putting on a show. You’re just… you. And yeah, you’re quiet, and maybe a little guarded, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s honest. You don’t let people in easily, and for some reason, that made me want to break through even more.”

She stared at him, her eyes beginning to shimmer with unshed tears. He could see her struggling to hold them back, her fingers twisting anxiously at her sides.

“And when you let your guard down,” Logan continued, his voice softer now, “even for just a second… I see this side of you that’s so… warm. You’re thoughtful. Kind. Stronger than you give yourself credit for.” He took a breath, gathering the courage to say the rest. “You make me want to be better, just by being yourself.”

She blinked, her face crumpling slightly as a tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly, as if embarrassed, but more tears followed, spilling over in silent streams.

“I… I didn’t know,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think anyone… saw me like that.”

He took another step forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, his gaze fixed on her face. “I see you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “And not just the version of you from tonight, or the one from work. All of you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment she looked away as if trying to collect herself. Then, with a shaky exhale, she looked back at him, her gaze softer, more open than he’d ever seen it.

“Logan…” Her voice broke, and she let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh, a mix of relief and release. She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, but the tears kept coming. “I didn’t… I never thought…”

Before she could finish, Logan reached out, pulling her into his arms. She didn’t resist, her body melting into his as she let herself be held, her arms slipping around his waist. He felt her relax against him, her head resting against his chest, her shoulders shaking as she allowed herself to cry freely.

Logan tightened his hold, one hand gently cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped securely around her back. He felt her tears soak into his shirt, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of her in his arms, the way she fit against him, like she’d belonged there all along.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… let it out.”

She nodded against his chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as she cried. It wasn’t a sad cry—it was something deeper like she was finally letting go of something she’d held inside for too long. Logan stood there, holding her, letting her know with his presence that she didn’t have to be alone in it anymore.

After a while, her tears slowed, her breathing evening out as she relaxed in his arms. She pulled back slightly, looking up at him, her eyes still wet but filled with quiet gratitude, a kind of wonder that took his breath away.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice raw but steady. “For… seeing me. I don’t know how to explain it, but… no one’s ever really done that before.”

Logan’s gaze softened, and he brushed a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You don’t have to explain it,” he said gently.

They stood there, close enough to feel each other’s breath, a fragile understanding settling between them. She didn’t look away, her gaze steady and unguarded, and for the first time, he felt like he was truly seeing her—no walls, no defenses, just her.

“Logan…” she murmured, her voice trailing off as if the weight of the moment had stolen her words. Her eyes searched his face, hesitant yet drawn in, and after a heartbeat, she lifted her hand, her fingers brushing softly against his cheek. The touch was tentative but unshakably real, grounding him, rooting him in the quiet intimacy between them.

Logan’s breath caught, and he leaned into her touch, his eyes never leaving hers. Her fingertips were warm against his skin, tracing over the rough edges of his jaw, gentle but sure, like she was memorizing him. His heart hammered in his chest, each beat loud and insistent as if to remind him that this—she—was real.

“I see you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but he felt the words settle over him, softening something in him he hadn’t realized was so tightly wound. “I see all of you.”

Logan nodded, his voice thick. “I know, sweetheart.”

Her lips parted slightly, her gaze flicking down as her hand trailed lower, her fingers grazing his cheekbone, then drifting to trace the outline of his bottom lip. His breath hitched, his skin electrified under her touch, and he found himself leaning closer, drawn in like a magnet. Her fingers lingered at the edge of his mouth, her touch featherlight, and for a moment he was utterly still, letting her explore this unguarded part of him.

A soft laugh escaped her, a quiet, wondrous sound as if seeing him this vulnerable under her touch was something she hadn’t quite expected. Her thumb brushed over his lip, and he felt the faintest tremble in her hand like she was as caught up in this as he was.

“Logan… I didn’t know…” she murmured, her voice trailing off, her eyes full of something like wonder. “I didn’t know you could be… like this.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice a low rasp, barely able to keep his focus as her fingers traced along his jaw.

“Soft,” she whispered, her eyes meeting his with a quiet, almost fragile honesty. “You’re always so… strong. Untouchable. But right now…” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing, and he could see the vulnerability in her expression, the way she was opening up to him, bit by bit.

“Not with you,” he replied softly, his voice like a promise. “Never with you.”

He lifted his hand, covering hers against his cheek, pressing it gently, letting her know without words that he wanted her there—that he was letting her see this part of him because it was her. She wasn’t just any woman to him; she was the woman, the one who had slipped under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain.

Slowly, she moved closer, her breath mingling with his, her gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips like she was still wrapping her head around the idea that he could be hers, that he was this vulnerable for her alone.

“I…” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath as she leaned in, her lips brushing softly against his jaw. Her fingers still rested against his cheek, her touch featherlight, hesitant.

Logan’s heart pounded, every instinct urging him to close the distance, to kiss her and pull her into his arms. But he held back, waiting, sensing there was something she needed to say.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice a rough murmur. He kept his gaze steady, trying not to let his need show too much. He wanted her—God, he needed her—but he knew better than to rush this.

She closed her eyes, a soft sigh escaping her as she leaned her forehead against his, her breath warm against his skin. “I want…” she started, her voice catching. She let out a shaky breath, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his. “I want you to hold me.”

Her words were quiet, almost shy, and he felt something shift in his chest, a tenderness he hadn’t known he could feel. She looked down, almost apologetic, her cheeks flushed as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m… sorry if that’s not what you wanted,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady. “I just… I’m not ready for more.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he gently lifted her chin, meeting her eyes with a look of understanding. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice steady and warm. “You don’t have to apologize. I can wait.”

She blinked, her eyes filling with gratitude, a quiet vulnerability that made his heartache. “Really?” she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.

He smiled softly, brushing his thumb along her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch. “Really,” he replied, his tone gentle but sure. “As long as it takes. Just… let me be here with you.”

She let out a shaky breath, and he could feel the tension ease from her shoulders as she leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her body pressed against his.

They stood like that in the quiet, her cheek pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her. He could feel her relax in his embrace, letting go of the hesitation, the fear as if she’d finally found a place she could just… be.

“Thank you, Logan,” she whispered against his shirt, her voice muffled but filled with emotion. “For… for understanding.”

He held her a little tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, a promise in the gentle touch. “Always,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

It was late, and the apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of floorboards settling. Logan had just settled on the couch, nursing a beer and trying to ignore Wade’s relentless teasing, when there was a soft knock at the door.

Logan’s brow furrowed. It was nearly midnight, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He stood up, crossing the small space and opening the door—only to find her standing there, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and uncertain.

For a second, they just stared at each other, and he could see the faint blush rising to her cheeks, the way she looked away, biting her lip as if second-guessing why she’d even come.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry, it’s… so late.”

Logan’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No problem,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, but he could tell she was nervous—more nervous than usual, even. Her gaze darted from his face to the floor, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater as she shifted from one foot to the other. “I, um… I just…” She took a breath, her eyes flicking up to meet his. “I was wondering if… maybe you could come over? Just for a bit?”

Logan’s smile grew, and he nodded, his voice gentle. “Of course. Let me grab my jacket.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Wade, who was watching the scene unfold with a smirk, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “Finally got the girl to come to you, huh?” Wade drawled, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “About damn time.”

Logan rolled his eyes, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. “Yeah, well, took me long enough,” he muttered.

Wade gasped, pressing a hand to his chest in mock shock. “Is the big tough guy over here admitting I was right?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Logan grumbled, but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes as he closed the door behind him, leaving Wade’s laughter echoing down the hall.

When they reached her apartment, she opened the door and led him inside, glancing back at him nervously as if checking to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. Her place was warm and inviting, the faint scent of vanilla in the air, and he could see a blanket draped over the back of her couch, and a book lying open on the coffee table. It felt like stepping into another world—a quiet sanctuary that was all hers.

She hesitated, looking back at him with a shy smile. “Sorry if this is… weird. I just… I didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

Logan shook his head, his expression gentle. “Not weird at all,” he assured her. “I’m glad you asked.”

They settled onto the couch, her curled up at one end with a blanket wrapped around her, and Logan at the other, trying to ignore the subtle ache in his chest that urged him to reach out, to pull her close. Instead, he let her take the lead, watching as she relaxed, her guard slowly lowering in the quiet warmth of her apartment.

After a few minutes, she glanced over at him, her face softening. “You know, I don’t let a lot of people in here. It’s kind of… my space. Where I go when I need to recharge.”

Logan nodded, understanding more than she probably realized. “I figured,” he murmured. “Need a little peace and quiet to get your energy back.”

She laughed softly, tucking her legs up under herself. “Exactly. Sometimes I think people don’t get that. They think I’m being rude or closed off, but it’s not… It’s just how I am.”

Logan smiled, leaning back against the couch, feeling more comfortable here than he had in a long time. “Trust me, I know the feeling. People have been making assumptions about me my whole life.” He looked down, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

She seemed to absorb his words, her expression softening, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the quiet of the room settling over them like a warm blanket. Finally, she shifted a little closer, her fingers playing with the edge of the blanket as if gathering the courage to say something.

“Could you… would you mind just holding me?” she asked softly, almost shyly. “I know it’s silly, but…”

“It’s not silly,” he interrupted gently, already reaching out to pull her closer. She settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her body fitting perfectly against his side. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her securely, feeling the soft warmth of her breath against his neck.

They sat like that in comfortable silence, her fingers tracing small, absent patterns on his arm, and he felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known he was missing. After a while, he noticed her glancing at the book on the coffee table, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small, embarrassed smile.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the book.

She chuckled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “It’s… just an old favorite,” she said, her fingers brushing over the cover as if the book itself were a comfort. “I’ve read it a hundred times, but I keep coming back to it. I guess it’s like… a safe place, you know?”

Logan reached over, picking up the book, letting the pages fall open naturally to a passage she’d read often. His eyes skimmed the words, noticing they were carefully underlined in places, with faint notes scrawled in the margins. Some of the words jumped out at him—truth, deception, uncover. The kind of words that carried a weight he couldn’t quite place.

“You make notes in it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his thumb tracing over one of the handwritten lines in the margin.

She hesitated, her fingers nervously twisting on the edge of the blanket. “Yeah,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I… I tend to analyze things. Sometimes I think too much, but…” She shrugged, glancing up at him with a shy smile. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he flipped through a few more pages, noticing more annotations, small questions scribbled in her neat handwriting: What’s being hidden here? What’s the real story? It wasn’t the kind of casual note-taking he’d expect from someone reading for comfort. It felt… meticulous. Intentional.

“You really dig into things, huh?” he asked his tone light but laced with curiosity.

She let out a small, nervous laugh, looking down as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I guess so. I like… knowing things. Figuring out what’s beneath the surface. Sometimes I think it’s the only way I can make sense of the world.”

Logan’s smile faded slightly, an odd sense of familiarity tugging at him. Her words echoed something he’d heard Stryker say about the journalist they were after—a person who couldn’t leave things alone, who kept digging and prodding, pulling threads no one else had noticed until the whole web of secrets started to unravel. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. No, he thought. That’s ridiculous.

Still, he couldn’t shake a strange feeling, a quiet tension building in the back of his mind. He watched her as she curled up against him, her face soft and relaxed, so different from the hardened profile of a tenacious journalist. And yet…

“So,” he said slowly, turning the conversation a bit, “you said you’ve been working at the bar for… how long now?”

She looked up, blinking as if she hadn’t expected the question. “A few months,” she replied, her voice casual. “Needed a change of pace. City life, you know?”

He nodded, but something about her answer felt practiced. “What did you do before that?”

Her smile wavered, and she glanced away, tugging the blanket a little tighter around herself. “I, um… I did some freelance work. Writing, mostly. Articles, essays, that sort of thing.”

Logan felt his chest tighten, the pieces shifting uncomfortably into place. Freelance writing. It could mean anything… or it could mean everything. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, unwilling to let his suspicions show.

“Writing, huh?” he said, his voice carefully steady. “You must have a knack for it if you’re making a living off it.”

She shrugged, looking down at her hands, her voice softening. “I like to dig into things. Tell stories that don’t get told. Sometimes people don’t appreciate that.” She glanced up at him, a small, frown tugging at her lips. “Guess I’ve made a few enemies along the way.”

Logan’s stomach twisted, his mind racing. He’d been chasing this journalist for weeks, tracking down scraps of information, hearing bits and pieces about someone who wouldn’t quit, who kept pushing no matter the consequences. And here she was, right in front of him, leaning against him with that soft, trusting smile. He felt a pang of guilt mixed with something he couldn’t quite name—something like dread, or realization.

“Guess you don’t mind getting into trouble, huh?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, almost teasing.

She laughed, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “I try not to, but… I don’t know. I just can’t let things go when I feel like there’s more to the story.” She looked up at him, her gaze holding his with a quiet intensity. “You get that, don’t you?”

He nodded, throat suddenly tight. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low. “I get that.”

They fell into silence, and she nestled against him, resting her head on his shoulder, unaware of the storm swirling in his mind. Logan tightened his arm around her, holding her close, feeling the weight of her trust in the way she settled against him. He wanted to shake off his suspicions, to tell himself he was reading too much into things. But the more he thought about it, the more the pieces clicked into place.

He looked down at her, his gaze softening despite his racing thoughts. He could feel the warmth of her, her breath steady against his chest, her body relaxed and trusting in his arms. She was right here, with him, no walls, no defenses.

Maybe she was the person he’d been looking for all along.

She had fallen asleep against him, her head nestled on his shoulder, her breathing soft and steady. Logan’s arm was still wrapped around her, but his mind was far from the peaceful quiet of the moment. His thoughts churned, circling back to everything Stryker had told him—and more importantly, everything Stryker hadn’t told him.

For weeks, they’d been tracking down whispers about a journalist who was digging too deep, getting too close to things they had no business knowing. Stryker had been vague about the details, only dropping hints about classified information being exposed, and names being uncovered. Hell, now that Logan thought about it, he realized Stryker hadn’t even specified if their target was a man or a woman. They’d just assumed.

A cold knot of dread formed in his stomach. Could it be her? he wondered, glancing down at her peaceful face, so trusting, so vulnerable in sleep. She’d let him into her world tonight, let him see the quiet, guarded person behind her walls. He’d felt closer to her than he had to anyone in years. But now… now he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been blind, missing clues that were right in front of him.

Silently, he cursed, gently easing her off him and onto the couch. She murmured something in her sleep, shifting slightly, but didn’t wake, sinking deeper into the cushions. Logan took a steadying breath, watching her for a moment, his heart aching with the conflict tearing him apart. What am I doing? he asked himself. But he knew he had to see this through.

His eyes scanned the room, his gaze landing on a small desk tucked in the corner by the window. He moved quietly, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the heater as he made his way over. The desk was neat, but he noticed a few loose papers sticking out of one of the drawers as if she’d shoved them in hurriedly, almost like she’d meant to hide them.

He hesitated, glancing back at her sleeping form, guilt gnawing at him. Just leave it alone, a part of him whispered. You know she’d never forgive you. But the doubt was too strong, the questions too sharp, cutting through his resolve. Slowly, he pulled open the drawer, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached inside.

What he found stopped him cold.

Stacks of papers, notes scribbled in her handwriting, clippings from newspapers, and—his heart dropped—classified documents. Some were marked with the distinct insignia of military intelligence, others with the unmistakable logo of Team X. He sifted through them, his pulse racing as he took in the details. There were notes on most of the members of the team, pieces of their pasts pieced together like puzzle fragments. He found Stryker’s name circled in red ink, question marks, and hastily written notes scrawled next to it: Experimentation? Corruption? The truth?

The worst of it was a half-written document, clearly meant to be an exposé. She’d been planning to write everything down—publish everything. The paper was titled in bold at the top: The Hidden Faces of War: Secrets Behind Team X. And beneath the title, a line that made his blood run cold: “An unauthorized look into the men behind the missions, and the things they were never meant to remember.”

Logan’s stomach twisted, the betrayal sinking deep as he pieced it together. She knew about Team X. She’d known this entire time. All the while, she’d kept him close, drawn him in, let him think he was getting to know her, that he was helping her let her guard down. But maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe she’d been watching him, studying him.

No, he told himself, gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself. That’s not her. It can’t be. He thought of the way she’d looked at him tonight, the way she’d opened up, let him see her vulnerability. She wasn’t faking that… was she?

He closed his eyes, a wave of regret and anger washing over him. He wanted to believe her, to believe that she hadn’t known who he was, that she hadn’t been playing him. But the evidence was here, right in front of him. She’d been planning to expose them—him—for God knows how long.

A soft sound made him look up. She was stirring on the couch, shifting under the blanket, her brow furrowing as if she could feel the tension radiating off him even in sleep. He shut the drawer quietly, his hands still shaking, and turned away, trying to pull himself together before she woke.

It was too late. Her eyes fluttered open, a soft, sleepy smile on her face as she blinked at him in the dim light. “Logan?” she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. “What… what’re you doing over there?”

He forced a smile, his heart a mess of anger and sorrow as he looked at her, standing in her cozy apartment that had, just minutes ago, felt like home. Now it felt like a stranger’s room, filled with shadows and secrets. “Just… looking around,” he said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair, the gentle smile fading as she noticed the tension in his expression. “Is everything okay?”

He stared at her, searching her face for any hint of deception, any sign that she was lying to him. But all he saw was concern, confusion, and that same vulnerability that had drawn him to her in the first place. And suddenly, he felt like he was the one who was breaking.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice a low whisper, barely containing the hurt beneath it.

Her face went pale, her eyes widening. “What… what are you talking about?”

“Team X,” he said, the words heavy, almost accusing. “The documents. The notes. I saw them.” He gestured vaguely toward the desk, unable to stop the edge in his tone. “You’ve known about us this whole time, haven’t you?”

She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Logan, I…” She took a shaky breath, her hands twisting together. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was… I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

“Tell me?” he repeated, his voice a harsh whisper. “Tell me that you’re planning to expose everything? Stryker, Team X… me?”

She looked up, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her voice trembling. “It’s not like that,” she whispered. “I didn’t…wasn’t doing it to hurt you. I wanted… I wanted people to know the truth. About what Stryker was making you do, making all of you do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, the betrayal sinking in, heavy and painful. “So that’s it? You’ve just been studying me this whole time? Waiting to get enough dirt to make a story out of it?”

“No!” She shook her head, her voice breaking. “Logan, I… I didn’t plan any of this. Meeting you, being with you… it wasn’t part of the story. That’s real. You have to believe me.”

Logan felt himself falter, his anger wavering as he looked into her eyes. They were wide and glassy, filled with a desperate sincerity that made his chest ache. “How am I supposed to believe you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, her voice raw, trembling. “I know… I know how it looks. But please, Logan, you have to understand—I never wanted to hurt you. Or anyone else.” Her voice cracked, and she looked down, clutching her hands together. “I gave up the story before you even came here. Some guy threatened me at work—when I was still working at the newspaper. Said I was poking around in places I didn’t belong.” She let out a shaky breath. “I got scared. Decided to quit and… and disappear.”

Logan closed his eyes, the ache in his chest tightening, almost unbearable. Part of him wanted to turn around, to walk away and never look back, to spare himself the mess of feelings clawing their way through him. But another part—the part that had been drawn to her since the beginning, the part that had found something like peace in her arms—couldn’t let go. Not yet.

He opened his eyes, studying her, searching for any hint of deception. “So you ran,” he said quietly, his voice edged with disbelief. “You just… left it all behind?”

She nodded, her gaze distant, as if caught in the memory. “I thought if I hid, maybe they’d forget about me. But I knew…” She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. “I knew someone would come eventually. I couldn’t outrun it forever. I knew that… that I knew too much, even if I never published the story.”

She paused, then slowly rose to her feet, taking a step closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. “So when you and Wade showed up… I thought maybe that was it. That you were here to… finish the job.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, and Logan saw the flash of fear in her eyes, the quiet acceptance beneath it that shook him to his core. “I accepted that.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, a fresh wave of anger and confusion washing over him. “You thought we were here to kill you?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “And you… you just accepted it?”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to hold herself together. “I didn’t have a choice,” she said, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t go to anyone. I couldn’t trust anyone. Not after the threats… after the people who went quiet when I tried to ask questions.” Her gaze dropped, and he could see her fighting to keep her composure. “But then you started hovering around me. I thought you knew right from the start and was just toying with me but then I got to know you. And I started hoping that maybe… maybe it didn’t have to end that way.”

Logan felt his anger dissolve, replaced by a deep, painful empathy he hadn’t expected. He could see it now, all of it—the fear she must have lived with, the constant worry that she’d made a mistake she couldn’t take back. She’d been alone, hiding, looking over her shoulder… and yet she’d let him in, despite all of it.

“But you still didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice quieter now, laced with hurt. “You let me get close to you, you let me… fall for you, and you didn’t think I deserved to know the truth?”

Her face crumpled, another tear slipping down her cheek. “I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I thought… I thought if I told you, you’d leave. Or worse—that you’d confirm what I’d been afraid of. That you were here to… end things.”

He swallowed, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. “So you kept it hidden. Just like you’ve kept everything else.”

She took a step closer, reaching out tentatively, her hand hovering between them. “Logan, please,” she murmured, her eyes searching his, filled with raw, unguarded vulnerability. “I was scared. I’ve been scared this whole time. And then you came into my life, and for the first time… I didn’t feel alone.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought maybe I’d finally found someone I could trust.”

He looked down at her hand, so close yet hesitant, and he felt the weight of her words settle over him, tugging at something deep inside. She hadn’t just been hiding; she’d been surviving, barely holding on, and he could see the toll it had taken on her—the guardedness, the fear, the way she’d kept everyone at arm’s length.

Slowly, he reached out, closing the distance between them, his fingers brushing hers. Her hand was cold, trembling slightly, and he felt a surge of protectiveness rise in him, stronger than the hurt, stronger than the anger. He looked into her eyes, searching for any trace of deception, but all he saw was a woman standing on the edge, hoping someone would finally reach out and pull her back.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” he said softly, his voice a quiet promise. “Not of me.”

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky laugh, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to hear that,” she whispered. She took another step closer, her hand slipping into his, her grip tentative but real. “I’m so sorry, Logan… for everything. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I just… I didn’t know how to stop being afraid.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, feeling the way she melted against him, finally letting herself be vulnerable, finally allowing herself to trust. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble against her hair. “You don’t have to explain.”

She clung to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his chest as if she were afraid to let go. He could feel her shaking, the quiet release of all the fear and tension she’d been holding for so long.

After a moment, she pulled back just enough to look up at him, her gaze filled with a fragile kind of hope. “Do you… do you think you could ever forgive me?”

Logan looked down at her, his thumb brushing away the last of her tears. “I already have,” he said quietly. “But I need you to be honest with me. No more secrets. No more hiding.”

She nodded a new determination settling in her eyes. “No more secrets,” she promised. “I’ll tell you everything. Whatever you want to know.”

He felt the weight of her words, the sincerity woven through every syllable. She was laying it all bare, trusting him with the truth she’d kept hidden for so long. But he knew this wouldn’t be easy—that there was still so much they’d have to face. Stryker wouldn’t let something like this go. Logan knew him too well; once Stryker had a target, he didn’t back off. And as much as he trusted Wade on a good day, there was a flicker of doubt nagging at him. Wade might be unpredictable, even reckless, but loyalty to Stryker ran deep. Logan wasn’t sure he’d want to risk involving him in this… not yet.

He looked down at her, taking in the way she leaned into him, her fingers trembling slightly as they entwined with his. She was strong, maybe stronger than he’d given her credit for, but there was a fragility to her now, a vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the mess he knew was waiting for them on the other side of this door.

“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, his voice a low promise, rough but steady. “I’m not letting anything happen to you. I swear it.”

She nodded, her gaze steady on his, a glimmer of trust in her eyes mixed with the fear she couldn’t quite shake. Slowly, she leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his chest as if anchoring herself to him. Her fingers tightened around his, and he felt her take a shaky breath, steadying herself.

In the back of his mind, he knew the reality they’d soon have to face. Stryker wouldn’t back down, and the second he realized Logan was no longer his loyal soldier, he’d come after both of them with everything he had. Logan would have to be smart, and careful—because this wasn’t just his fight anymore. He was protecting her, and he’d go through hell before he let Stryker get his hands on her.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan reluctantly left her apartment in the early morning light, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He hadn’t slept, his mind racing with thoughts of how to protect her, how to find a way out of this mess. It had been two months since he and Wade had first arrived in this city, sent by Stryker on what had felt like a routine assignment. But now, everything was different. He wasn’t just hunting down a journalist anymore. He was trying to protect her, and the stakes felt higher than they’d ever been.

He walked down the hall to his apartment, already tense as he thought about facing Wade. Wade wasn’t stupid; he’d been watching Logan grow more distracted, more distant. Sooner or later, Wade would start asking questions.

Logan opened the door, expecting to find Wade sprawled on the couch in his usual state of early-morning oblivion. But instead, he froze in the doorway, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

Wade was sitting upright, his expression oddly tight, watching as Stryker stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. And next to Stryker, like some silent shadow, was Victor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a feral smile playing on his lips.

Logan’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t a casual check-in. Stryker and Victor didn’t just drop by without a reason. And the fact that they were here, together, sent a clear message: Stryker was losing patience.

“There he is. The big guy,” Wade said with a forced smile, his eyes flicking over to Logan. “Been wondering where you got off to.”

Logan shot him a hard look, cutting off any more commentary. “Been following a lead,” he said, his tone clipped, hoping Wade would understand the warning. “Another dead end.”

Stryker turned, his gaze sharp and assessing, a faint smirk on his face as if he could see right through Logan’s words. “Seems like you’ve been running into a lot of those lately, Logan,” he said, voice cold and controlled. “It’s almost as if you’re not taking this mission seriously.”

Logan clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You’re the one who sent us out here with nothing but scraps to go on,” he replied, his voice edged with frustration. “If you want results, maybe you should’ve given us more than vague orders and a damn ghost to chase.”

Stryker’s smirk widened, but his eyes were steel. “Funny. I thought I gave two of my best men an easy task. Thought you’d be able to handle a simple journalist.” He let the word linger, his gaze narrowing. “Maybe I was wrong.”

Beside him, Victor let out a low, rumbling chuckle, the sound crawling up Logan’s spine. “Guess little brother’s gone soft,” Victor said, his grin sharp and predatory. “Maybe you need a little help… cleaning things up.”

Logan tensed, feeling the familiar pulse of anger at Victor’s taunt, but he held himself in check. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now. “We don’t need your help,” he said flatly, his eyes locked on Stryker. “We’re close. Just need a little more time.”

Stryker raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from Logan to Wade, lingering just long enough that Logan felt a flicker of unease. “Close?” he repeated, a hint of mockery in his voice. “Interesting, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re stalled. Distracted, even.”

Logan forced himself to stay calm, but he could feel the weight of Stryker’s scrutiny, the way his gaze seemed to strip away the layers, looking for cracks. He could only hope that his face betrayed nothing.

Stryker continued, his voice low, almost a murmur. “You know, I’ve heard some… interesting things about this journalist. Reserved. Guarded. Not the type to let things go. The kind who might blend in, fly under the radar.”

Logan’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face impassive, refusing to give anything away. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wade’s expression shift slightly, a glimmer of realization in his gaze. Logan felt a jolt of alarm as he saw Wade put two and two together. But to his relief, Wade stayed quiet, his face carefully neutral.

Stryker’s gaze sharpened. “So, let me be clear. I don’t care how ‘close’ you think you are. If I don’t see results soon, I’ll send someone else to finish the job. Someone with… fewer sentimental attachments.”

Victor’s grin widened, his gaze fixed on Logan like a predator sizing up its prey. “Wouldn’t mind a shot at this mystery journalist myself,” he drawled, his tone laced with menace. “I’ve got a knack for finding people who don’t want to be found. And once I find them…” He flexed his fingers, his claws slipping out, gleaming under the dim light. “Well, let’s just say they don’t stay hidden for long.”

Logan forced himself to stay steady, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. He knew exactly what Victor was capable of, and the thought of Victor tracking her down, getting his claws anywhere near her, made his stomach turn. He wanted to tear into Victor, to tell Stryker to back off, but he knew he couldn’t afford to give anything away. Not now. Not with her life on the line.

“Give us another week,” Logan said, his voice steady but laced with an edge of warning. “We’ll find them. You have my word.”

Stryker tilted his head, considering him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. Then he gave a slow, cold smile. “Two days,” he said, holding Logan’s gaze with an intensity that made it clear he wasn’t offering any second chances. “After that… well, let’s just say I don’t think Victor will have much trouble picking up where you left off.”

Logan gave a tight nod, refusing to look at Victor as he spoke. “Understood.”

Stryker’s smile widened, satisfied. “Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” He turned, gesturing for Victor to follow, but paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. “And Logan? Make sure your priorities are… clear. I’d hate to think you were letting personal feelings get in the way of your work.”

With that, he strode out, Victor trailing behind him with one last lingering look that sent a shiver down Logan’s spine.

The door closed, leaving Logan and Wade alone in heavy silence. Wade sat back, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable as he studied Logan.

“So,” Wade said slowly, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “The journalist. Guarded, quiet… maybe someone who likes books, keeps to herself. Ring any bells?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, refusing to meet Wade’s gaze. “Drop it.”

Wade didn’t. He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Look, Logan, I get it. But if you’re gonna do this, you’d better be sure, because if Stryker finds out…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Logan closed his eyes for a brief second, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I know the risks,” he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’m not letting them touch her.”

Wade studied him for a long moment, and Logan could see the gears turning in his mind, the flicker of understanding mixed with reluctant respect. Finally, Wade leaned back, letting out a low sigh.

“Then we’d better make this convincing,” Wade muttered, his voice low, wary. “Because if Stryker or Victor get even a whiff of what’s going on, it’s over.”

Logan nodded, feeling his resolve harden into something sharp and unyielding. He knew what was at stake, knew the dangers that lurked in every step they took from here on out. Stryker had given him a week, but Logan didn’t trust him to keep that promise—not when he’d seen the glint in Victor’s eyes, the barely restrained hunger. Victor would do it in a heartbeat if he thought it’d get him back in Stryker’s good graces. Logan could practically feel the weight of the clock ticking down, and he knew he had to move fast.

“She didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade. “She just… she wanted to expose the system. Stryker. Everything he’s done to us.” His voice caught, the frustration and regret boiling beneath the surface. “She didn’t deserve this.”

Wade studied him quietly, a strange seriousness in his gaze. “Yeah, well, maybe she didn’t,” he replied, almost reluctantly. “You think I’m okay with half the things we’ve done? Or with the shit Stryker’s made us do? Hell, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about getting out myself if I thought there was a real chance.”

Logan looked at him, surprised. Wade rarely let his guard down, especially when it came to their line of work. This was a side of him Logan hadn’t seen before—raw, unguarded.

Wade sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, man. I’ll help you,” he said, his voice softer now, carrying a note of real sincerity. “I don’t want her getting hurt, either. I’m not a monster. I know what Stryker will do if he gets his hands on her.” He paused, his gaze steady. “She doesn’t deserve that. And neither do you.”

Logan swallowed, the weight of Wade’s words settling over him like a lifeline he hadn’t known he needed. “So what are you suggesting?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loud might shatter the fragile trust hanging between them.

Wade’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If we’re gonna keep her out of Stryker’s sights, we’re gonna need to make this whole thing look legit,” he said, his tone calculating. “Stryker thinks we’re fumbling around because we don’t have any real leads. What if we… create a lead?”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “You mean fake it? Give Stryker something to chase?”

“Exactly,” Wade replied, his lips curving into a sly grin. “We leak a location, a name—hell, we can even plant some fake documents somewhere. Make him think she skipped town, got scared, and ran. If he’s chasing a ghost, he won’t have time to look too closely at what’s right under his nose.”

Logan felt a surge of hope, a sliver of light cutting through the tension. “You think he’ll buy it?”

Wade shrugged. “Stryker’s not as sharp as he likes to think he is. He’ll buy it if we sell it right.” He paused, a hint of doubt flickering in his eyes. “But you have to be careful. We make this move, and it’ll have to be airtight. Stryker doesn’t give second chances, especially not to his own men.”

Logan clenched his jaw, the gravity of Wade’s plan sinking in. It was risky. If Stryker suspected even for a second that they were feeding him false information, he’d come down on both of them—hard. But if it worked… it could buy them the time they needed.

“All right,” Logan said, his voice resolute. “We do this. We give him a trail to follow, keep him looking in the wrong places.”

Wade nodded, his expression grim but determined. “We’ll need to make it convincing. A name, maybe a fake contact, some breadcrumbs leading Stryker out of town.” He hesitated, then added, “And we’ll have to act like nothing’s changed. Like we’re still hunting her down.”

Logan felt a pang of guilt twist in his chest. He hated the idea of lying to her, of making her think he was still on Stryker’s leash. But he knew there was no other way. Stryker had eyes everywhere, and the slightest slip could put her life in even greater danger.

“We can’t tell her,” Logan murmured, more to himself than to Wade. “She can’t know we’re setting this up.”

Wade’s gaze softened, a rare flicker of sympathy in his usually sardonic eyes. “She doesn’t need to know,” he agreed. “Sometimes it’s better that way. Protects her, keeps her out of the crossfire.” He gave Logan a measured look. “Just… make sure she knows she can trust you. Because if she doesn’t, this whole thing falls apart.”

Logan nodded, steeling himself. “She’ll trust me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “I won’t let her down.”

A tense silence fell over them, each of them lost in thought, running through the plan in their minds. Finally, Wade broke the quiet, his voice barely more than a murmur. “One more thing,” he said, his gaze flickering toward the door as if expecting Stryker or Victor to barge back in at any moment. “Victor’s already suspicious. I saw the way he was looking at you like he knew something was off. If he gets even a hint of what we’re doing…”

Logan’s face hardened a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I’ll handle Victor.”

Wade studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. Then we’re doing this.” He clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder, his tone a mix of seriousness and forced humor. “Look at us, playing the heroes. Who would’ve thought?”

Logan managed a tight smile, but his mind was already racing with what had to happen next. He’d have to lie to her, to keep her in the dark while they set up the fake trail. He’d have to act like nothing had changed like he was still hunting her down—even as he worked to protect her.

“Thanks, Wade,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

Wade shrugged, giving him a faint smirk. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s get through this first.” He glanced over his shoulder, his expression turning grim again. “And let’s hope Stryker buys what we’re selling. Otherwise… this could get messy. Real fast.”

Logan nodded the weight of the plan settling on his shoulders. They had one shot to pull this off, to create a believable enough story to keep Stryker and Victor off her trail. He knew it was a gamble, but it was the only chance he had to protect her—to keep her out of Stryker’s reach.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan’s mind churned with the details Wade had suggested, the lies they’d need to tell to sell this deception. He’d be walking a razor-thin line, but he was prepared to do whatever it took to protect her. But as he made his way down the hall to her apartment, a faint sense of unease prickled in his chest, like he was already too late.

He paused at her door, listening, making sure the hallway was empty before he knocked. A few seconds passed, and then the door cracked open, her wary eyes peeking through. Relief softened her face when she saw him.

“Oh, hey,” she said quietly, pulling the door open wider to let him in.

Logan stepped inside, closing the door firmly behind him and turning the lock, his eyes immediately scanning her small living space—a habit he’d developed since deciding to keep her safe. But something was different. There was an energy in the room, a tension he couldn’t quite place… until he noticed the duffle bag sitting on her couch, half-filled with clothes, a few books, and a stack of papers she’d been hastily shoving inside.

He froze, his stomach twisting. “Going somewhere?” he asked, trying to keep his tone steady.

She glanced at him, her expression conflicted. “Logan…” she started, her voice a mixture of determination and regret. She dropped another shirt into the bag, then zipped it up, her hands lingering on the worn fabric for a moment. “I have to go. I can’t stay here anymore.”

Logan’s chest tightened. Part of him wanted to be proud of her for being so smart, so aware of the danger circling them. But a much larger part of him was panicking, scrambling for a way to keep her here, to keep her safe. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low, urgent. “You don’t have to run.”

She shook her head, letting out a shaky breath as she straightened, her eyes meeting his with a fierce resolve. “Yes, I do, Logan. You know it as well as I do. You’re not the only one they’ll send after me. If you’re not going to… finish the job, someone else will.”

He clenched his fists, frustration, and fear tightening his throat. She was right, of course, and it made him want to tear down the entire system that had brought them to this point. But he couldn’t just let her walk away. “You think I can’t protect you?” he asked, his voice rough, almost a growl.

She softened, stepping closer to him, reaching up to place a gentle hand on his cheek. “I know you can,” she murmured. “If there’s anyone in this world I’d trust with my life, it’s you. But that’s exactly why I have to go. I can’t let you risk everything for me.”

Logan swallowed hard, his heart pounding at her touch, at the weight of her words. “I don’t care about the risks,” he whispered fiercely, covering her hand with his. “I’m not letting them touch you. Not Stryker, not Victor… no one.”

Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, he saw the vulnerability beneath her determination, the quiet fear she’d been trying so hard to hide. But she shook her head, pulling her hand back. “I won’t be the reason something happens to you. I won’t be responsible for that.”

“You’re not responsible for anything except staying safe,” he countered, his voice barely controlled. “I’ve got a plan. Wade and I, we’re gonna mislead Stryker, make him think you’re gone, that you’ve disappeared.”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering with hope before it dimmed again. “That’ll only work for so long. Sooner or later, Stryker will figure it out, and he’ll send someone else to hunt me down. You know that.”

Logan gritted his teeth, fighting the frustration boiling under his skin. “Then I’ll deal with it when that happens,” he said, his tone fierce, final. “I’m not letting you throw yourself out there, just waiting for them to find you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her voice trembling. “Logan, do you hear yourself? You’re talking about going up against Stryker, against Victor, against all of them. They’ll come after you, too. They’ll kill you. And I… I can’t have that on my conscience.”

“Then don’t,” he shot back, taking a step closer, his gaze burning into hers. “Don’t put this all on you. I’m choosing this, understand? This isn’t about guilt or responsibility. It’s about me protecting the one good thing I’ve found in a long, damn time. And I’m not walking away from that. Not now.”

Her breath caught, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She reached up to touch his face again, her fingers trembling. “Logan… I never wanted this to happen. I didn’t want you to get involved, to risk everything for me.”

“Too late,” he murmured, his voice softer now, filled with a raw honesty that he couldn’t hide. “I’m already involved. I’m not walking away.”

She stared at him, torn, her gaze searching his face as if looking for some reassurance, some certainty. Slowly, she lowered her hand, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Logan… if I stay, it’ll only make things worse. You and Wade might be able to mislead them for a little while, but eventually… eventually, they’ll catch up. And I can’t keep hiding, knowing that every second, you’re risking your life just to keep me safe.”

Logan took a deep breath, trying to keep himself steady. He understood her fear, her need to run. But he couldn’t let her go. Not when he knew exactly what would happen if she faced Stryker’s men on her own. “Then let me come with you,” he said quietly. “We’ll disappear together. Start fresh somewhere. Somewhere they can’t find us.”

She looked at him, surprised, her eyes widening. “You’d… you’d leave everything behind?”

“In a heartbeat,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I’d leave it all if it meant keeping you safe. You think I care about Stryker? About Team X? That life’s got nothing for me. Not anymore.”

Finally, she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. “If you do this… there’s no going back.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He took her hand in his, his thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles. “But if it means keeping you safe, keeping you with me… then it’s worth it.”

After a moment, she squeezed his hand, nodding slowly. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet resolve.

Logan pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly, as if he could shield her from every danger waiting outside her door. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, steady and warm, grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Just trust me, okay?” he murmured, his voice soft but fierce. He needed her to believe him, to know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

She nodded against his chest, her face buried against him, her hands moving up and down his back in gentle, comforting circles. For a while, they stood there in silence, wrapped in each other, until she looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with something that went beyond fear—something softer, deeper.

“Logan,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. She hesitated, searching his face. “Would you… kiss me?”

Her voice was fragile like she was afraid the question might break something between them. He looked down at her, taking in the delicate curve of her lips, the way they parted slightly as she spoke. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze open and vulnerable in a way that hit him like a punch to the gut.

He swallowed, his thumb brushing over her cheek, unsure if she truly wanted this or if it was just the adrenaline, the danger, that was pushing her toward him. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Is this… because of what’s happening? Or do you—”

But she silenced him by leaning in, her lips brushing softly against his. Her fingers slipped up to tangle in his hair. She kissed him like she was gathering her courage, like every fear, every doubt, was melting away with that one simple touch.

When she pulled back, her eyes met his, and he saw the truth there, raw and honest. “I’ve wanted this for a while,” she murmured, her voice steady, no hesitation left. “Hell, probably since that night at the club… but I was scared. Scared of what you might see if I let you in. Scared of getting close, because… because I thought I’d lose you, too.” She let out a shaky breath. “But I’m not scared anymore.”

Logan felt his defenses crumble, the walls he’d built around himself falling away under the weight of her words. She wasn’t running, wasn’t hiding behind excuses or fear. She was standing there, bare and unguarded, and trusting him with her heart. His chest tightened, an ache spreading through him as he realized just how much he needed this—needed her.

He leaned down slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted, but she didn’t move. Her gaze held his, steady and waiting, and he closed the remaining space between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, he felt the intensity build, something raw and desperate spilling over between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips parting against his, and he deepened the kiss, pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into it. She tasted like warmth and hope and everything he’d thought he couldn’t have, everything he’d thought he’d lost. He held her close, his hands splaying across her back, anchoring her to him as if letting go wasn’t even an option.

“I’m not letting anything happen to you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and fierce. “Not while I’m here.”

She smiled, her gaze soft yet intense, and he felt her hands drift to his chest, coming to rest just over his heart. Her touch was light but grounding, a steady warmth that seemed to settle him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “I know,” she whispered, her voice carrying a quiet certainty that made his heartache.

Her fingers moved slowly, almost reverently, tracing the lines of his chest before they dipped down to the hem of his shirt. She hesitated, looking up at him for permission, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and need. Logan felt his breath hitch as she tugged gently at the fabric, her silent invitation hanging in the air between them.

For a moment, he froze, an instinctive caution holding him back. This was dangerous, selfish even. He knew he should be focusing on getting her to safety, on keeping his guard up. But with her here, looking at him like he was something more than a weapon, something worth risking everything for… he felt his resolve crumble. If this was the only chance they’d have to be together, then he couldn’t bring himself to turn it away. He needed her, needed this moment—something real and honest before everything went dark again.

With a quiet exhale, he lifted his arms, helping her pull his shirt over his head. Her fingers trailed against his skin as the fabric slipped away, leaving a faint trail of warmth in their wake. He could see the way she looked at him, her gaze softening as she took him in, the faint scars across his chest, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing under her touch.

Before he could say anything, she leaned up, pulling him into another kiss. This one was deeper, bolder, a raw edge of longing slipping into the gentle rhythm. Her hands moved up his chest, exploring the contours of his body with a quiet reverence that made him shiver. He wrapped his arms around her, guiding her backward, his hands steady on her waist as they sank onto the couch together.

They moved slowly, unhurried, as if savoring each touch, each shared breath. Her hands roamed over his bare skin, tracing the lines of muscle like she was memorizing him, piece by piece. There was a tenderness in her touch, a quiet understanding that made him feel seen, not just as Logan the soldier, the protector, but as something more—a man who had carried his pain, his regrets, and was finally allowing someone else in.

Her lips brushed along his jaw, down his neck, each touch light but deliberate, and he closed his eyes, letting himself be vulnerable in a way he never allowed himself to be. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, her breath warm against his skin, and the weight of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the quiet intimacy between them.

She pulled him closer, her fingers tracing along his shoulders. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, steady and sure, grounding him in the moment. Every touch, every kiss was filled with a quiet urgency, an unspoken understanding that this might be all they had—a single, stolen night in a world that didn’t want them to exist together.

Her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans, her fingertips trailing softly over his skin, and Logan shuddered under her touch. It wasn’t something he was used to—being touched like this, with care, with reverence—but he leaned into it, letting her pull him closer. His own hands moved instinctively, gliding down the curve of her back, mapping every line, every delicate angle as if trying to commit her to memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her words full of quiet sincerity as she tugged his jeans down his hips. Her eyes roamed over him, taking him in as if he were something precious.

Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound rough and unpracticed. “Beautiful?” he echoed, a faint, self-deprecating grin tugging at his lips. It was strange hearing that word directed at him—foreign in a way that made him feel both exposed and disarmed. “I’m looking at beautiful, and it sure as hell isn’t me.”

She shook her head, a gentle smile softening her features. “You don’t see it, do you?” she said, her gaze steady and unwavering, as though daring him to believe her. Before he could respond, she leaned down, brushing her lips against his, silencing his doubts. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, and Logan felt the world narrow until it was just her—her hands, her lips, her warmth against him.

His hands moved to undress her in return, his touch deliberate and steady. He didn’t rush, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin, every sigh and soft laugh that escaped her lips as their barriers fell away, one by one, until there was nothing left between them.

Her body fit against his like it had always been meant to, her warmth grounding him as they moved together, finding a rhythm that felt both new and ancient, as if they’d known each other in a thousand lifetimes before this one. Logan let himself get lost in her—her touch, her scent, the quiet, breathless way she said his name like it was something sacred. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself feel fully present, fully alive.

When it was over, they lay tangled together in silence for a while, the room dark and still, their own private world created in the quiet spaces between breaths. Her head rested against his chest, her breath warm and steady, rising and falling in time with his. Logan ran his fingers through her hair absentmindedly, marveling at the softness of it, at how natural it felt to hold her like this. He felt her fingertips tracing lazy patterns along his side, as if she couldn’t bear to let go of him entirely. He wanted to say something, to tell her that he’d protect her, that he’d find a way to keep her safe no matter what. But he knew that promises like that were fragile, easily broken.

Instead, he pulled her a little closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “No matter what happens tomorrow… tonight was real,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “This—us—it’s real.”

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with a quiet strength. “I know,” she whispered, her fingers tracing gentle circles on his chest. “You deserve this, Logan. You deserve to be seen…and to be loved.” Her voice wavered slightly on the last word, but she didn’t look away.

Those words hit harder than he’d ever admit. He swallowed thickly, his throat tight. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, that he wasn’t worth all this. But the way she looked at him—steady, unflinching—made it impossible. She meant it. She saw all the broken, jagged pieces of him, and she wasn’t afraid of them.

He nodded once, unable to speak, and pulled her back down into his arms. She settled against him, her body curling naturally into his, and he let his hand trace down her back again, slow and deliberate. He closed his eyes, resting his chin against the top of her head.

The apartment settled into quiet stillness, a fragile peace settling over them. They both knew the danger waiting just outside these walls, the fight that lay ahead was far from over. However, Logan knew he’d fight a thousand battles to keep this feeling, this moment.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

A loud banging jolted Logan awake, dragging him out of a restless sleep. He shot upright, disoriented, the harsh sound echoing through the quiet apartment. In his confusion, he rolled off the couch, hitting the floor hard. He cursed under his breath, fumbling to pull on his jeans when a sick feeling settled in his gut.

She was gone.

His eyes darted around the room, his heart pounding as he took in the emptiness around him. Her coat was missing from the hook by the door, and the books and papers she’d been packing away last night were gone. The duffle bag she’d packed was gone.

He rushed through the apartment, searching—her bedroom, the bathroom, every small corner where she might have left something behind. But it was empty.

No, no, no, he thought, his chest tightening with a fierce, helpless frustration. She’d left without a word, without so much as a note. After everything they’d shared, after he’d sworn he’d keep her safe… she’d still chosen to leave.

The banging on the door grew louder, more insistent, accompanied by a voice muffled through the thin walls. “Logan! Open the damn door!” It was Wade, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t pull himself out of the numb shock settling over him. She was gone, and he didn’t know where. His promise to protect her felt hollow, empty.

He stood in the middle of her apartment, his eyes scanning the space as if hoping for some clue, something she’d left behind that would help him understand why she’d run. But there was nothing. Just the quiet, heavy emptiness where she’d been.

The banging turned into a relentless pounding. “Logan! For god’s sake, open up!” Wade’s voice was growing louder, more urgent.

Logan clenched his jaw, swallowing the knot in his throat. He headed toward the door with a sense of dread pooling in his stomach. When he opened it, Wade practically stumbled inside, his expression unusually serious.

“Finally,” Wade muttered, glancing over Logan’s shoulder as if expecting to see her. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been pounding on this door for ten minutes.”

Logan’s gaze was hard, distant. “She’s gone, Wade,” he said, his voice rough. “I woke up, and… she was just gone.”

Wade’s face twisted in a grimace, and he ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, I figured. She came by the apartment earlier. Banged on our door like her life depended on it. Woke me up.” He gave Logan a look that was half sympathy, half irritation. “She told me to tell you… she was sorry.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, anger and frustration boiling beneath the surface. Sorry. She’d left him with nothing but an apology after he’d risked everything to protect her. After he’d trusted her, let her in… after he’d started to think they could build something together.

“Did she say anything else?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. “Anything about where she was going?”

Wade shook his head, his expression darkening. “No. I’m sorry but it’s smart she got out of here.” He glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “We’ve got a problem. I think Stryker’s onto us. He’s been sniffing around. I caught Victor hanging around across the street.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, the weight of the situation settling heavily on him. Of course, Stryker knew something was up. He should have expected this. The plan had always been risky, a desperate attempt to mislead a man who saw through lies like smoke. And now, with her gone, the whole thing was falling apart.

Wade leaned closer, his voice low and urgent. “Look, we need to move fast. Whatever you’re planning, we gotta do it now. If Stryker’s catching on, it’s only a matter of time before he comes after her for real. And if he finds her…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Logan’s heart hammered as he forced himself to focus, trying to pull his mind back from the raw edge of loss and anger. “She thinks she’s protecting me,” he said bitterly, more to himself than to Wade. “Running because she thinks I’ll be safer if she’s not here.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant sympathy. “Sounds like she’s smarter than the both of us. Hell, I’d run too if I thought it would keep me off Victor’s radar.”

Logan shot him a hard look, his fists clenching tighter. “She doesn’t know what she’s up against.”

“Maybe not,” Wade agreed, his tone unusually serious. “But she’s doing what she thinks is right. And for what it’s worth, I respect that. She’s not sitting around, waiting to be rescued. She’s trying to keep you out of this mess, and that’s… something.”

Logan felt a surge of frustration, the helplessness gnawing at him. “I don’t care what she thinks she’s doing. I’m not letting her face Stryker and Victor on her own.” His voice hardened, his resolve solidifying into something fierce and unbreakable. “I told her I’d protect her. And I damn well meant it.”

Wade looked at him, his gaze steady. “Then we’re gonna need to be smart about this,” he said, his voice low. “If she’s already on the move, there’s a good chance Stryker’s got eyes out for her. You need to get to her first before they do.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he considered their options. “We can use the plan. Fake her trail, lead Stryker in the wrong direction. But if he’s already suspicious…”

Wade shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Then we make him more suspicious. Feed him a lead so juicy he won’t be able to resist it. We throw everything we’ve got into it. Make it big, make it messy. Enough to keep him off her back while we get her out of here for good.”

Logan nodded slowly, a grim determination settling over him. It was risky, and it would take every bit of their combined skills to pull it off. But if it meant keeping her safe—if it meant giving her a chance to disappear, to live her life free of Stryker’s shadow—then he’d do whatever it took.

“All right,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Let’s get moving.”

Wade nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, his gaze sharp and focused. “You find her, I’ll handle the rest. Give me a few hours, and I’ll have Stryker running in circles.”

Logan looked at him, the unspoken gratitude clear in his eyes. “Thanks, Wade.”

Wade gave him a crooked smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Just don’t get yourself killed, all right? I’m not doing this solo.”

Logan managed a faint smirk, but his mind was already racing, already focused on one thing: finding her, convincing her that she didn’t have to run, that they could face this together.

He’d promised to protect her. No matter the cost, he was going to keep that promise.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan followed her scent for miles, his truck tearing down winding backroads, kicking up dust as he pushed it to the limit. Her trail was faint but steady, and he clung to it like a lifeline, refusing to let himself consider what would happen if he lost it. By the time he’d driven nearly thirty miles out of town, the sun was setting, casting long shadows over the dense trees that lined the road. He pulled into a tiny, near-deserted town nestled against the edge of a sprawling forest. It was the kind of place you could disappear in, where strangers barely looked at each other and the silence was thick, almost eerie.

He parked his truck just outside a rundown motel, the scent of pine and damp earth mixing with her faint trace. She was close—he could feel it. A flicker of relief spread through him, mingling with the desperation he’d been fighting back since he’d found her apartment empty. He started toward the motel, his mind racing with what he’d say to her, how he’d convince her to stop running, to trust him one last time.

Just as he stepped onto the gravel path, he felt it—a familiar, chilling presence. A dark shadow in the periphery, slipping out from behind the trees like a predator closing in on its prey.

Logan stopped, every muscle tensing. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Gotta say, little brother,” came the low, mocking drawl, “didn’t think you’d make it this easy for me.”

Logan clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he turned slowly, his gaze locking onto Victor’s hulking figure. Victor leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, that twisted grin on his face, eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

“You really shouldn’t be here, Victor,” Logan said, his voice a low, deadly warning. “Walk away. This doesn’t concern you.”

Victor let out a harsh laugh, pushing himself off the tree and stepping closer, his gaze sharp, predatory. “Oh, but it does concern me,” he sneered. “Stryker sent me to clean up your mess, seeing as you’ve gone all soft on us. Figured if you weren’t gonna take care of business, I’d handle it myself.”

Logan felt a surge of rage, his hands flexing at his sides. “You’re not touching her,” he growled. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

Victor smirked, cocking his head as he looked Logan up and down, clearly enjoying the fire in his brother’s eyes. “Funny. That’s not what she thought a few months ago.” He took another step closer, his gaze cold and unfeeling. “Didn’t tell you, did she? I was the one who had a little chat with her back then. Warned her to stay out of Stryker’s business. But she didn’t listen. Thought she could just run off and hide.” He shrugged a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Should’ve put her down right then and there.”

Logan’s heart pounded as the pieces finally snapped into place. It had been Victor all along. Victor was the one who’d made her life hell, who’d driven her to run, who’d forced her into the shadows with a constant, gnawing fear that never left her. And now he was here, ready to finish what he’d started.

“You threatened her,” Logan growled, his voice dangerously low, each word laced with barely controlled fury. “That’s why she left her job. Why she has been looking over her shoulder this whole time? You’re the reason she’s running.”

Victor chuckled, a dark, twisted sound that only fueled Logan’s rage. “Yeah, she needed a little lesson in minding her own business,” he sneered, taking a slow, taunting step closer. “She was asking too many damn questions, poking her nose where it didn’t belong. Someone had to remind her there are places you don’t go unless you want trouble.” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with disdain. “And now, here you are, risking your neck for some nosy little journalist who should’ve known better. Makes me wonder if you’ve forgotten who you really are.”

Logan’s fists clenched, the muscles in his arms coiling like springs ready to snap. His knuckles were bone-white, barely containing the rage building inside him. “You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he spat, his voice cold, lethal.

Victor’s grin widened, his satisfaction evident in the cruel spark in his eyes. “Oh, I know enough. Enough to see she’s turned you soft.” He let the word hang, taunting. “The Logan I knew wouldn’t be wasting his time on some pathetic little tagalong. The Logan I knew would’ve put a claw through her throat the second she got too close.” He shook his head in mock disappointment, his voice dripping with venom. “But now? Now you’re just a lovesick fool.”

Logan took a step forward, his chest heaving, the air around him almost vibrating with barely restrained violence. His voice was low, and steady, each word sharp as a blade. “Call it whatever you want. But you lay one finger on her, and I’ll rip you apart.”

Victor’s expression darkened, his twisted smirk fading as he squared up to Logan, rolling his shoulders, his fists clenching in anticipation. “You really think you can protect her from me? From us?” he sneered. “She’s a loose end, and I don’t leave loose ends.”

Logan felt a familiar, white-hot fury boiling up inside him. It was all starting to make sense now—Stryker’s vague orders, the lack of intel. Stryker hadn’t known the journalist’s identity at first. He’d been kept in the dark, fed just enough information to justify sending Logan and Wade on this mission. Meanwhile, Victor, arrogant and reckless, had dismissed her as a minor annoyance… until Stryker finally connected the dots and ordered her elimination.

Now, with Stryker’s orders confirmed, Victor was out for blood. He didn’t just see her as a target—he saw her as a loose end he should have handled himself long ago. And in Victor’s world, there was no forgiveness for those kinds of mistakes.

Logan knew he should keep a clear head, and should think strategically. But hearing Victor talk about her like that—as if she were nothing as if she didn’t matter—sent a roar of anger through his veins, drowning out any restraint he’d managed to hold onto.

Logan bared his teeth, the raw anger coiled tight within him. “Let Stryker try,” he snarled. “I’ll take him down myself if I have to. And you? You’re gonna regret coming here.”

Victor let out a low, menacing laugh, shaking his head. “Always so dramatic.” He glanced toward the motel, a twisted gleam in his eyes. “You think she’s safe in there? Right now, hiding, waiting for you to come sweep her off her feet? She’s already dead, Logan. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Logan lunged forward, fists flying as he swung at Victor with everything he had. But Victor was ready, sidestepping and delivering a brutal punch to Logan’s ribs, sending him staggering back. Pain flared up his side, but Logan didn’t back down. He launched himself at Victor again, his claws slipping out.

They clashed in a blur of movement, snarling, claws slashing, each one trying to gain the upper hand. The forest echoed with the sounds of their struggle, leaves crunching underfoot as they grappled, neither willing to give an inch. Logan could feel the bruises forming, the sting of cuts across his skin, but he pushed it aside, focusing only on one thing: keeping Victor away from her.

Victor laughed, a cruel sound that grated against Logan’s ears. “You’re wasting your time, little brother,” he taunted, dodging another swing. “You can’t protect her from this. You’re only dragging it out, making it harder for her in the end.”

Logan’s vision blurred with rage, his mind flashing to her face, the way she’d looked at him last night with such trust, such faith. “I’ll protect her from you, from Stryker, from anyone who tries to hurt her,” he spat. “She’s not just some target.”

Victor’s grin faded, something dark flickering in his eyes as he lunged forward, their faces inches apart. “Then you’re as good as dead,” he whispered, his voice filled with cold certainty. “Because if you don’t kill her, I will.”

The words sliced through Logan, sharp and vicious, and he knew—this wasn’t just about her. This was about everything Victor and Stryker had made him into, everything he’d spent his life running from. And now, standing in the middle of this empty forest, he had a choice.

He drew back, chest heaving, glaring at Victor with a look of pure determination. “Not this time,” he growled. “You don’t get to take this from me.”

Victor smirked, but there was something wary in his gaze now. “We were supposed to stay by each other.”

Before Logan could respond, Victor backed away, his eyes never leaving Logan’s, a silent promise of the bloodshed to come. Logan watched him disappear into the trees, his chest heaving as he fought to steady his breath. He knew Victor would be back. He knew Stryker wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

Logan understood why she’d run. He hated it, but he understood. He’d brought Victor here, right to her doorstep, and now she was in danger all over again. He felt a surge of frustration at himself, at the whole damn situation, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

He looked up at the rundown motel in front of him, its paint peeling and windows grimy, blending into the shadows of the forest like it had something to hide. Part of him knew he should keep his distance, and avoid drawing attention to her last known location. But he couldn’t just walk away, not without making sure she was okay.

Following her scent, he made his way down the narrow row of rooms until he stopped in front of one of the doors, his pulse pounding in his ears. Her scent lingered here, strong but fading. He knocked softly, hoping she was inside, praying she’d throw open the door and let him tell her that they could figure this out, that she didn’t have to run.

But there was only silence. The door creaked open under his touch, swinging inward with a quiet groan. Logan’s heart sank, dread clawing at him as he stepped inside. The room was empty.

Panic flared up in his chest, and for a split second, his mind went to the worst-case scenario. What if Victor had gotten here first? What if he’d taken her? Logan forced himself to breathe, to push the thought down. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not now.

He took a few steps deeper into the room, eyes scanning every corner. Her scent was everywhere—lingering in the air, clinging to the worn bedspread, the nightstand, the small chair by the window. But she was gone, vanished like a ghost.

A wave of relief washed over him, mixed with an aching sense of loss. She’d left before Victor could get to her, no doubt trying to throw him off her trail. She was smarter than he’d ever given her credit for, brave enough to stay one step ahead. But that didn’t stop the hollow feeling settling in his chest as he realized she was truly gone.

Logan’s gaze drifted to the nightstand beside the bed, where the drawer was pulled slightly open. Something about it caught his eye, and he felt a strange, uneasy pull as he reached for the handle. He slid the drawer open, his heart pounding, and found a folded piece of paper inside.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the messy, hurried handwriting that was unmistakably hers.

Logan,

If you’re reading this, it means you found me. Or at least, you came close. I don’t know what I expected, thinking I could slip away from you. You’ve always been relentless, and maybe that’s part of why I…

He paused, his heart clenching as he read the next words, written in smaller, more delicate script.

…why I fell in love with you.

That’s exactly why I can’t stay. I know you’d do anything to protect me, but it’s too dangerous. You’ve already risked so much, and the last thing I want is to be the reason something happens to you. You have your own battles to fight, your own ghosts to face. I can’t be one more burden for you to carry.

I’m sorry for all of this. For dragging you into my mess, for making you feel like you had to choose between protecting me and yourself. You don’t deserve that.

This… us… it’s better this way. I’ll find a way to keep myself safe, and maybe someday, we’ll meet again under different circumstances. But for now, I need you to let me go.

I’ll always remember you, Logan. The way you looked at me, the way you made me feel like I mattered in a world that had tried so hard to erase me. You gave me something I didn’t know I was missing, and I’ll be grateful for that, always.

Logan’s hand shook as he held the note, his breath catching in his throat. He read the words again, letting each one sink in like a dagger, twisting deeper with every line. She loved him. She loved him enough to let him go, to believe that leaving was the only way to protect him.

A raw ache spread through his chest, mingling with a fierce anger that he couldn’t direct at anyone but himself. She thought she was doing what was best, though she was sparing him somehow. But didn’t she understand? There was no protecting him from this. There was no way he could just let her walk out of his life.

Logan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He could practically hear her voice in those words, feel her resolve, her heartbreak. She was trying to be strong, to be brave. But she was wrong if she thought he’d let her face this alone.

Logan stared down at the note, his hand shaking as he folded it carefully, the paper crinkling under the pressure of his grip. Her words echoed in his mind, each line a quiet, devastating goodbye as if she thought he could just let her walk away and disappear without a fight. She didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—that there was no version of this world where he’d ever be able to let her go.

He slipped the note into his pocket, the weight of it settling against his heart like a brand, and took a final look around the empty motel room. The faded bedspread, the cracked mirror, the soft imprint of where she’d sat on the edge of the bed—it all seemed to echo with her presence, taunting him with the memory of how close she’d been, how real it had all felt. But now the silence was heavy, a hollow reminder of everything he’d lost, and the anger simmering inside him began to burn hotter.

His jaw tightened, a new determination hardening his features as he spoke softly into the empty room. “Sorry, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough, laced with a dark promise. “But you don’t get to decide that for me.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, his footsteps heavy and sure. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, filling his lungs and sharpening his focus. The quiet town was bathed in moonlight, casting shadows across the deserted streets, and at that moment, Logan knew exactly what he had to do.

He couldn’t keep playing defense, couldn’t keep letting Stryker and Victor call the shots. If he wanted to protect her, to end this once and for all, he’d have to confront the very men who had made him into a weapon. And if they wanted him to be the monster, the animal they’d tried to create… then that’s exactly what he’d show them.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan made it back to the apartment just as dawn was breaking, the pale light casting long shadows across the empty streets. He hadn’t slept and hadn’t stopped moving since he’d left the motel. His mind was on a relentless loop, thinking of her, of Stryker, of the promises he’d made to protect her. But now, as he approached the bar’s entrance, he saw Wade waiting outside, slouched against the wall, a grim expression on his bruised face.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, taking in the fresh cuts and swelling around Wade’s left eye, the blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles were raw, split open like he’d been in a hell of a fight. Logan’s stomach twisted.

“What the hell happened?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Wade glanced up, managing a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Victor happened. Thought he could beat the crap out of me,” he replied, wiping a smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand. “I showed him, though. Stabbed him a few times.” He raised one of his katanas, the blade slick with blood that hadn’t yet dried.

Logan’s jaw clenched, his fists curling as he processed what this meant. “Victor was here?” he asked, barely controlling the fury simmering beneath his words.

Wade gave a tight nod, his expression turning serious. “Yeah. Came looking for answers shortly after you left. Seems he figured something was up, and started sniffing around. When I didn’t give him what he wanted, he got… persuasive.” Wade gestured to his bruised face, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I didn’t talk, but he knew enough to put two and two together.”

Logan cursed under his breath, pacing in a tight circle as he tried to keep his rage in check. “Did he go back to Stryker?” he demanded.

Wade nodded, wincing as he stretched a bruised shoulder. “Didn’t stick around long enough to ask him, but he took off right after he was done using me as a punching bag. If I had to guess, he’s already reported back to Stryker.”

The implications sank in like a stone. Stryker knew. They’d blown their cover, and it was only a matter of time before Stryker sent everything he had to hunt her down.

“Do you have any idea where they went?” Logan asked, his voice tight, barely controlled. He could feel the urgency gnawing at him, clawing up his spine, urging him to move, to find her before it was too late.

Wade shook his head, his expression frustrated. “No idea. But I did catch him muttering something about an island before he stormed off. Could be nothing… or it could be where Stryker’s holed up.”

“An island?” Logan’s mind raced, trying to connect the pieces. Stryker had always preferred remote locations, places that were hard to reach, and easy to defend. An island would be perfect for him, isolated and far from prying eyes. It would give him every advantage if he was planning to lay a trap.

Wade nodded, his gaze sharp. “Yeah. He didn’t say which one, but I did some digging after he left. There’s an old military facility about twenty miles off the coast. Rumor has it, Stryker’s been using it as a base for… whatever twisted shit he’s been up to lately.”

Logan’s eyes darkened, the pieces falling into place. “If Victor’s told him everything, Stryker will go straight for her. He’ll want answers, want to know how much she knows about Team X.” He didn’t say what they both knew Stryker would do to get those answers. Torture, interrogation… if Stryker got his hands on her, it wouldn’t end until she was broken.

Wade met his gaze, the usual sarcasm gone from his eyes. “Then we’d better move. If we’re gonna catch them, we can’t waste any more time.”

Logan took a deep breath, feeling the fire of determination settle into something ice-cold, something unbreakable. “You’re right. We get to that island, we take out Stryker, and we bring her back.”

Wade gave a grim nod, sheathing his katana with a sharp click. “Finally, something exciting,” he muttered, managing a smirk despite the bruises. “I was getting real tired of this babysitting gig. Let’s go cause some damage.”

Logan didn’t bother responding. His mind was already miles away, focused entirely on the mission ahead. He wouldn’t let Stryker get his hands on her. Not now, not ever. Stryker had taken enough from him, twisted enough lives. This was where it ended.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

Logan and Wade moved through the dense jungle in silence, each step sinking into the thick, damp earth. Shadows clung to them, swallowing their movements in darkness, but Logan’s senses were sharp, honed. The night air was heavy with the scent of pine and saltwater, the distant crash of waves muted by the thick canopy above. Overhead, the moon cast a pale, silver glow, but it barely touched the ground through the dense branches, leaving them in near-total darkness.

They’d anchored the boat a mile offshore, slipping onto the island undetected, and now the fortress loomed ahead—a grim, sprawling structure hidden on the far edge of the island. Tall walls surrounded it, topped with barbed wire that glinted under the floodlights, which swung in sweeping arcs across the perimeter. The place was built like a prison, and somewhere inside, she was trapped.

Wade glanced over, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a focused, steely expression. “So,” he whispered, barely audible over the rustling leaves, “we going in loud, or are we keeping it quiet? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’m itching to blow this place to hell.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the fortress. “We ambush them,” he said, his voice low and hard. “Stay together unless they try to split us up. If Stryker tries to run, he’s yours. I’m going for Victor.”

Wade nodded, his eyes gleaming with a hint of wild excitement. “Copy that, boss. But just so we’re clear—if Stryker so much as breathes in my direction, he’s getting a bullet between the eyes.”

They crept to the edge of the outer fence, crouching low as they scanned the patrols circling the perimeter. Wade pulled a pair of wire cutters from his pack and looked at Logan, waiting for the signal. Logan gave a sharp nod, and Wade moved swiftly, slicing through the fence just enough for them to slip through. Together, they moved like shadows, weaving between patrols and ducking under cameras, their every movement silent and precise. They reached the main building, slipping inside just as a guard passed by, oblivious to the intruders in the night.

Inside, the facility was cold and dimly lit, a maze of concrete corridors that smelled of metal and stale air. The hum of machinery vibrated through the walls, punctuated by the distant footsteps of guards. Logan’s senses were on high alert, his every nerve tuned to the sounds around him. And then he heard it—a faint, familiar voice echoing somewhere deep in the building.

His heart twisted, his blood running cold. It was her.

He signaled to Wade, and they moved swiftly through the winding hallways, following the faint sounds of conversation and the occasional clang of metal. They passed locked rooms and sterile, empty cells, their shadows stretching long under the flickering fluorescent lights. Finally, they rounded a corner, coming face-to-face with a heavy metal door at the end of a narrow corridor. There, standing guard with his back to them, was one of Stryker’s men.

Logan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guard’s jaw before the man could react. The guard crumpled to the ground with a muffled grunt, unconscious before he even hit the floor.

Wade grinned, crouching down to pick up the guard’s keycard. “See? I told you we make a good team.” He swiped the card against the reader, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

They slipped inside, weapons ready, and moved down a long, dimly lit hallway. At the end of it was a small room, and inside, Stryker waited.

He turned as they entered, a smug smile curling across his lips as if he’d been expecting them all along. His gaze flicked between Logan and Wade, his eyes gleaming with twisted amusement. “Ah, Logan,” he drawled, his voice dripping with mock warmth. “Right on time. I figured you’d come running. It’s almost… predictable.”

Logan’s fists clenched, his claws sliding out with a grinding schlikt. “Where is she?” he growled, his voice low, dangerous.

Stryker chuckled, his tone filled with cold amusement. “So protective. You know, I have to wonder—why are you so attached to this girl, Logan? Don’t tell me you actually care.”

Logan took a step forward, his gaze like steel. “Last chance, Stryker. Where. Is. She?”

Stryker held his ground, his expression unruffled. “You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, crossing his arms. “This isn’t about her. It’s about you.” He tilted his head, studying Logan with a look of cold calculation. “Deep down, you knew exactly who she was from the moment you met her. Don’t try to deny it. Your instincts—the animal in you—knew she was the target. That’s why you found her so… intriguing.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his eyes locked on Stryker with a deadly intensity.

Stryker smirked, his voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “You’re just a weapon, Logan. A soldier. You may think you care about her, but let’s be honest—you’re only here because she was the job. It’s what you’re made for.”

The words twisted something inside Logan, old wounds reopening under Stryker’s taunts. But he forced himself to keep breathing, to keep control. Stryker was baiting him, trying to push him over the edge.

“Don’t pretend you’re anything more than the animal you are,” Stryker continued, his tone cold, dismissive. “She’s just a loose end, and you—well, you’re just the fool who thought he could be more.”

Logan’s vision went red. He surged forward, slamming Stryker against the wall, his claws hovering just inches from Stryker’s throat. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he snarled, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage.

Stryker laughed, even as Logan’s claws pressed dangerously close. “Go on, then. Prove me right. Kill me. Show me you’re exactly what I made you.”

For a moment, Logan’s grip tightened, his muscles coiled, every instinct screaming for him to end this, to make Stryker pay for every life he’d ruined. But then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Wade step forward.

“Logan,” Wade said quietly, his voice surprisingly calm. “He’s not worth it.”

Logan hesitated, the haze of rage clearing just enough for him to hear Wade’s words. Before he could react, Wade stepped forward, swinging the butt of his gun into Stryker’s temple. Stryker crumpled to the ground, unconscious, his mocking smile finally silenced.

Wade glanced at Logan, giving him a knowing look. “You don’t need to dirty your claws on him. Go find her.”

Logan took a steadying breath, his hands still trembling, his heart still pounding with fury. He forced himself to pull back, his gaze shifting away from Stryker and toward the door at the end of the hallway. He could feel her presence somewhere beyond it, faint but steady like a beacon pulling him forward.

“Go,” Wade repeated, nodding toward the door. “I’ll make sure this asshole doesn’t get back up.”

Logan nodded, giving Wade a look of gratitude. Without another glance at Stryker, he turned and strode down the hallway, his steps quickening as he neared the door. He pushed it open, his every sense alert, his every instinct focused on one thing: finding her, getting her out, and putting an end to this nightmare.

As he moved deeper into the facility, the walls seemed to close in around him, the smell of metal and cold concrete sharp in the air. But he didn’t stop. He could feel her, close now, her heartbeat faint but steady, guiding him through the darkness.

He reached the final door and Logan knew one thing for certain: he wouldn’t leave this island without her.

Logan pushed open the door and slipped inside, his movements fluid and silent. The room was dim, lit by a single harsh light overhead, casting long shadows across the cold concrete floor. There, tied to a chair in the center of the room, was her—face bruised, her wrists bound, her gaze defiant despite the fear lingering in her eyes.

Victor stood beside her, one hand gripping her shoulder, his claws extended just enough to graze her skin. He was watching her with a twisted, mocking smile, completely oblivious to Logan’s presence.

Logan’s chest heaved, the sight of her—wounded, terrified, but still holding her ground—igniting something fierce and uncontrollable inside him.

Victor chuckled, still oblivious, his voice dripping with disdain. “You thought you could get away, didn’t you? Thought someone was gonna save you?” He leaned in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I hope he gets here in time, sweetheart.”

Logan took a single, slow step forward, his voice a low, menacing growl that filled the room. “Let her go.”

Victor froze, his body going tense before he slowly turned to face Logan. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by that familiar, twisted grin. “There you are, little brother. Took you long enough.”

Logan’s claws slid out with a grinding schlikt, the sound sharp in the stillness. “You wanted me here. Well, here I am.”

Victor laughed, a cold, mocking sound. “You know, you’re just proving my point, Logan. She’s made you weak. Look at you, risking everything for this pathetic little journalist.”

Logan’s gaze flickered to her for a moment, her eyes meeting his, wide and filled with relief. He felt the fury simmering inside him sharpen, and solidify. “Call it whatever you want. I’m done talking.”

Victor’s smirk faded, replaced with a cold, calculating look. “Oh, little brother,” he said, releasing her and stepping forward, flexing his own claws. “But let’s be honest—you’re not gonna win this fight.”

For a split second, something flickered in Victor’s expression, something almost… conflicted. It was as if he was wrestling with a thought, a shadow of doubt crossing his face before his jaw tightened, and the hardness returned to his eyes.

Victor glanced back at her, and for a moment, Logan thought he might waver, might change his mind. But then Victor’s face twisted into a sneer, and he shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t leave loose ends. Not for anyone.”

With that, he lunged.

They clashed in a blur of movement, claws flashing, each strike more vicious than the last. Logan’s world narrowed to the raw, brutal fight in front of him, the air filled with the sound of claws slicing through flesh, the impact of fists and bodies against concrete. Victor fought with a brutal edge, his strikes fueled by years of resentment, rivalry, of a twisted sense of superiority.

Logan had something Victor didn’t—a reason to fight beyond pride. He had someone to protect, someone whose life mattered more than his own. That gave him strength, an unbreakable resolve that kept him going even when the pain threatened to pull him under.

At some point during the fight, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. She was watching, her gaze locked on him, her lips parted in a silent plea. It was all he needed.

With a roar, Logan tackled Victor to the ground, pinning him with one knee against his chest, his claws poised at Victor’s throat. “You’re done,” Logan growled, his voice filled with a quiet, deadly finality. “You’re done trying to control my life.”

Victor sneered up at him, defiant even in defeat. “You really think this changes anything? Stryker will come for her. And when he does, you won’t be there to protect her.”

Logan pressed his claws just a little closer, his voice a low, furious whisper. “Then he’ll get the same welcome you did.”

Victor’s eyes flashed with fear or the faintest glimmer of respect—but before he could respond, Logan brought his fist down, slamming Victor’s head against the concrete. Victor’s body went slack, unconscious, and Logan wasted no time turning back to her.

She was still in the chair, her hands bound, her face pale but determined. He crossed the room in two quick strides, his hands already working on the ropes around her wrists.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low, almost gentle.

She nodded, her gaze steady as she looked up at him. “I am now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, relief flooding through him. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by a familiar voice. Wade slipped into the room, grinning as he wiped blood from his knuckles. “Stryker’s not gonna be a problem. Let’s just say he and I had a little… conversation.”

Logan nodded, his hand slipping into hers as he helped her to her feet. “Good. Then let’s get off this damn island.”

They moved quickly, with Wade leading the way back through the facility, every step taking them further from the nightmare they’d escaped. As they reached the edge of the island, the boat waiting for them on the shore, Logan held her close, his hand never leaving hers.

This time, he promised himself, he’d keep her safe—for good.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden light across the little cabin nestled at the edge of the forest. Birds chattered in the trees, and the steady murmur of a nearby creek filled the air with a peaceful hum. It was a quiet spot, secluded and off the grid, miles away from the life they’d left behind. And that was exactly how Logan liked it.

Inside the cabin, Logan was standing at the kitchen counter, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to peel potatoes with a knife far too sharp for the job. His large hands weren’t exactly suited to delicate work, and he muttered under his breath as the potato slipped from his grip for the third time.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him with a soft smile tugging at her lips. It had been months since they’d escaped Stryker’s grasp, since that night on the island, and she still wasn’t used to seeing Logan like this—shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from a shower, wrestling with a kitchen task like he was facing down an enemy.

“Need some help, chef?” she teased, crossing the room and taking the knife from him before he could protest.

He grunted, folding his arms and pretending to look annoyed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You think you can do better?” he asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes, deftly peeling the potato with a few smooth strokes. “I’m just saying, I’m trying to avoid a trip to the hospital. With the way you were holding that knife, I’d have to stitch you up by dinnertime.”

He let out a low chuckle, watching her with a look that was almost… awestruck. Sometimes he still couldn’t believe she was here, in this cabin they’d built together, her laughter filling the air, her hands moving with easy familiarity in their shared kitchen.

She finished peeling the potato and handed it to him with a little flourish, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smile. “There. Now maybe I’ll let you handle the boiling part. Think you can manage that?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Keep talkin’, and I might just make you do all the work tonight.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Fine. I’ll let you cook… if you can keep that smart mouth of yours quiet for five minutes.”

She laughed, the sound filling the cabin, and Logan felt something settle in his chest, a quiet contentment he hadn’t known he could feel. She nudged him with her elbow and turned back to the counter, slicing the potatoes with practiced ease, her hair falling softly over her shoulder.

Logan watched her, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He’d never thought he could have this—a life so normal, so simple, filled with nothing but quiet, ordinary moments. It was strange, the way he felt more himself here, peeling potatoes and teasing her over burnt toast, than he ever had in all the years he’d spent fighting, running, surviving.

He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She looked up, surprised by the softness in his gaze.

“What?”

He shook his head, his thumb lingering on her cheek for a moment longer than necessary. “Nothing. Just… I’m glad you’re here.” His voice was low, almost rough, like he wasn’t used to saying things like this out loud.

Her face softened, her hand coming up to rest over his, her fingers warm and gentle. “Me too,” she said quietly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

They stood there for a moment, her hand resting on his, the world around them fading into a warm, comfortable silence. Then, with a little smirk, she nudged his hand away and turned back to the potatoes.

“Now,” she said, a glint of mischief in her eyes, “unless you’re planning on staring at me all evening, maybe you could make yourself useful and grab the salt.”

Logan huffed, grumbling under his breath, but he moved to grab the salt shaker from the cupboard, fighting the smile that kept creeping onto his face. He handed it to her, and she gave him a playful wink, her fingers brushing his as she took it.

They worked side by side in the kitchen, moving around each other with a practiced ease, like they’d been doing this for years. Now and then, their hands would brush, or she’d catch him watching her out of the corner of his eye, and he’d look away, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

Later, as they sat down at the little table by the window, the last light of the sunset spilling across the room, she reached across the table and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. Logan looked down at their joined hands, feeling that familiar warmth spread through his chest, a quiet happiness he still wasn’t used to.

She caught his eye, smiling softly, a playful spark in her gaze. “Logan… I love you, but you’ve gotta stop staring at me like that. You’re making me blush.”

Logan shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as if memorizing the feel of her hand in his. “Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost hesitant. “I keep thinking… this is all a dream. Like I’m gonna wake up, and you’ll be gone, and I’ll be right back where I started.”

His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the little touches she’d added—a vase of wildflowers on the windowsill, her favorite books stacked messily on the coffee table, a soft throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. The cabin felt like a home now, filled with reminders of her presence, grounding him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

She squeezed his hand, her fingers steady and warm. “Logan,” she whispered, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked back at her, his expression softening as he let her words sink in. “You promise?”

She smiled, a warmth in her eyes that made his heart feel like it might break, just from the sheer vulnerability of it all. “I promise,” she said, lifting their joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, like it or not.”

A quiet laugh escaped him, and he felt some of the tension he’d been holding finally release. “Good,” he said, his voice thick, barely more than a whisper. “Because I don’t think I’d know what to do without you now.”

She tilted her head, studying him with that soft, patient look that always seemed to cut right through his defenses. “You don’t have to worry, Logan.”

He didn’t respond right away, just nodded, letting her words settle over him like a blanket, warm and reassuring. It was such a simple promise, but it held a weight he hadn’t known he needed. She was here, with him, and for the first time, he actually believed she would be—today, tomorrow, as long as he could hold onto her.

After a long moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a slow smile breaking across his face. “All right, then,” he said, voice low and steady. “Guess I’d better get used to it.”

She grinned, leaning over the table to press a quick kiss to his lips, her laughter filling the room like sunlight. “Guess you’d better,” she teased, brushing a hand through his hair as she settled back in her chair.

Bonus Scene

Inside, the cabin was cozy and warm, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. Logan sat at the small kitchen table, a newspaper spread out in front of him, though he wasn’t reading it. His eyes kept drifting over to her, watching as she moved around the kitchen, humming softly to herself. She was cooking breakfast—eggs sizzling in the pan, a pot of tea steeping on the counter. It was a simple morning, ordinary in every way, and that was what made it so perfect.

Logan leaned back, a rare, soft smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt at peace.

Then, a loud, obnoxious honk shattered the quiet, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel.

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing look with him. Only one person would make that kind of entrance in the middle of nowhere.

“Great,” Logan muttered, pushing himself up from the table. “Just when things were getting quiet.”

He opened the cabin door, stepping outside just as a beat-up old pickup truck pulled up, kicking up a cloud of dust. Wade grinned from the driver’s seat, his sunglasses crooked, his arm slung casually out the window. He looked as out of place in the peaceful setting as a wolf in a field of lambs.

“Logan!” Wade called, climbing out of the truck and stretching his arms overhead like he’d just driven across the country. “Nice little place you got here. Very… rustic.” He looked around, taking in the trees and the clear blue sky. “I see you’ve gone full mountain man.”

Logan folded his arms, fighting the urge to smile. “What are you doing here, Wade?”

Wade shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What, a guy can’t visit his favorite grumpy Canadian in the middle of nowhere? I was in the neighborhood.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “The nearest town is fifty miles away.”

Wade shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, well, I heard there was good coffee around here. And maybe I missed the two of you. But don’t go getting all sentimental on me. It’s just a temporary lapse.”

She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and smiling despite herself. “Hi, Wade. You hungry?”

Wade’s face lit up, his gaze flicking from her to the warm, inviting cabin. “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said, grinning. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast,” she said, gesturing for him to come inside. “Logan’s been chopping enough firewood to heat the whole forest, so I think we’ll be warm enough.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Wade said as he stepped inside, glancing around the cozy cabin with a touch of surprise. “This guy’s a softie at heart. First, it’s firewood and breakfast in bed. Next thing you know, he’s knitting sweaters and taking up bird-watching.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite to it. He shut the door behind them, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, watching Wade settle in as if he belonged there. Despite the sarcasm and theatrics, Logan could see it in Wade’s eyes—the genuine relief that they were all still standing, that the worst was behind them.

“So,” Wade said, taking a seat at the table and eyeing the spread of food appreciatively. “How’s life in the woods treating you two? Getting used to all this fresh air?”

She chuckled, pouring coffee into a mug and setting it in front of him. “It’s… peaceful,” she said, glancing at Logan with a soft smile. “Exactly what we needed.”

Wade’s expression softened for a moment, his usual sarcasm slipping away. “Yeah, I bet. You two deserve it. God knows you’ve been through enough.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as they sat around the table, eating breakfast and enjoying the warmth of the cabin. Wade filled them in on the latest gossip from town, spinning tales of bar fights and questionable characters that made her laugh, and even Logan couldn’t hide a smirk or two. It was like a glimpse of the world they’d left behind but without any of the darkness or danger that had once haunted them.

Finally, as they finished eating, Wade leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, this was nice. A little slice of domestic bliss.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at Logan. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Logan snorted, his tone dry. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t,” Wade said, but there was a glint of something softer in his eyes as he looked between them. “I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to your wilderness honeymoon.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes as she gathered the plates. “Thanks for stopping by, Wade. Really.”

He got up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “Anytime. Someone’s gotta check in on you two, make sure you’re not turning into total recluses.” He paused, looking at Logan with a hint of something unspoken. “Take care of each other, yeah?”

Logan gave a curt nod, but his expression softened, and he clasped Wade’s shoulder, a rare show of gratitude. “You know we will.”

Wade grinned, pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Good. And hey, don’t be strangers. You know where to find me.”

With one last nod, Wade stepped out of the cabin, heading back to his truck. They watched as he climbed inside, giving a quick wave before driving off, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.

As the truck disappeared down the dirt road, she turned to Logan, slipping her hand into his. They stood together in the doorway, watching the dust settle, feeling the quiet of the woods close in around them once more.

Logan looked down at her, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. “Guess we’re really out here now,” he murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice.

She smiled, leaning into him, her gaze soft. “Yeah. Just us.”

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