#Booking Ad for Recruitment

[newspaper-advertisement]

Unlocking Opportunities: The Role of Newspaper Job Ads in Recruitment

[releasemyad1]

Seeking Talent in the Classifieds: A Deep Dive into Newspaper Job Ads

[eternalsams]

My Taste ↠ Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

pairing: Bob Reynolds x gn!reader

warning/content: fluff, anxiety, non-established relationship, Bob's a cute puppy in love, might contain spoilers if you look into it, it's giving Avengers fanfic with Clint in the vent and Thor eating pop-tarts.

summary: You take Bob out but his anxiety gets the best of him and he's scared he might ruin everything.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: english isn't my first language, please take that into consideration. This is my first time writing for Bob, I saw the movie so I know the way I'm writing for him isn't the same as in the comics.

marvel masterlist main masterlist

You grabbed your bag and walked in the common room when something caught your attention. Bob had just turned a page of his book, his lips parted in concentration as his eyes read word after word on the paper. You smiled softly to yourself, he just seemed so relaxed after a couple of months with you guys.

The first few weeks were the hardest, he'd stay mostly silent, only speaking when talked to. His relationship with Yelena was the strongest, the two connected very quickly and she was the one he talked the most to. But he eventually opened up to the others, including you. He once found you reading a book and sat down next to you on the couch, sometimes stealing glances at you and your book as you flipped pages. "What's it about?" He asked quietly and if he'd said it any lower, you wouldn't have heard him. You looked up at him, surprised he was interested in what you were doing. You looked back down at the words you were reading and mentally marked your progression before looking back at Bob. "It's uhm... it's a romance." You noticed his cheeks flush a little as he smiled sheepishly. "Is it any good?" He then asked and you smiled at him, pitching him the plot of the romance you were reading.

And so the next time you went to the library for yourself, you looked for a book you could get for Bob. During your previous conversation on your own reading, he quickly told you what he liked in the plot and what he disliked, so you had a vague idea of what to get him. And when you came back home, the new recruit was getting coffee in the kitchen. He added a cube of sugar as you noticed he always did in every hot drink he had. "Hey, Bob!" You called him and he jumped a bit, holding his cup extra-carefully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." You chuckled and pushed his new book on the counter towards him. "What's this?" He frowned as he sipped on his coffee, the hot drink warming up his tired body and numb muscles. "It's for you! If you don't like it, you can still give it back, I kept the receipt." You explained as you pulled the think piece of paper out of your bag. He put down his cup of coffee and reached for the book, his fingers caressing the hard cover. "You really shouldn't have, thank you. It means a lot to me." He smiled and you could've swore you saw his eyes shine with tears before he looked down at the book and opened it.

Since that day, you'd exchange about your last readings and more. He opened up to you and sometimes asked you to get him particular books when he knew you'd pass by the library. Leading to today. He was so focused on the fictional story he was reading about he almost missed you but he eventually looked up and smiled at you.

Bob liked you, he liked how passionate you were about what you loved, he liked how patient you were with him. When you first met, he was apologizing for every breath he was taking a bit too close to everyone and every time he did so, you'd smile at him with kindness and tell him he was fine. You never told him the things he felt were senseless, you acknowledged his feelings and accepted them. And he liked your smile, how small wrinkles appeared beside your eyes when you laughed at one of Alexei's bad jokes. And he couldn't not notice how much work you put in your body and strength. He knew you were waking up early to go work out with Bucky, the two of you showing up sweaty and tired in the kitchen when he was having his umpteenth coffee after a long night staring at the ceiling of his room.

Bob noticed how you were dressed and holding your bag in your hand, he frowned. "Are you going somewhere?" He was confused, you didn't have anything coming up in your agenda, so maybe a last minute trip to the store or something. "I wanted to know if you wanted to go grab a coffee somewhere. But I see you're deep in your book so I don't want to disturb you." You chuckled sheepishly and put down your bag next to the couch. Bob parted his lips and looked down at his book, the plot was getting really interesting and he was almost done with his chapter. He didn't really like putting down his books in the middle of a chapter but he also really wanted to go out, and especially with you. "I can finish reading my chapter and then I'm all yours. I mean... not all yours, I mean yeah but-" He stuttered, warmth flooding his face as he tried to crawl out of this embarrassing slip of the tongue. "Of course! Finish your chapter, I'll be waiting." You smiled at him and pulled out your phone before sitting down on the couch and staying busy until Bob was ready for you. The young man stared at you for a little longer, surprised with how comprehensive you were, but also not shocked at all. And before you could catch him staring, he focused once more on his book. He quickly finished the chapter, snapped the book shut and almost run to his room to change into something else than his usual sweatpants.

When he came back, you were waiting for him by the door and held it open for him. You locked behind the two of you since the others were out on different missions and Bob followed you in the street. Even after a few months in New York, he was still amazed by the tall buildings and how loud the city was. There were so many people in the streets that he almost wanted to grab your hand not to lose you in the crowd but he stopped himself because that'd be weird if he did. You eventually turned into a quieter street and he noticed the small café with the tables on the pavement. You went to sit in the sun and he followed you silently. A waitress came to bring you the menu and Bob politely smiled at her as you thanked her. "So... tell me, Bob." You caught his attention and he looked up at you above his menu. "Did you talk with Bucky like I told you to?" Bob once told you he wanted to learn how to fight but was still too scared to go out and find a gym. So you convinced him to think about telling Bucky because you knew the ex-soldier would be very attentive and caring with Bob. "Uhm, no... Not yet. But I think I'll talk to him when he'll be back home tomorrow." He nodded as if to convince himself he could do it. "He actually offered to help me if I ever wanted to get into... that." He explained a little shyly. "That's great! See? I'm sure he'll be glad to see you're taking his offer."

The waitress came back to take your orders and you simply asked for two coffees and a piece of pie to share. You and Bob kept talking about what he's been doing while you were out on missions, sharing funny stories about Yelena's guinea pig or how thrilling the last movie he saw was. The lady brought you your drinks and food and you thanked her. You took a sip of your coffee and closed your eyes as the bitterness of coffee burned you tongue. When you opened your eyes again, you noticed Bob was fidgeting and not touching his cup. "Something's wrong?" He looked up at you and quickly shook his head before forcing a smile. "No. Everything's fine." He shrugged awkwardly and grabbed his cup before taking a sip and hiding a grimace. "Bob. What's wrong?" You put down your coffee and reached out for his hand. He stared at your hand as he felt the softness of your fingers rub his knuckles. How can someone who might've taken lives have hands this soft? "It's nothing, they just... Aren't they supposed to give a cube of sugar? You know, just in case..." He asked quietly, not really knowing what he was getting at. He hasn't been out in society for so long, he couldn't even remember the last time he went to a fast-food.

"They forgot your sugar?" You asked as you moved to stand up and go ask for some. Bob squeezed your hand to stop you from doing so with panicked eyes. "No, don't! It's fine, really. I can drink it without sugar." To make his point, he took another sip and did a better job at hiding his grimace, but still not perfect. "Bob... You never take your coffee without sugar." You sat back down, your second hand joining the first one holding his. He could feel his heart beating faster at the contact but ignored it. "How do you- Never mind, it's okay, I promise." He anxiously glanced at the waiters inside, they might've forgotten because they're busy or maybe they're having a bad or long day.

"I always notice things about you Bob." You admitted, drawing back his attention on you. He almost spilled his coffee on his shirt when he looked into your eyes and saw the softest of them. He couldn't remember when was the last time someone looked at him that way. It made him think, hope, that what he was starting to feel could be reciprocated. He smiled and felt his cheeks flush. You let go of his hand and stood up, but before he could ask you where you were going, you told him. "I'm going to the bathroom, will you be alright by yourself for a minute?" You asked him jokingly, a teasing smile on your lips. He nodded and smiled as you left the table and he watched you go inside. He quickly averted his eyes when he realized his gaze was dropping and punished himself mentally. He was supposed to be your friend, not a pervert who checked you out every time you turned your back to him. True to your words, you came back a minute later at your table and dropped a cube of sugar in his cup of coffee.

Bob's eyes snapped at you and back to the waiters inside. Before he could fully panic, you grabbed his hand and rubbed his knuckles once more. "I said I wanted more sugar for my coffee, I didn't tell them it was for you." You explained and noticed his shoulders drop in relief. You knew Bob never wanted to be a burden, even more after what happened when you all first met. He felt guilty over everything and anything. But you could work with that, half your friends were that way. One more or one less wouldn't change how you'd handle things. "Thank you." He said quietly before taking a new sip and smiling softly. "Better huh?" You chuckled and he nodded, enjoying the feeling of coffee waking up his body and your hand still in his, keeping him out of his thoughts and in the present. But he was way more surprised when you lifted his hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles, timidly smiling at him, not knowing if he would accept the gesture. But the look of pure adoration in his eyes gave you an answer and your smile widened.

tag list (people who interacted (comments or reposts) when i asked who wanted Bob in my characters list): @leavemeoutofitkay @adaobiiii @sennasiempre @thetorturedpoetcalleddez @gumdropgirl

@woniwontons @hailey-laufeyson @ineverusethisaccount @nopopculturereferenceinthetrip @crashingout136789

@autumnsymphony @smiley-roos @fandomficsobsession @rummikubcube @girxwrp @books4ever03 @firebeverly @xprloki

@spideybatsy @mvcg-oo @devils-blackrose @wandalfnation @foreverchangingmind

[getmeupsocial]

We are a leading Newspaper Ad Agency to book Job Recruitment Ad in Newspaper. We offer a wide range of newspaper advertisement solutions pan India. We book Job Recruitment Ads in all leading newspapers of India at best possible price. Call us for booking at 9810974532 or email us at info@getmeup.in

A recruitment ad in newspaper refers to any public business communication used to attract applicants for a particular job in the newspaper. In simpler terms, it is a description of a vacant role inviting qualified candidates to apply. Most newspapers offer a variety of different sizes and placement options to Book Job Recruitment Ad in Newspaper. With Get Me Up Newspaper Ad Agency, you can book job recruitment ads in all leading newspapers at best possible ad rates. We are India’s leading Newspaper Booking Ad Agency to book Job Recruitment Ad in Newspaper.

[studioeisa]

THAT’S SHOWBIZ, BABY! 💼 AN SVT COLLABORATION

Welcome to the high-stakes world of rival medial moguls, The Carat Company and Sebong Corporation. From HR nightmares to boardroom powerplays, the lights are on and the cameras are rolling; our writers are taking you behind the scenes of the industry’s fiercest (and pettiest) workplace battles. Talent Managers Tara (@diamonddaze01) and Kae (@studioeisa) are proud to present: That’s Showbiz, Baby!

[TAG LIST] ✨ Book a conference room now to get exclusive access to every deal closed, memo leaked, and steamy office romance as it drops.  

[HR NOTICE] 🔞 Some files in this archive are strictly 18+ and may contain NSFW material. Please review 📊 Key Deliverables and 📝 Meeting minutes for individual content warnings before entering a conference room.

📺 THE CARAT COMPANY.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 1: routine romance 🤝 Booked by @studioeisa, on behalf of talent recruiter!seungcheol and freelancer!reader. 📋 Agenda: you have a routine. a foolproof, tried and tested daily schedule. when the hell did choi seungcheol become part of it? 📊 Key Deliverables: humor, romance, pinch of angst. 📝 Meeting minutes: profanity, mentions of food. slowburn -ish, meet ugly, coffee shop romance, feelings realization/denial, seungcheol is a flirty bastard, discussions of freelancing/corporate life.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 2: Touching Yourself 🤝 Booked by  @straylightdream, on behalf of actor!jeonghan and f!reader. 📋 Agenda: After a stressful day on set leaves him wondering if being an actor is really what he wants, he calls you. One phone call leads to both you crossing lines you never imagined you would cross. 📊 Key Deliverables: smut, friends to lovers, mutual pining, romance, comfort, angst. 📝 Meeting minutes: depression, anxiety, jeonghan is really going through it, severe stress from a job, alcohol consumption, crying, lots of emotions, mentions menstrual cycles.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 3: stars in the night sky 🤝 Booked by @simpxxstan, on behalf of actor!jeonghan and reader. 📋 Agenda: yoon jeonghan has not a care in the world throughout the day - he’s the prince, it’s his time to reign. a million autographs every day, an unending echo of fanchants, and jeonghan knows he’s the most desired man in the country right now. but when the flashlights dim, the curtains are drawn, and the monsters step out of the dark, there’s only one hand he wants to hold. only one pair of eyes make his heart smile, only one voice lulls him into sleep every night, only one scent he desires to drown in, only one touch that lets him find himself again. 📊 Key Deliverables: co-workers to lovers, grumpy x sunshine trope, angst, smut, light fluff. 📝 Meeting minutes: smut warnings to be added later (mdni!), bickering and verbal banter, no private space, anxiety and panic attacks, online bullying, trolling, breakdown of self-confidence, nightmares, lots of angst really, casual flirting, more warnings to be added later.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 4: Please, Block Me 🤝 Booked by @okiedokrie, on behalf of social media manager!joshua and reader. 📋 Agenda: Joshua Hong, 29, Social Media Manager. Forced to learn whatever meme lingo the kids are saying these days. Got harassed by the Social Media Manager of Queen Quesadilla when he used to work for King Taco; he quit. He works for The Carat Company now, where unfortunately, you followed. 📊 Key Deliverables: TBA. 📝 Meeting minutes: TBA.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 5: Typo and Error 🤝 Booked by @gotta-winwin, on behalf of social media manager!joshua and actress!reader. 📋 Agenda: Joshua loves his job as social media manager for The Carat Company, except for one thing: the actress he’s in charge of. you hate his guts, and Joshua swears he returns those feelings with vigor, and yet… forced to work in close proximity, Joshua’s forced to reckon with the idea that just maybe, despite all the animosity, he’s still madly in love with you. 📊 Key Deliverables: fluff, crack, slight angst. 📝 Meeting minutes: light swearing, mutual pining, oblivious idiots in love, enemies to lovers(?), heavy denial of feelings, discussions of fame/film industry.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 6: Too Far 🤝 Booked by @lovetaroandtaemin, on behalf of Intern!Jun and Secretary!Reader. 📋 Agenda: When your friend suggested letting the new intern in your company's legal department move in with you, you had your doubts. As time went on, though, the two of you grew closer than you ever could have anticipated. The only problem was that you were certain that he didn't see you the same way you saw him. 📊 Key Deliverables: Angst, Fluff, Smut. Roommates to lovers 📝 Meeting minutes: Jun is a loser with jealousy problems, profanity, LOTS of suggestive/NSFW content that Will Be Determined Later, both of these fuckers need to work on their communication skills. 

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 7: company benefits 🤝 Booked by @studioeisa, on behalf of social media intern!junhui and copywriter!reader. 📋 Agenda: you can't really call wen junhui your ex-boyfriend. it was more of a friends with benefits situation—except you only got ghosted, while he got an internship at your recommendation. people always say to not bite the hand that feeds you; it looks like jun didn't get the memo. 📊 Key Deliverables: smut, romance, angst with a happy ending. 📝 Meeting minutes: profanity, mentions of food & alcohol consumption, job loss. ex-situationship, forced proximity, so much tension..., nepotism!!!, marketing terms, soonyoung gets his own warning.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 8: Be My Tigress? 🤝 Booked by @svtiddiess on behalf of Marketing Manager!Hoshi and Assistant Manager!Reader. 📋 Agenda: After moving halfway across the world to Korea, you landed a job as an Assistant Manager at Carat Company, a media company known for television production, music management, and digital content creation. Your boss, Soonyoung—though he insists everyone call him Hoshi—turned out to be an absolute whirlwind of chaos. From tiger-themed stationery and tiger-themed office décor to a full-on tiger fursuit, his relentless dedication to his so-called "tiger agenda" has left you questioning your sanity on more than one occasion. (Seriously, what even is a horanghae??) As you adjust to your new life and career, one question keeps nagging at you: how has he not been fired yet? No, really—why hasn't anyone reported this insane man to HR? 📊 Key Deliverables: crack, fluff, slightest of angst, smut, office romance. 📝 Meeting minutes: Tiger agenda is strong in this one, Hoshi is very unserious (and a diva), unrealistic workplace environment, multiple sex scenes, HR pls don't fire Hoshi. 

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 9: Beyond the Transcripts 🤝 Booked by @joonsytip, on behalf of CEO!wonwoo and Head of Legal!Reader. 📋 Agenda: Jeon Wonwoo, the calmest and untainted CEO to ever exist, gets his world shaken up when he finds you again, as the legal department head at his own company and your only registered family is a little guy who resembles him a bit too much. Alternatively, you are smooth in onboarding Wonwoo into your son's life but problems arise when he tries to slide back into yours. 📊 Key Deliverables: angst, smut, fluff, exes to co-parents to lovers. 📝 Meeting minutes: themes of co parenting, mentions of past difficult pregnancy, misogynistic slurs being used at workplace, minor accident.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 10: Prologue To ??? 🤝 Booked by @chugging-antiseptic-dye, on behalf of HR Manager!Jihoon and Operations Manager!Reader. 📋 Agenda: You did not know HR manager Jihoon. You did not want to know HR manager Jihoon. However when fate throws you and an unconscious body to make his acquaintance, you realize that still water truly holds its depths. And maybe diving in head first was not the best decision. Yet, what else could you do? The show must go on. 📊 Key Deliverables: Horror,  Murder Mystery, Paranormal, Psychological Thriller, Suspense, Urban, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. 📝 Meeting minutes: POV Switching, Amnesia, Blood, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Kidnapping, Morally Grey Characters, Mentions of Death/ Murder, Body Horror, Descriptions of Injury, Nightmares, Substance Abuse, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Coworkers to maybe lovers, Ambiguous Open Ending.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 11: Emails I Can't Send 🤝 Booked by @diamonddaze01, on behalf of  Managing Director of HR! Jihoon and Planning and Recruitment Specialist! Reader. 📋 Agenda: Jihoon has always been clear: work is work, and co-workers are co-workers. Boundaries keep things clean. Professional. Predictable. As Managing Director of HR at The Carat Company, that's exactly how he likes it. But when a too-charming, too-bright former Sebong Corp employee joins his team, Jihoon is forced to confront the one boundary he may no longer be able to hold: the one between you and him. 📊 Key Deliverables: humor, fluff, angst with a happy ending. 📝 Meeting minutes: epistolary, suggestive for sure, consumption of alcohol.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

📺 SEBONG CORPORATION.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 1: An Alluring Score 🤝 Booked by @seoloquent, on behalf of Artists and Repertoire Representative!DK and Conductor!Reader. 📋 Agenda: Willing to risk everything, his career included, Seokmin knew you had to be the one in charge of Sebong Corp’s newest feature film’s score soundtrack. The only issue was, you had no physical proof of experience. Despite the doubts coming from executives, your family, and even yourself, Seokmin resolved to help you prove everyone wrong, and showcase your alluring score to the world. 📊 Key Deliverables: fluff, humor, slight angst, strangers to lovers. 📝 Meeting minutes: seokmin has a slight issue with boundaries (could be a little annoying), depictions of misogyny, grief, mentions of death (not important character), inaccurate representation of film industry (I did as much research as I could!). 

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 2: LoserBoy vs. HaterGirl 🤝 Booked by @gyubakeries, on behalf of Social Media Intern!Mingyu and IT Specialist!Reader. 📋 Agenda: When Kim Mingyu, the new addition to the Social Media department of Sebong Corp. shows up at your office, requesting you to feature in one of the 'promotional tiktoks' he's been assigned to film, you tell yourself that it'll be your last interaction with the puppy-faced, hyper-energetic intern. A few months, twenty tiktoks, and a diabetes-inducing amount of sugar, you can't quite remember exactly why you had wanted to stay away from him in the first place. 📊 Key Deliverables: comedy, romance, light angst, one-sided enemies to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, pining, a dash of slowburn. 📝 Meeting minutes: sexual content, mingyu being a teensy bit annoying, a lot of obliviousness.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 3: HR Meets Heart 🤝 Booked by @soo0hee, on behalf of HR Manager!Minghao and afab!reader. 📋 Agenda: When you didn't get the promotion you were licking your fingers for, you weren't at all amused. When it was the one person you were sure was out for your every last nerve to get said promotion, you were even less amused. Now stuck with a new boss you loathed you were sure you'd go insane — but what if it's in a different way then you thought.... 📊 Key Deliverables: fluff, enemies to lovers. 📝 Meeting minutes: suggestive, language, alcohol.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 4: Mr. Boo: Coffee, Campaigns, and Confessions 🤝 Booked by @smiley-pansy, on behalf of Marketing Manager!Seungkwan and Brand & Promotions Coordinator!Reader. 📋 Agenda: You and Seungkwan work behind the scenes at Sebong Corporation, a bustling movie production company. When you're assigned to co-lead the marketing campaign for Eclipse Rising—the studio’s most high-profile release yet—your already-close working relationship takes center stage. Through morning coffee runs, chaotic brainstorming sessions, late-night strategy meetings, and a surprisingly sweet team-building retreat, your friendship deepens into something more. 📊 Key Deliverables: fluff, slight crack, coworkers-to-lovers, (attempt at) comedy. 📝 Meeting minutes: light swearing, adorable idiots in love.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 5: damage control 🤝 Booked by @vampsol, on behalf of and actor!vernon and reader. 📋 Agenda: Hansol Vernon Chwe is one of the most frustrating clients to have on the payroll yet one of the biggest and brightest stars on cable television. He's reckless, carefree, and always dancing to the beat of his own drum. And it is up to you, his new assistant, to hold onto the reigns in time for the press run and upcoming premiere of his hit show's second season. No matter what it takes, or how hard you fall for him in the process. 📊 Key Deliverables: TBA. 📝 Meeting minutes: TBA.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 6: homemade dynamite 🤝 Booked by @miniseokminnies, on behalf of actor!vernon and fem!director!reader. 📋 Agenda: Vernon Chwe is a serious actor. That’s how his company, Sebong Corporation, markets him at least. He couldn’t be less interested in that strategy, he’d much rather focus on projects that inspire him. When an email from you, an indie film director that’s been on his radar, comes through his inbox he practically jumps at the opportunity. Trust him on this, okay? It’ll turn out amazing, he’ll make sure of it. 📊 Key Deliverables: fluff, smut, strangers to co workers to lovers. 📝 Meeting minutes: Vernon causing problems for his boss, deeply inappropriate use of a lake, semi public sex, angst if you squint, feelings of being lost. 

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 8: Entertaining Pleasures 🤝 Booked by @bitchlessdino, on behalf of Entertainment CEO!Chan and afab!TV Producer!Reader. 📋 Agenda: Chan didn't think he had what it takes and motivation to be a CEO when he rather be the one on stage. It wasn't until he met the most obnoxious TV producer he's ever met that he was committed to being the best goddamn Entertainment CEO they and Carat Company has ever seen. 📊 Key Deliverables: fluff, comedy, smut, enemies to fwbs, fwb to ??? 📝 Meeting minutes: cocky!chan, undermining!reader, poor use of filming/modeling sets and their equipment, lowkey exhibitionism. 

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

🗓️ CONFERENCE ROOM 7: On Your Side 🤝 Booked by @chanranghaeys, on behalf of ceo!lee chan and cfo!fem!reader. 📋 Agenda: Being seatmates with Chan for your senior year back in arts high school changed your life forever. Being estranged and distant friends with Dino, celebrated idol-slash-actor, messed with your head—and your heart. Being the Chief Financial Officer and right hand of Sebong Corporation’s newest CEO, Mr. Lee Chan turned you both into people that barely knew each other. But would you both be willing to stick it through to the end, claiming to be on each other’s side? 📊 Key Deliverables: high school friends to estranged friends to office colleagues to enemies to ??? 📝 Meeting minutes: puppy love and high school crushes, borderline office romance, mutual pining but they’re adamant to antagonize each other.

Read the teaser here. Read the full fic here.

Once again, sign up for the tag list to get tagged for teasers and fic drops. See you in office!

[monzabee]

🎭 || criminal minds series masterlist

AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR!

welcome to my series masterlist! you can find all the fics with +3 parts here, and here's a reminder of the masterlist key!

masterlist key: — fic - ✶ — drabbles - ✫

THE NANNY (A. HOTCHNER)

— the nanny ✶ : there is a mysterious woman visiting hotch’s office... it’s his nanny?  — fashion emergency ✶ : hotch’s nanny is back with everyone’s favorite hotchner and a go-bag. — pleading the fifth ✶ : a rather... interesting complication happens when jack’s nanny is called to school by the principal. the only person who can save either of them? it's aaron, of course. — judge ✶ : aaron is outvoted by you and jack when you try to decide whether to adopt a puppy and there is a big decision to make—what to name him.   — the cold shoulder ✶ : hotch’s nanny has been icing him out, he can’t figure out why! — ice pops, jerseys, and the hotchner frown ✶ : you show up for one of jack’s soccer games, and aaron has never been so distracted in his life. — she's the lady in red (when everybody else is wearing tan) ✶ : there is an fbi gala and hotch finds himself in dire need of a date for the evening. who's a better candidate than his nanny? — hotch, hotchner and the other hotchner ✶ : sean meets jack’s nanny. aaron is not happy about it. — emergency contact ✶ : the nanny gets called in as hotch’s emergency contact, he can’t remember having her number added as such.  — too late, too soon ✶ : you’re left wondering about your boss’ feelings towards you. unfortunately for you, aaron isn’t exactly an open book.  — date night (gone wrong) ✶ : hotch recruits help to make sure the nanny’s date is not a serial, it’s definitely not because he has feelings for her.  — take it from the start ✶ : she had style, she had flair, she was there... that’s how she became the nanny!  

©𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗓𝖺𝖻𝖾𝖾 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟥. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗏𝖺𝗂𝗅𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌.

[nichuuu]

Beats Me - 7: Emails I Can’t Send

ft. Kim Minju

Word Count: 10k+

The first few minutes of your meeting are spent by Yeji and Yuna to catch up on life. 

You sit by the side, detached from the conversation as you sip on the latte (what did they put in this thing? It’s so damn good). They relive some highschool memories, ask each other what they’ve been studying—the usual stuff. The croissants at the counter look really good, and you’re wondering if they’ll taste as good as they look. Maybe you should buy one later. 

Yuna reminds you of Ryujin, only if Ryujin looked friendlier and less intimidating upon first glance. Her voice is distinct, her laugh even more so as she does that thing where she moves her feet like she’s running while she doubles over. Her eyes stay focused on her senior who—for the first time since you’ve seen her—is smiling. Yeji’s lanky fingers stay affixed to the straw, moving every now and then to disturb the ice as she stirs the drink. The coffee swirling in milk leaves light brown streaks against the side of her glass, creating these streaky patterns that look like they probably belong on an art piece. There are some details in her life that she briefly touches on but never delves into, probably because you’re there next to her.

Then it’s finally time. You’re dragged back into the conversation when Yeji says, “So you want to join the band?” and suddenly the cat that’s situated just outside the glass door doesn’t have your attention. Yea. Been looking for a chance to play, is Yuna’s reply, I saw you guys play at that bar the other time. You guys were great. 

Eunbi should be here. She would’ve been ecstatic to hear that.

Yeji nods her head, stirring her drink idly as she silently looks at her junior. You hope that Yuna’s stratagem to enter isn’t just flattery. A sinking feeling tells you that it just might be, judging from the way she’s shifting under the gaze of her senior.

“Remind me Yuna: how many years have you played the saxophone for?” Yeji inquires. Yuna’s response is quick, almost rehearsed—five years now. Never stopped playing for a single moment in my life—and Yeji seems rather pleased by it. Yuna sips on her grapefruit ade, casting a glance your way as Yeji drums her nails against the table. You shoot the younger girl a reassuring smile, and hopefully she gets the message that she’s doing great in your books.

Then Yeji unfolds her arms, taps a nail before your crossed arms that rest on the table to get your attention. The same nail points towards Yuna, and its owner simply gestures with her chin. You get what she wants you to do, though you would’ve appreciated it if she’d just told you what she wanted, and you clear your throat while sitting up a little straighter. 

“Um… Yeji kinda has me here to… Talk about my experience.” You internally cringe at your opening statement. What is this? An alumni sharing session? you chide yourself, all while you’re continuing on to whatever it is you have to say, “When you join this band, do expect yourself to be pushed a little. The hours aren’t all that taxing, but you gotta be able to… You know, strike that work life balance, as they say.”

And that’s just about all you have to say. Yeji neither smiles nor glares at you, only giving the smallest of nods as she focuses her attention on her junior. “If we give you a chart, you better learn it by heart by next practice. If we have a gig, practice will get more intensive. There’s a lot of things you need to be able to do Yuna. You can’t just think that you’re up to it; you have to be sure that you can shoulder all of these responsibilities.”

She’s making this sound like military recruitment, you’re thinking. Yuna’s definitely feeling a slight shift in atmosphere, and she’s fiddling with her glass as she stares straight into Yeji’s eyes. If you’re being honest: Yeji is definitely exaggerating the rigor of the band, and it’s probably scaring the poor girl. Your guitarist’s gaze isn’t at its peak intensity, but it’s enough to make Yuna purse her lips in silence, her smile fading from her face. Yeji greets her junior’s silence with a grim expression.

“So. Let me ask you again.” This time, Yeji’s tone is the furthest thing from gentle. “Are you ready to join us?”

Yuna stares at the melting ice in her glass. She takes a sip of her coffee, lets it sit in her mouth for a bit, and then swallows. “I’ll… I’ll text you when I’ve made up my mind.”

And all at once, it feels like all the happiness in the world has been sapped out of this cafe. Yeji stands up, leaving the rest of her latte untouched as she shoulders her bag and pushes in her chair. 

“I’ll pay you for the latte,” she says, albeit a bit too nonchalantly after she’d single handedly brought down the mood. “Text me how much it costs, then text me again once you’re sure that you want in.”

She doesn’t even wait for you, doesn’t even look at you; she just turns on her heel and leaves. And for a moment, you sit there in awkward silence with Shin Yuna. You can’t help but feel bad for the poor girl who’d just been subjected to unwarranted coldness; and you want to comfort her, but you don’t know how. With a sigh, you take the straw out of your cup, bring the glass to your mouth and down the rest of your latte. Yuna’s eyes stayed trained on her own latte, which was close to untouched. She watches as a single drop of condensation rolls down the side of the glass, landing on her coaster and getting absorbed into the material. 

“The band’s… Not as bad as she makes it sound,” you pipe, pausing for a brief moment to consider your words carefully. “Yeji tends to be a little… Mean sometimes.” Now that she has her eyes on you, you can’t help but feel a little shifty in your seat. She’s the type of girl that turns heads when she walks down the street, the type of girl that could probably get scouted by a model agency just by standing at a bus stop and looking at her phone. Not that her gaze is piercing or anything, but it’s just that she’s a little too breathtaking to make you feel okay sitting opposite her in a one on one. “Don’t think too much about it. I think you’ll make a great fit in the band.”

And then you decide to leave. It’s with great embarrassment that you state that you should take your leave, and it’s with great clumsiness and lack of grace that you stand up, bump your knee against the table, mutter a small and push your chair in before making a beeline for the door. The bell on the door chimes as you pull the door open, and it chimes again when you step out, and again when you close the door shut behind you—almost like it was laughing at you. So much for not being awkward. 

“Thought you’d stay in there for a little longer.”

Hearing Yeji’s voice makes you jump, and you turn to find her petting the cat at the windowsill of the cafe. She isn’t even looking at you, not even a glance in your direction as you walk up to her and stop just before her. 

“What the hell was that in there?” you can’t help but question. “You make us sound like we’re a fucking concentration camp while simultaneously making her feel like shit. How the fuck do you even do that?”

She gives the cat one last scratch between the ears, and the feline purrs under her touch. She rises from her squatting position and looks you in the eye. “That’s why I brought you here: to make her feel better.” She lets that linger in the air for a bit. “Okay. I’m going home.”

And she walks right past you like you aren’t going to be traveling in the same direction as her. A grunt of frustration slips out of your lips as you turn and catch up with her, matching her pace step for step. 

“Did you seriously think,” you ask as you match her stride, “that a small ‘it’s alright’ from me would be enough to make her join?” 

“Yep.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“Same goes for you.”

“What?”

The two of you stop at the traffic light, and she takes the time to adjust her hair over her shoulder and crack her neck like there isn’t someone talking to her on her immediate left. At this point, you are as good as a ghost to her.

“Why can’t you just be nice for once?” you don’t bother hiding the aggression in your tone, nor did you ever intend on doing so. “Is it really that hard? Do we have to go through a trial to earn your kindness?”

The light turns green and she puts away her phone. “I’m only nice to the people I trust, and neither you nor Yuna fall into that category.”

You bite your tongue, and you stay where you are as she walks across the road. She doesn’t look back, and you never expected her to. This conversation is hardly worth your time and emotional battery. You’re better off talking to some moss ball behind a dumpster, and the silence that you’ll receive is more welcoming than anything Hwang Yeji will ever say.

And so you walk elsewither from where she’s going and you just walk. You know for a fact that there’s no point in fuming over her behavior, and there’s definitely no point in figuring out how to get to her. Instead, you walk down a stretch of shops, letting your eyes wander across the various items that are being displayed at the windows: the jewelry, the clothes, the facial products, the bags, the—

Someone calls your name, and her voice is all too familiar. You’ve heard it just recently, over the phone with club music blaring over her voice. So yeah: you don’t need to turn to know who's made you stop in your tracks, but you do just because you need to see it to believe it

Kim Minju looks dazzling in her outfit:a set of black and short shorts that cover up the skin that’s exposed beneath the shirt-dress she wears. The lime green knitted Prada bag she has in her hands is a little bit jarring, a tad out of place on her monochrome outfit, and you guess that she probably grabbed it in a rush to get out of the house. Still: it looks like a purposeful mismatch, and perhaps your sense of fashion is just so bland that you simply just can’t appreciate the complexity of her outfit.

“Hey,” she greets—a mix of shock and surprise and glee on her face as she takes small steps towards you. It isn’t that big of a distance to cross, and she’s right in front of you in two-to-three small steps. She stops for a moment, lets her eyes wander across your face for a bit. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Same goes for you,” you tell her. “Thought we’d just rub shoulders in the club and call it a day.”

Minju giggles, fidgets a little with the strap of her bag that sits nicely on her small shoulder. “You uh… you going somewhere?”

“Well um…” it’s hard to phrase what exactly it is you’re doing right now, because: a) you don’t exactly have a set location in mind and; b) you don’t know how to tell her that you were going away from somewhere that you were going to just now—ugh, it’s confusing to even think about. In the name of reducing the complications of your explanation, you opt for the best response you can possibly give at the moment: “No. Not really. How about you?”.

It’s not a lie; it’s half of the truth… Sort of? Ah fuck, why bother fretting over it?

She smiles, a toothless one where the corner of her lips gets tugged up by a set of invisible strings. It’s a charming little smile, and you have to admit that you love seeing the way it makes her eyes glimmer a little. “I just met my groupmates, and before you ask: it was a horrible session.”

You chuckle. “My condolences.” You rub your palms against your jeans as you speak, “must suck to be the smartest person in the group.”

She’s consistently been the brightest person in the room, perfect GPA, Valedictorian and everything. Sure: she already stands out because of her looks, but her smarts make her the whole package deal. The whole reason you met her in the first place was because you were failing Chemistry so badly in your first year that the teacher had to get her and her straight-As to step in and tutor you. She did a pretty good job, pulled your marks up from an E to a B and kept it there. 

“Oh shut up,” she sighs, though the smile on her face never fades, “you know I hate it when you say shit like that.”

“Do you? Could’ve sworn that you lived off compliments back then.”

She clicks her tongue in annoyance, slaps your shoulder with the back of her hand. She hasn’t changed one bit. “Fuck you. You always were too damn cheeky.”

You shrug in response. She pushes back a strand of hair.

“You wanna grab a coffee?” Her question is one you’ve expected from the moment you bumped into her. 

“I just had a latte, but I wouldn’t mind getting a Croissant.”

***

“You were one mark away from an A—this close to breaking your B streak.”

“It was an A in technicality. Careless mistakes that fuck me over don’t count, Minju.”

“Tell that to the Chemistry department then.”

“I think they would've dunked me in a vat of acid.”

“What type of Acid? Can you still remember which ones can melt skin off bone?”

“Welcome back Little Miss know-it-all.”

“The information will save you one day, mark my words.”

“Well I doubt I’ll ever come into contact with skin-melting Chemicals any time soon.”

“Don’t jinx yourself.”

“Hey, don’t tell me that when you were the one who was dubbed ‘bearer of bad news’.”

“It’s not my fault that I always have to relay the bad news to the class! I was the fucking class president!”

“Oh right.”

“Oh right. You sound so stupid.”

“Says the one giving me a lecture.”

“I’d hardly constitute this as a lecture.”

“Look at you using big words.”

“I’m going to throw this fucking coffee at you.”

“It’s a good latte. I wouldn’t recommend you wasting your money like that.”

“You’re a child.”

“Aren’t we all young at heart?”

“Young at heart is one thing. Immaturity is another.”

“I’d argue that you’re the immature one here.”

“Says the one who’s always getting himself involved in some shit every other day.”

“I wouldn’t blame that on my immaturity.”

“So you do admit that you’re immature.”

“Now you’re just putting words into my mouth.”

“It’s not my fault that you say stupid things.”

“But it’s you that uses my stupid things to… Fuck. That won’t sound right.”

“Did you just lose your train of thought mid sentence?”

“I was running what I was about to say through my head.”

“You do that while you speak? You’re so weird.”

“Oh so you’d rather me spit out nonsense all the time?”

“Yea, so I can insult you over it.”

“Ugh. You’re so kind Minju.”

“Thank you. I pride myself with my heart of gold.”

“The same one that made you a pushover with your ex?”

“We both know that he manipulated me.”

“And you kept making excuses with him because you refused to see the bad in him.”

“Okay, I admit that that was a bit of a misplay on my end.”

“You dated him for two years.”

“I didn’t want to be lonely, okay? Everyone in the damn friend group was dating, I felt left out!”

“But we were in healthy relationships. Yours looked like the physical embodiment of type two diabetes.”

“Oh. So you’d consider your relationship with Kim Chaewon a healthy one?”

“It was till… You know.”

The silence that follows is deafening, and Minju’s smile fades.

“Shit. I went a little overboard with that one,” how apologetic she sounded made you feel bad. Not that you ever intended to be a wet blanket, but the hesitance in your voice must have killed the mood or something. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

You waved it off. “All jokes,” you assure her with a forced smile. “Nothing was or has been taken to heart. I promise.”

She purses her lips, and when she parts them, they make a small smack. You take a moment to take another stab at your croissant and send another bit into your mouth. And yes: it does taste as good as it looks. 

“How are things with you and her anyway?” She asks, setting down her half-full glass of latte. “Are you guys doing alright? Talking now?”

You imagine the look of shock on her face when you tell her that you made out with your ex and fucked her after you took her home, and make the executive decision to skip the details and give her a more vague (and untrue)  answer: “We’re uh… Reconciling I guess.”

She nods, and you can’t tell if it’s one of approval or one of disappointment. She’d been the number one supporter of your relationship with Chaewon; imagine her shock when you told her one fine morning over the phone that the two of you had broken up.

“Forgive me for continuing on this subject, but,” the addition of that but really spoke volumes of how she wasn’t gonna let you interject, even if you really wanted to just stop talking about it. She’s not one to be self-centred, but when she has something to say, you have a guaranteed earnings if you bet on the fact that she’ll get it out one way or another. You always let her get away with it, only because you have a bit of a soft spot for her, and she has a bit of a soft spot for you too—you did spend a large amount of time in your first year of highschool in the library with her after all. “I always thought that you and Chaewon would be, you know, a ‘forever couple’.”

“Well I’m sorry we ruined your drama fantasies,” you reply, trying to bring the conversation back to the light-hearted talk it was just a couple of minutes ago. “Some things just don’t work out in the end—the relationship was just one of those things.”

This time, you decode her nod as one of understanding and sympathy. “Well… As long as you’re okay now.” she rolls her straw between her forefinger and thumb, watching as it twists left and right in her fingers and disturbs the latte before her. “You seem to be doing well with your whole band gig and all.”

“You could say that.” You set down your fork and dab the corners of your mouth with a napkin while you swallow the rest of your croissant. “Chaewon and I will learn to… Coexist eventually. I hope so at least.”

“You guys better sort it out,” she muses. “I doubt I can keep baby-sitting her at the club for much longer. I have a life too, you know?”

“I feel like that’s more of a problem for her to settle than us.” you’re barely hiding the disdain in your voice as you stare at crumbs that are left on your plate. “It’s not my problem if she gets drunk. She made the choice to go drinking herself.”

“But you made it your problem just a day ago,” Minju points out. 

“Only because it was the only way to get her out of that damn club.”

“You could’ve chosen not to come.”

“And leave you guys to deal with her?”

“It was me and Eunbi. We could’ve dragged her out.”

“But—“

“Just admit that you actually cared. You and I both know that you’re too much of a fucking sweetheart to ever let someone struggle when you can help.”

And she stumps you with that one, because you don’t know how to reply to that. Is that a compliment or an insult? Frankly, you didn’t know, but you do know that you’re surprised by the fact that anyone can ever use the word sweetheart in such an aggressive manner. It’s like telling someone you love their outfit before punching them in the face. 

Okay, maybe not that extreme… But you get the gist.

“Maybe I did have a soft spot for her,” you mused. It’s half self-realisation, half-reply. “But even so: you guys would go through all nine circles of hell just to get her up and out of the club.”

Minju draws her lips into a thin line. She lifts her straw to her mouth, lets it hover just in front of her lips for a bit, then places the glass back down on the table heavily. A small, substantial thump sends a small tremor through the table. She stares into her glass. “What even happened when you took her home anyway?”

You shrug and put down your fork to wipe your mouth—actions that mask the fact that you want to cringe at yourself over what happened. You’ve done a lot of lying today (what would your mother say?), and you’re pretty sure that all of this will come back and bite you in the ass some day. But for now, you’d like to save yourself some embarrassment as you say, “Helped her with her hangover. Gave her a meal. Then she left.”

Minju looks at you for a moment. Then she sighs and shakes her head.

“You’re too kind for your own good,” she mutters. Her fingers stay wrapped around her glass as she speaks, beads of condensation slowly running down the clear walls of her cup and sliding down her knuckles. She raises her head, just enough to establish eye contact with you. “Then again: your soft little heart was the reason I had a crush on you.”

Okay. She skipped a lot of ground there.

You blink. You blink again. She stares straight into your eyes throughout—doesn’t break eye contact or anything. Not that you didn’t take her seriously, but just that you were a little… Well, stunned.

“Bottom line: you care about her. Don’t let her manipulate you okay?” Minju tells you, finally raising the star to her mouth and taking a nice long sip from her latte. When the straw is released from between her lips, she smacks her lips in satisfaction and leans back in her seat. You’re still staring if anyone’s asking, and yes: you are indeed thinking, what the fuck?

Minju shoots you a look of disdain. “What?” she asks as she straightens the collar of her shirt dress. “Why are you looking at me like that? Cut it out.”

Okay: aside from the fact that you’re shocked by the fact that she isn’t addressing the elephant in the room (the one that she placed there by her damn self), you’re reeling over the fact that she’s just casually dropped this hell-of-a piece of news on you like it was just an update on life or something; oh I used to like, you know, see you more than just a friend, but no biggie.

You blink. You blink again. She grabs the straw and tosses it out of the glass, gulps the rest of her latte in a single swallow and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. 

“If you’re wondering if the feelings are still there, the answer is no,” she tells you, picking up a napkin to clean up the corners of her mouth. “The keyword was had you big dummy. Stop thinking so much about it. You look stupid.”

The faculties to reply return to you, but you can’t do much but sputter a very confused wha? as Minju examines her nails for a bit. She smirks, then grabs her bag and rises from her seat. 

“If my news is killing you that bad, why don’t we talk about it over a nice dinner?”

***

True to her word, she does open up about everything over the course of the meal, albeit after a couple of glasses of wine.

“You were so cute and so damn loveable,” she muses, unashamed as she pours herself another glass. She took you to some nice restaurant a few streets away, and you’re kinda regretting your decision to eat that croissant for tea because fuck does the food here taste good. Minju settles into her seat, glass in hand as she stares at the scarlet liquid. “You bought me dark chocolate on my period, got me a snack after we had a session because I was hungry… You’re pretty fucking handsome too, you know that?”

All of this is, of course, news to you, and you’re struggling to internalise the fact that she would ever think about you in such a way. Your own wine glass has remained full for the entire duration of your meal, and you choose this time to take a sip to help you process all of… Well, this. 

“So… How long did you, you know, like me?” you can’t help but ask. Not that it was the first question on your mind or anything, but more of the fact that you needed to say something to prevent this conversation from descending into awkward silence. Comfortable was the last word you’d use to describe how you feel. 

“Huh…” Minju mutters. She swirls her glass for a bit. She takes a sip, swirls more. Her gaze turns inwards and her mouth moves in a soundless count. “If you don’t count the summer break where I figured out that I wanted nothing more but to kiss you? About a year and a half.”

You do the maths in your head and come to an epiphany. Minju beats you to it and verbalises your thoughts: yea, yea… I liked you while you were dating Chaewon, which means that I liked you when I was dating that deadbeat baseball player, which meant I was unfaithful by technicality, but I stuck with that sick fuck to try and make you jealous.

Frankly, you’re not too sure why you are being thrown into emotional situations with people of your past over the course of the last two days. You want this to be some sort of dream, and you want, so badly, for Minju to burst out laughing and hit you with a, this was all a joke! I just wanted you to accompany me for dinner, that’s all, and call it a day. Maybe you two could get ice cream afterwards, laugh this silly prank off on a bench somewhere and then bid farewell for the night. But judging from the way Minju stares solemnly at her plate, you can pretty much infer with full confidence that she means every word she says. Even as she chews her steak slowly, you can feel her lingering on some thoughts that she won’t verbalise—not now at least. Maybe she’ll text you about it a couple weeks for months down the road, and all of this will just resurface for, like, a day or two at most. Bottom line: she’s pretty serious about everything she just said, and she’ll most likely remind you of this conversation in this nice restaurant that you can never come back to again. The food is nice but it's nowhere in your tax bracket. 

“So uh,” Minju brings your attention back to her. She leaves you hanging for a bit as she pokes a cherry tomato with her fork and sends it into her mouth. You hear a soft crunch as she chews, and you can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable with the presented silence that follows. She dabs the corners of her lips with a napkin. She swallows. “About what happened with Chaewon after you took her to your place: did you leave out the part where you fucked her in the ass on purpose? Or did she drug you and you forgot everything?”

And it feels like time freezes as she picks up her wine glass and gulps down the rest of the scarlet liquid in there. When she looks at you with those piercing, knowing eyes, you wonder how much she knows about you and Chaewon; what does she know and what are the details she has sitting in some locker in the corners of her mind. 

“Chaewon has a pretty big mouth you know,” Minju remarks, a small—almost mocking—pout on her lips as she plays with the vegetables on her plate. “She tells me just about anything and everything that goes on in her life, just saying.”

So that’s enough to tell you that she knows more than she should. You wonder if there are any other people Chaewon runs her mouth to.

“If you’re gonna call me a loser, just do it,” you mutter. You suddenly find the urge to down the rest of your wind irresistible. You act on your impulse, and you grimace a little as the alcohol burns your throat on the way down. It’s probably not recommended to consume liquor the way you are drinking it right now, but you couldn’t care less at this point. You kind of need this drink right now. This day has been full of unexpected things: unexpected meetings to unexpected feelings to god knows what else is on its way. “But before you say anything, she started it. I was the victim.”

Minju chuckles. You don;t really find anything about this entertaining right now, but there will certainly be an element of humour to this conversation that you will probably discover after some hindsight. Minju sets down her cutlery and folds her arms. “I understand”, she tells you, making sure to hold your gaze as she rests her cheek in her palm. “Trust me. Calling you a loser is, like, the 2nd thing on my mind right now.”

“And what’s the first?”

She looks left, then right, then leans in a little. “Was the sex good?”

Honestly, you shouldn’t be shocked. She’s always been a bit cheeky in nature, a little bit lickerish and maybe a little indecent. You’ve seen it, heard it, known it for the longest time—yet you can’t stop yourself from raising both eyebrows when she drops the question on you. MAybe it’s the lack of hesitance; the question coming right at you like a fastball after you gave her your end of the situation. It’s a little devious: the way she just gives it to you straight without any room for silence and pondering. You’ll give her that.

“I mean,” she continues, not even giving you time to even try and rationalise the question. “I imagine that her pussy’s already tight as fuck. Her ass? God I can only imagine what that was like for you.”

Now it’s getting a little confusing. The lines between wry and genuine interest are being blurred here, and you’re not even sure if this is really a conversation you’re having with her right now. Her bluntness and lack of consideration towards you is a little appalling given her remorse in the cafe. Maybe it’s the wine. Yea, it’s probably the wine…

“What the fuck?” Is all you can manage as you affix your gaze on her with a look of shock that could probably win you an award if this was a movie. Minju pushes back some hair, fingers deftly tucking them behind her ear as she fixes you with a look. You have no idea where this conversation is going, and you really, really hope that she doesn’t continue on this line of talk. Of course, you have a bad track record of getting what you wish for. 

Minju leans in even more, gets even closer. You’re not sure if you should move or do anything at this juncture. She cocks her head a little, smirks.

“Wanna find out if I’m a better fuck then her?”

***

Why did you follow her back to her apartment? You don’t even know. Best guess: you weren’t really thinking after she spoke and just went with it. Or maybe: you might have looked at her all weird and somehow ended up agreeing (she’s a sweet talker and you certainly wouldn’t put it past her). There are about ten possibilities that you can think of—eleven if you added the one that just formulated in your brain about a second ago—all of which are equally confusing and hard to fathom. It’ll take some time and probably a cup of coffee or two to figure out.

But focus up: there are a lot more pressing matters right now, matters like the fact that her lips are firmly pressed against yours while your back is against the closed and locked door of her apartment. Frankly, you don’t even know how the hell you two got locked in this kiss; could’ve sworn the two of you were just talking at the restaurant a couple of minutes ago. Everything’s a little hazy, and it’s a little worrying considering that you only had one or two… Maybe three? Yea, probably three… Let’s just say there was a couple more glasses of wine after she asked if you if she could potentially be a better fuck, and here you are now. It seems like your relationship with alcohol and women all lead to the same destination. It’s a problem for sure, but you can settle that later. 

There’s a rather loud smack as she removes her lips from yours—for air of course. Gazing deep into your eyes, she smiles as she tells you, god I’ve always wanted to do that, before she re-establishes the connection of lips. The kiss is aggressive: nothing short of fervent and definitely not holding back on the restraint. If there was a way to properly kiss someone, Kim Minju was certainly taking it up another step. Her tongue pokes through your lips, invades past your teeth and pushes itself deep into your mouth till it dances with yours. It’s starting to get a little messy, a little more raunchy and, uh… Well—you get the gist. Your brain’s certainly not functioning the way it should be. 

Are you drunk? Probably not.

She starts to pull you by the shirt—away from the door and towards the living room. Her place is pretty big, and there's enough space for the two of you to stumble and fumble around till you find a flat surface that you can proper her up on and spread her legs. The surface in question is a table. It’s probably her dining table, and it creaks as Minju undoes the clasp of her sheer shorts that really shouldn’t be classified as shorts in any world. The article of clothing comes off together with your jeans, and they’re both tossed aside before your hands are on her hips and pulling her towards you. Her ass slides over the wood, hissing as her skin drags along a small distance so that she can grip your face in her palms and crash her lips against yours. You close your eyes, enjoy the feel of her warm body pressing against yours while those gentle hands sink fingers into the flesh of your cheeks. A dark part of you takes a little pleasure in the pain.

“Fuck.” You love the lilt in her voice after she breaks the kiss. “I see why Chaewon likes to kiss you now,” she lets her hands roam across your face, brushing away the bits of your hair that fall in front of your eyes, almost as if she wants you to see her and only her. “You kiss so well. Feels like I’m kissing a marshmallow with lips.”

“Do I even want to know how you came up with that analogy?” you question. She grins.

“Just trust it. I did get a higher score than you in just about every subject except music.”

You chuckle. She goes in for a kiss; you make a beeline for the column of milky skin at her neck, savour the sharp inhale that sucks air through her teeth and sounds like more of a hiss. You kiss her jaw, trail it up to her neck then back down to her collarbone. Every touch of your lips on her skin makes her sigh.

“Try not to mark me where people can see,” she whispers. “There’s only so much skin that makeup can cover without ruining my outfits, and foundation is really fucking expensive these days.”

(Now there’s the debate of whether that was a challenge or a precautionary measure. She’s always been a bit of a cheeky one: trying people on and giggling as she does so. You’ve been the victim of her antics before, but it’s kind of hard to deduce whether she’s telling you, don’t do it or inviting you to leave hickeys all over her neck and wherever you could get your lips on.)

“And if I do?” you can’t help but ask. Minju chuckles and pushes you away by your shoulders.

“Don’t.” She’s firm when she says it, almost like she’s chiding you for ever considering it. For a moment, you look each other in the eye as your breaths poke holes through the silence. It’s a little chilling yet a little thrilling, and you can’t help but take in the way she looks in the dim light of the night. In the midst of stumbling in, neither of you ever considered turning on the lights. She’s painted in soft strokes of moonlight, eyes shimmering in the gentle glow of night. Beautiful. She’s always been so beautiful, but never this beautiful. “I know you want to, but don’t,” she reiterates. You’re a little disappointed, but there are, of course, other ways to leave your mark on her.  

And so your hand snakes down and finds its way between her parted legs. Your other hand slithers around that small waist, and it holds her in place as your fingers press against the fabric of her panties. In your arms, she tenses—bristles as you start to feel the outline of her lips against your fingertips. You increase the pressure against her heat. Minju tilts her head back and moans.

Fuck. You don’t think you’ve ever heard such a sound: angelically filthy, airy and soft. It’s already hard enough to grasp the concept of her, one of your closest friends that you haven’t seen in a few good years or so, propped up on her own dining table while you trace the outline of her pussy through her panties and leave her squirming atop the wooden surface. Add the small choked up cries she’s making into the mix and by God do you have a recipe for a haze. Where to begin? This situation shouldn’t be real at all; none of this should be real, this should be a dream. This heat against your fingers. The sight of her mouth parted and her body twitching with each stroke of your fingers. The very realisation that this is as real as it gets, and it’s unfolding right before you by the second.

“Why are you so fucking wet?” you ask, noting the way she shudders as you let your finger hover over the base of her opening for a bit. Her thighs—pale skin painted in the lightest shades of moonlight—twitch in anticipation, almost as if the blood in her veins is loading up inside there and would shoot forward the moment you start moving again. She can’t predict what you’re gonna do next, and it’s killing her in a way that brings you this sick satisfaction. Minju whimpers; you chuckle. “Do you really want it this bad Minju? Has no one touched you like this before?”

(Her bottom lip quivers as she struggles to compose herself. She breathes: raspy and staccato. Strands of hair hang in front of her face, the same one that has this pleading look superimposed over bratty frustration. It’s hot, really satisfying and really challenging you take some liberties with her. Sure: it’d be really fun to just stuff her full of cock and just have your way with her right here and now, but where’s the fun in that? You’ve known her as this smart, preppy girl who’s always gotten what she wants because she’s smart and rich. You can't remember the last time you saw her fail. Maybe she did face a bit of a setback when she was starting out in university, but as far as you’re concerned, she’s in need of a bit of humbling.)

It’s all enough to drive anyone mad really. So you can’t really blame her when she cries oh god just fuck me already! at a volume that would probably get her a noise complaint from one of her neighbours. It’s a little jarring, and it makes you stop and look at her for a second or two. She looks back at you, giving you those fuck me eyes that you didn’t know she was capable of as she starts to bite down on her lower lip. 

With that face and that aura, she—whether unwittingly or not—painfully reminds you of Chaewon. That same bratty persona mixed with that undeniable look of need—it’s killing you to look her in the eye a she starts to grind herself against your fingers, pleading you to get on with it—please, please, please just strip me and fuck me and make me your good little toy—while she fixes you with that pleading look. Her doleful eyes coax you, and it feels dangerous to even look into them, let alone gaze into them as pulls you closer with her legs and grabs your shaft through your underwear.

“Tease me all you want later,” she squeezes your cock—sweet, sinful pleasure. Those weapons of a pair of eyes slice into the deepest depths of your mind, appealing to the darker part of you to let loose and take control. She wants it, needs it more than anything else right now. “You can finger me, eat me, whatever… Just put this fucking cock inside of me and make me scream before you do anything else.”

She’s given you a list of priorities, and they really speak volumes of her personality. Funnily enough, it’s pretty in line with her character: goal oriented and focused on that success rather than the process. You wonder what would happen if you refused to give her that final goal she so desperately craves; what it could do and to what extent would it break her. You take some time to consider this as you slip your hands into the spaces between the upper buttons of her shirt.

“Minju.” You call her name out of politeness in wake of what you’re about to ask her. “How much was this shirt?”

The glint in her eye when she catches your implicit message is enthralling. She pushes her bottom lip behind her front teeth; fixes you with this look that tells you that she's' about to say something that’s gonna satisfy your desires just because she can and she gets off on it.

“It’s Prada,” she tells you. “But I can always get another.”

You grin, and with more strength than intended, you pull against the fabric of the shirt. Unfortunate buttons go flying as the fabric parts forcefully like velcro ripping apart. Nothing tears (surprisingly), but the shirt is most definitely unwearable for a while. You hope she knows how to sow.

She gasps when the cold air of her apartment suddenly hits her skin. You can’t really blame her — it all comes in a rush after she is stripped from her sole piece of clothing. She takes a moment to assess the damage done to her clothes. Her eyes wander along the naked strip of fabric her shirt buttons once called home. Then she looks at you, smirks.

“Hot,” she muses, lowering herself down till she’s on her elbows. “But I think you can do better than that.”

You like a good challenge. And with not too much kindness in your voice, you tell her to get rid of the rest of her clothing. There’s a smouldering look in her eye, and a smirk on her face as she tosses her hair out of her face. Then while she holds your gaze, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulls them down — keeps going till there somewhere far enough down those long, creamy legs for her to kick them aside. 

“That was a limited edition piece, can’t have you tearing that,” she explains, looking at the freshly discarded article of clothing. “My bra though? I got it at a convenience store in Japan. Do your worst.”

The bra doesn’t survive. It’s a shame really… It looked kinda nice. 

And basking in your gaze is a very naked Kim Minju, her skin practically glowing on top of her table as she looks up at you with those eyes of want. You take a moment – admire the supple curves in all the right places and the way her skin seems to ripple a little as she shudders. Three’s no doubt in your mind that the surface she has her back against is cold as hell, but  Fuck… this probably was the best place to have her like this – she looks like a fucking meal.

“You know,” you whisper, your index finger roaming up her body – starting from the base of her belly button and making its way up an imaginary line that you’ve drawn on her body. “You’re kinda fucking perfect.”

She chortles. “Um… Contradictory much?”

“Spare me the lesson,” you mutter, cupping her cheek firmly yet tenderly. You have no idea what this feeling in your chest is right now, but you do know that it’s gonna take you down a path you never explored before. “Now I just wanna make a mess out of you.”

You don’t wait for a reply. Heck, you don’t even give her time to craft a reply. No teasing, no testing the waters; you just get your cock in your hand, line it up with her slit and pump yourself into her for the first time.

And even though she has this look of offence on her face, you know that this is probably the hottest thing she’s ever experienced. It’s a non-verbal statement that tells you that: her eyes burn with a heat you often see in Chaewon when she’s just being a downright bitch, yet her lips part and her head tilts back to let a moan be drawn out from the deepest parts of her. You don’t quite know how you’re processing these cues with the novel sensation of her hot cunt around your cock (it squeezes and pulses at just the right places that make you twitch inside her and it’s like… So fucking hot in there) that welcomes you into the depths of the woman beneath you. Every little thing is just hitting like a fucking sledge hammer now. You can feel her heat around you, burning like fire in this cold apartment. Alcohol must really be setting in.

Minju takes a moment to collect herself, and after she does, she looks at you to send another non-verbal cue your way. 

This one means fuck me.

This whole situation is far from sophisticated; a little more filthy than you care to admit. It’s not what you’re used to with the other women you’ve been with. Eunbi likes teasing, Ryujin likes to play around a little; Karina is just downright submissive, Yeji a little more subservient than she lets on; Chaewon is… well, Chaewon – bratty and really whiny when she fucks.

But Minju? This is a whole new chapter for you. 

First impressions tell you that she’s just downright needy; a little bratty like Chaewon as she starts to whine a little while you start pumping in and out of her slick heat. Her legs lock around your waist, feet crossed behind your back. She pulls you in each time you thrust into her – pulls you deeper into her warmth and moans a little louder when you hit the right spot. You match her speed, and soon you're thrusting her with firm, fast strokes. It makes her throw back her head for a bit, a cry leaving her straining throat as she sets rolls with this tempo.

Her torso remains supported on her elbows, her small breasts that sit proudly atop her chest bouncing with each smack of your crotch against hers. She realigns her gaze with yours. Her eyes stay wide open, gazing right into yours as she holds your attention with this debauched gaze that makes your mind fill with wild, wild thoughts. You’re fucking her on the table, but you’re thinking about what it’d be like to have her against the wall, against the counter, on her knees; riding you on her couch, jumping on your cock on her bed…  

This woman is gonna fucking ruin you.

“Chaewon said that the dick was fucking good,” she’s quipping between her moans, and you know it’s taking considerable effort for her. She has to close her eyes when she speaks, and in doing so she frees you from her hypnotic gaze. “No that it’s actually filling me… I think she could be downplaying how good you feel.”

And you have to smirk. “You think so ?”

Her eyes snap open, traps you yet again. “Do you have any idea how fucking hot you feel inside me?” she gasps. You have to admit that it sounds a bit more like she’s demanding you to figure out how good she feels right now/ ow fucking good your dick feels in my pussy? How–ngh… How good you fuck me?”

Emphasis on ‘fuck’ tells you that she likes this pace, this no-nonsense playing field that you’ve established from the moment you filled her for the first time. She never struck you as one to like it rough, someone who likes it when it kinda stings when you fill her. Then again, you didn’t expect her to hold feelings for you either, so you guess the world just has a bunch of mysteries that you have to unpack in your own time.

Currently, you’re just trying to unpack how fucking good she feels around you.

“You’re fucking filthy,” you hiss through your teeth. “Never knew Miss valedictorian liked being railed like this.”

She smiles through her pleasure – a half-curl upturn of the corners of her lips as she lets the sighs and gasps freely depart from her open lips. It would be a cute smile if it weren’t for the fact that you’re literally fucking her on the same surface she eats on. Not that she has any problem with it; it’s just kinda telling of how badly she wants you right now. Pretty hot honestly – feels a little dark but you like the fact that she just couldn’t wait and just found the nearest flat surface she could spread her legs for you on.

“I’ll let you in on something,” and it really looks like she’s pushing back moans in her throat. She isn’t very successful. Effort is commendable though. “As sweet as any girl looks, we all kinda like being fucked like a slut.”

You manage a chuckle. “And does that apply for you?”

You love the way her eyes gleam. She lets herself lie flat on her table. 

“That’s for you to find out.”

And you understand why she’s laid herself across the table for you. It’s an invitation to her body, a request for you to touch the parts of her and hold her like she’s yours. She’s watching you intently, waiting to see what you’ll do while you keep pumping in and out of her. You respond by grabbing her shoulders, pulling her up straight till her chest flushes against yours. Her hands wrap around your neck, her breath in your ear.

“Come on you pussy,” she drawls. “I’m not Chaewon or Eunbi, so stop fucking me like you’d fuck them.”

Your hands find purchase in the firm flesh of her ass. Your fingers dig into the skin.

Then you’re fucking her – hard, fast. It takes her by surprise, by storm. Her gasp is strained, her voice louder in your ear now that she’s dug her chin into your shoulder. Her arms tense around your neck, her thighs tighten around your waist. You can feel her start to tremble as she struggles to keep herself upright. She holds you tighter, closer. She starts to moan more than she gasps. Her sighs turn to whines, her whines to cries and then to keening. 

In a matter of seconds, she’s found herself lost in her own pleasure, willingly and blissfully letting herself slink beneath the steadily growing stream of perverse want and need that flows from her mouth. She doesn’t have any smart quips left in her, no lessons or lectures – just this burning ache for you and the meat between her legs. You can feel the throbbing in her pussy, hear the squelch of your cock sliding between her lips getting louder as you go faster. You want—so badly—to lose yourself in her warmth and her heat. You want nothing more than to just put your lips on hers and kiss her through this wave of passion you’re feeling. 

So—against her wishes—you put your lips on her neck, starting sucking. You sense hesitation in her body, but it quickly fades and she tips her head to the side. She lets you have your way with her, relenting against you and letting you nibble on her skin as you piston yourself in and out of her. 

“I hope you’re giving me something no other girl will experience,” she rasps. She’s shaking a little, her nails starting to dig into your back. “Fuck me like I’m the one that matters. I need it.”

You lift your lips off her neck. The skin is starting to change colour. “Minju,” you don’t know how you manage, but you just do. “You’re the best woman I’ll ever fuck.”

“Mhm?” she hums. It’s a little shaky and it’s high-key hot. “Is—mphm… is my pussy better than Chaewon’s?”

And there’s that common thread between her and your ex: that desire to know that they’re better than someone else. You’ll please her for tonight. “So much better.”

She quite literally twitches at that, reeling in the thought that she’s taking cock better than her friend ever would. “Ngh– am I tighter? Am I wetter?”

You move so that you can look her in the eye. “Shut up and let me fuck you, would you?”

The look in her eyes tells you that she’s proud of what she’s done. She lets her forehead press against yours. Her eyes close. “Okay… But only because I still kinda love you.”

How are you going to deal with her? With this?

You don’t. You dive back into the crook of her neck, lengthen your strokes into her. It’s all too much to handle right now. Too many emotions are in play; too many thoughts need attention. You just want her, no strings attached and no need to spout all this nonsense about love and wanting to be loved. You kinda hate her for it, so you fuck her harder. You don’t like that she’s bringing feelings into this like Chaewon, so you fuck her harder and harder till she’s almost crying. 

She loves it, every second of it.

“Yes,yes,yes…” you can tell that she’s trying not to lose it all together, or maybe you’re just projecting. You can’t shake the feeling that your silence in response to her confession tells her that you’re gonna let her live this fantasy down right now. “Oh god you… Oh my fucking god.”

For long minutes, there’s nothing on your mind except her. You love the way she tenses and relaxes in your grasp, how she lets her body respond freely to your movements; the way her milky, smooth skin starts to bead with sweat, her hair sticking to her back; how her voice is kinda hoarse, how her lips claim your earlobe and she bites a little. As much as she’s frustrating, she’s entrancing. She’s hot, admittedly tighter than some of the girls you’ve fucked but also charming in her own way. Her moans aren’t the guttural type you get out of Karina or Eunbi, but more like a gentle yet kinda sordid exclamation of pleasure. Her breath is hot on your skin, a little hotter than you expect, but hot nonetheless. Her slim figure rocks against you, jolting when you get yourself nice and deep in her cunt, turning her into a nice bundle of nerves.

“I… Fuck… I’ve wanted this for so long,” she gasps. “But you’re here, actually here and… Fuck you’re just so fucking hot.”

And you know that’s her way of telling you that you’re better in real life than you ever will be in her wildest dreams. She’s turned on by the fact that you’re here, in the flesh and fucking her the way she likes it. Even though she surrenders to you, she’s gotten her way tonight. You’re fulfilling her desires just by being here, and your rock hard shaft drilling its way inside of her is really just a cherry on top.

(She’s kinda right: as sweet as she is, she likes being fucked like a slut.)

Even though it’s kinda her fault, Minju is your distraction, your break from it all. You give in: lose yourself in her smell, in her skin, in her flesh.  You let yourself get absorbed in it all — her gasps, her cries; the way her pussy only gets tighter, the way her legs shake around you; the fire in your chest that drives your cock in and out of her cunt in firm, long strokes; the heat of her body against yours as she starts to tense in your grasp.

Then she’s cumming — a hot mess on her dining table as cock spears into her through her orgasm. Her walls clench around you, her nails claw at your back. She cries your name. She says she loves you over and over and over till the faculties of her speech give way and she goes a little slack in your arms. You revel in it, do your best to block out the parts that make you ache a little on the inside; fuck her through the wave of an orgasm she goes through and relish the feel of her tight pussy getting tighter and wetter. You don’t know how to put it into words, but all you can really say is that she’s fucking beautiful through it all – smutty art or maybe even straight up porn. 

When you join her, you don’t even ask if you can cum in her; she’s gotten enough of her way tonight. With a final few pumps into her, you relent to the tingling in your shaft and bury yourself inside her. Your grunt is rather guttural, your load hot inside of her slick wet cunt. She sighs, almost as if she’s welcoming it into her body. You savour the moment. It’s a treat for yourself. 

You stay like that for a bit — leaning against Minju and panting while you gather yourself again. She gently strokes your hair as she smiles at you, more than happy to keep you with her as you regain your bearings. 

And just because she can, she kisses you on the cheek.

You can’t meet her gaze much longer. You turn your gaze downwards as you remove yourself from her pussy, watching as the mix of your juices flow out of her freshly-fucked cunt. She hums as it flows down from her slit. 

“Forget what I said okay?” she requests, sounding remorseful as she takes your cheek in her hand. “You’re good at not taking things to heart, so do that for me, would you?”

You manage a small smile and nod. 

Then she kisses you, softly. 

“Thank you…” she breathes. “You just helped me delete some emails to you that I can never bring myself to send.”

***

You’re kinda in shambles to be honest.

Minju’s showering, which means that you have enough time to think about what your life has become. All these emotions are coming forth so suddenly, so quickly. You barely have time to process your school work and now this has come along and fucked you sideways. It makes your head hurt.

You decide to leave before she can get out of the shower. You can’t bear to see her again, but you do drop a text—Thanks for letting me crash. See you around—once you’re out of her apartment complex. You’re ashamed, but you were raised to know better than to leave without saying anything. But even though you do what you feel is right, something about what you’ve done doesn’t quite sit well with you. 

And you’re in the park when the realisation hits. On the bench, you bury your head in your hands.

You’ve done to Minju what Chaewon did to you.

Had this one sitting in the drafts for quit some time. Realised I actually never posted it so here it is I guess. Happy New Year everyone! Have this unedited work as a gift while I work on another fic because I can.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ad-tech targeting is an existential threat

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books, and in NYC on WEDNESDAY (26 Feb) with JOHN HODGMAN. More tour dates here.

The commercial surveillance industry is almost totally unregulated. Data brokers, ad-tech, and everyone in between – they harvest, store, analyze, sell and rent every intimate, sensitive, potentially compromising fact about your life.

Late last year, I testified at a Consumer Finance Protection Bureau hearing about a proposed new rule to kill off data brokers, who are the lynchpin of the industry:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

The other witnesses were fascinating – and chilling, There was a lawyer from the AARP who explained how data-brokers would let you target ads to categories like "seniors with dementia." Then there was someone from the Pentagon, discussing how anyone could do an ad-buy targeting "people enlisted in the armed forces who have gambling problems." Sure, I thought, and you don't even need these explicit categories: if you served an ad to "people 25-40 with Ivy League/Big Ten law or political science degrees within 5 miles of Congress," you could serve an ad with a malicious payload to every Congressional staffer.

Now, that's just the data brokers. The real action is in ad-tech, a sector dominated by two giant companies, Meta and Google. These companies claim that they are better than the unregulated data-broker cowboys at the bottom of the food-chain. They say they're responsible wielders of unregulated monopoly surveillance power. Reader, they are not.

Meta has been repeatedly caught offering ad-targeting like "depressed teenagers" (great for your next incel recruiting drive):

https://www.technologyreview.com/2017/05/01/105987/is-facebook-targeting-ads-at-sad-teens/

And Google? They just keep on getting caught with both hands in the creepy commercial surveillance cookie-jar. Today, Wired's Dell Cameron and Dhruv Mehrotra report on a way to use Google to target people with chronic illnesses, people in financial distress, and national security "decision makers":

https://www.wired.com/story/google-dv360-banned-audience-segments-national-security/

Google doesn't offer these categories itself, they just allow data-brokers to assemble them and offer them for sale via Google. Just as it's possible to generate a target of "Congressional staffers" by using location and education data, it's possible to target people with chronic illnesses based on things like whether they regularly travel to clinics that treat HIV, asthma, chronic pain, etc.

Google claims that this violates their policies, and that they have best-of-breed technical measures to prevent this from happening, but when Wired asked how this data-broker was able to sell these audiences – including people in menopause, or with "chronic pain, fibromyalgia, psoriasis, arthritis, high cholesterol, and hypertension" – Google did not reply.

The data broker in the report also sold access to people based on which medications they took (including Ambien), people who abuse opioids or are recovering from opioid addiction, people with endocrine disorders, and "contractors with access to restricted US defense-related technologies."

It's easy to see how these categories could enable blackmail, spear-phishing, scams, malvertising, and many other crimes that threaten individuals, groups, and the nation as a whole. The US Office of Naval Intelligence has already published details of how "anonymous" people targeted by ads can be identified:

https://www.odni.gov/files/ODNI/documents/assessments/ODNI-Declassified-Report-on-CAI-January2022.pdf

The most amazing part is how the 33,000 targeting segments came to public light: an activist just pretended to be an ad buyer, and the data-broker sent him the whole package, no questions asked. Johnny Ryan is a brilliant Irish privacy activist with the Irish Council for Civil Liberties. He created a fake data analytics website for a company that wasn't registered anywhere, then sent out a sales query to a brokerage (the brokerage isn't identified in the piece, to prevent bad actors from using it to attack targeted categories of people).

Foreign states, including China – a favorite boogeyman of the US national security establishment – can buy Google's data and target users based on Google ad-tech stack. In the past, Chinese spies have used malvertising – serving targeted ads loaded with malware – to attack their adversaries. Chinese firms spend billions every year to target ads to Americans:

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/03/06/business/google-meta-temu-shein.html

Google and Meta have no meaningful checks to prevent anyone from establishing a shell company that buys and targets ads with their services, and the data-brokers that feed into those services are even less well-protected against fraud and other malicious act.

All of this is only possible because Congress has failed to act on privacy since 1988. That's the year that Congress passed the Video Privacy Protection Act, which bans video store clerks from telling the newspapers which VHS cassettes you have at home. That's also the last time Congress passed a federal consumer privacy law:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

The legislative history of the VPPA is telling: it was passed after a newspaper published the leaked video-rental history of a far-right judge named Robert Bork, whom Reagan hoped to elevate to the Supreme Court. Bork failed his Senate confirmation hearings, but not because of his video rentals (he actually had pretty good taste in movies). Rather, it was because he was a Nixonite criminal and virulent loudmouth racist whose record was strewn with the most disgusting nonsense imaginable).

But the leak of Bork's video-rental history gave Congress the cold grue. His video rental history wasn't embarrassing, but it sure seemed like Congress had some stuff in its video-rental records that they didn't want voters finding out about. They beat all land-speed records in making it a crime to tell anyone what kind of movies they (and we) were watching.

And that was it. For 37 years, Congress has completely failed to pass another consumer privacy law. Which is how we got here – to this moment where you can target ads to suicidal teens, gambling addicted soldiers in Minuteman silos, grannies with Alzheimer's, and every Congressional staffer on the Hill.

Some people think the problem with mass surveillance is a kind of machine-driven, automated mind-control ray. They believe the self-aggrandizing claims of tech bros to have finally perfected the elusive mind-control ray, using big data and machine learning.

But you don't need to accept these outlandish claims – which come from Big Tech's sales literature, wherein they boast to potential advertisers that surveillance ads are devastatingly effective – to understand how and why this is harmful. If you're struggling with opioid addiction and I target an ad to you for a fake cure or rehab center, I haven't brainwashed you – I've just tricked you. We don't have to believe in mind-control to believe that targeted lies can cause unlimited harms.

And those harms are indeed grave. Stein's Law predicts that "anything that can't go on forever eventually stops." Congress's failure on privacy has put us all at risk – including Congress. It's only a matter of time until the commercial surveillance industry is responsible for a massive leak, targeted phishing campaign, or a ghastly national security incident involving Congress. Perhaps then we will get action.

In the meantime, the coalition of people whose problems can be blamed on the failure to update privacy law continues to grow. That coalition includes protesters whose identities were served up to cops, teenagers who were tracked to out-of-state abortion clinics, people of color who were discriminated against in hiring and lending, and anyone who's been harassed with deepfake porn:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/20/privacy-first-second-third/#malvertising

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[organic-bloodbath]

Teach Ddakji to me - Part 2

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: The salesman teaches you a new game: Rock, paper, scissors, minus one. However, he adds a mix to the game whenever one of you loses.

Warnings: 18+ smut, pure sex. Minors, time for you to leave and come back in a few years, this not for your eyes ✋🏻 the door is that way 👉🏻🚪

A/N: This shall have part 3 and i'm working on part 2 for Mingle too ✍️🏻 i haven't written smut in several years so be nice to me thank you, i feel a bit rusty 🥲

Part 1

Taglist:

@apookalypse

@lady-of-blossoms

@k1ra-park3r

♡♡

By now you had been seeing him for over a month. He had asked all kinds of things about your life in the U.S., your studies and what you'd want to do in the future, your hobbies and in general what you liked to do, and so on. He was genuinely interested in getting to know you and it warmed your heart.

He told you a little about his job, how he was recruiting new people for different businesses. He didn't get into lot of details, just said that he did like his job and it paid surprisingly well. He was happy at his current life.

He told you about his family, how his dad had died by someone shooting him to death, and that he didn't really keep in touch with many family members anymore. A lot of them had passed away apparently and he didn't want to get into more details at this stage of your relationship. You did feel sad for him, since you still had many living relatives who had some kind of part in your life, despite you moving so far away from your home.

You had gone to several different dates, none of them ending up all the way to the bedroom - yet. Mostly you had been only making out at the end of the date, and that was a lot. He was fine with waiting as long as you wished, not wanting you to be only a short term thing. You had told him about your past with one of your boyfriends how he had left you right after he had slept with you for the first time. He promised he wouldn't even think of acting like that.

He was a little too perfect and you had waited to find any kinds of flaws he had, but by far you found none and sometimes that worried you a little. There was no way a perfect man like he existed. Everyone had atleast one thing wrong with them, whatever it was.

Tonight, you had booked a hotel room together and you had made sure to wear your best pair of panties and bra, definitely avoiding the least sexy ones you owned. You had gone for a dinner before coming to the hotel, he had paid your meal again like a gentleman, as he always did. You tried to insist that you'd pay yours but he wasn't having any of that. Afterwards, you had let him know that you were ready to go all the way tonight, if he wanted to.

Right now, he was teaching you a new game, though this one you knew already but it had a little different twist to it that you hadn't played before.

Rock, paper, scissors, minus one.

It took you a while to understand how the game worked, but you grasped on the idea well enough. You both sat on your own chairs, directly facing each other, only a small gap between your knees.

He had added his own twist for the game - only with you: The one who lost, had to remove one piece of clothing, randomly chosen.

This time, you lost, his scissors cutting your paper. By now you had taken off only your cardigan, while he had taken off his tie and socks - he was taking it slowly, apparently.

You put your hands under your white top, unclipping your bra and pulling it out without taking your shirt off. You showed your dark red bra to him, hanging it in the air, until you threw it towards him. He catched it easily from the air. He brushed his fingers along the lacy canvas for a few times, until let it lay on his lap.

Another round, which made him lose his shirt. He took his time taking it off, a smirk on his face, just to mess with you. He knew you weren't very patient. But when he had taken it off and you saw him shirtless, you could definitely tell that he worked out regularly and kept himself in shape. You bit your lip and felt your cheeks warming up. God damn, you had prepared yourself for that - but still.

There were barely any words exchanged during the entire game, there was no need for that.

This was definitely a lot better than Ddakji.

It didn't take long anymore until you were only wearing your underwear and nothing else, your chest bare and you could see the hunger in his eyes.

"I think it's time for the second part of the game," he said and got up. "This part i haven't gone through with any other people i've played with."

You could see he was already hard through his underwear, which was the only thing he had on him as well. You got up before he managed to come to you and made him sit back down on the chair. He looked at you, eyebrows lifted up in surprise, but didn't stop what you were doing.

You kneeled down in front of him and pulled his underwear off, finally seeing his size how big he really was and you weren't sure if you'd be able to take it all. You looked up at him while taking his dick in your hand, stroking it a few times. He let out a sigh, not been prepared for you to make a move on him first.

You stroked him a few more times, until taking him in your mouth as deep as you were able to go. You got a gag reflex quite soon but managed to take surprisingly lot of him, though definitely not the entire length.

He grabbed your head with his hand, fingers brushing through your hair. He guided you with his hand for a while, noticing what your limits were so he wasn't pushing your mouth too deep. He let out deep moans and grunts, but before he was about to come, he pulled your head off him.

He pulled you up from the floor and grabbed your waist, pulling you tightly against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips on his, taking him in a deep kiss. His hands fell on your ass, and his tongue found its way into your mouth when you let out a quiet moan.

He pushed you on the bed, immediately crawling on top of you, not breaking the kiss for more than a few seconds.

He massaged your breast until sliding his hand down your stomach all the way to between your legs, under your panties which you still had on. He gently massaged your clit, then putting more pressure on it, making you moan louder than before. He inserted his middle finger inside your vagina, pumping it in and out, soon sliding in a second finger as well.

"Oh god," you whispered, his touch felt so good and you felt like you were going to come sooner than you had expected.

But he stopped when he sensed you were starting to be on the edge of climax. You let out a frustrated groan but he shut you up with another kiss.

He pulled himself back a little bit to take your panties off and got a condom from the bedside table, wrapping it on him. He finally positioned himself against your entrance.

"You ready?" he asked, ready to push in whenever you gave her permission. "You remember the safe word, hm?"

"Ddakji," you breathed with a chuckle and nodded. "Ready."

He didn't wait even a second longer, right then pushing in, slowly. You gritted your teeth, nails digging on his back. God, it hurt so much and you were sure you were going to bleed a little.

"Just, wait a moment, okay?" you said quietly, getting used to his size. You had had sex with a few other men before, but the last time had been in the U.S. and none of them had been as big as him.

He kissed your neck on several different spots, and by now he knew exactly the right spots which made you insane.

"Okay go on," you whispered and that was all needed for him to start moving his hips back and forth.

"God you feel so good," he murmured in your ear.

You moved your hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head into a deep kiss, his tongue playing with yours.

You didn't know how many minutes had passed, you had lost the track of time, and slowly he was fastening his pace, becoming rougher than in the beginning.

Finally, you experienced the best orgasm you had ever had, the waves of pleasure going through your body. You didn't care how loud you were and how thin the walls of this room were, you let your body react the way it wanted. His body fell limp on yours, being a lot more heavy now that he didn't keep himself up on you.

"Was it good?" you whispered, unsure if he enjoyed it as much as you did. It was your first time with him and you weren't sure what kind of sex he had experienced with other women before.

He looked at you with a surprised expression on his face.

"Was it good?" he repeated and then kissed your forehead and smiled. "It was a lot more than just good. It was perfect."

You quickly washed yourself in the bathroom and when you got into the bed, it didn't take long until you fell asleep in his arms.

♡♡

"You fucked him," your roommate gasped, looking at the hickeys on your neck and below your collarbone. "Is this your walk of shame? Oh my god you definitely fucked him."

It was 6am and your class was about to start at 9am. You knew you should have spent the night with him on the weekend, and not when you had to go to a class in the morning, but you had other plans on the weekend and you couldn't wait another week to spend the night with him.

"Shut up," you chuckled, not denying it.

"So, tell me everything," she asked. "No, wait a moment until i get coffee for us."

She could see that you had stayed up late and needed some caffeine to wake you up before the first class. You waited until she was done with the coffee and brought two cups on the table.

"So, is he big?" she asked and your eyes widened. Straight to the deep end, then. "Like how big exactly?"

"Oh, he was big," you said, the back of your mouth still sore.

"On the scale of a cucumber - half of it? 2/3? Don't say an entire cucumber." Her eyes widened and she gasped. "I mean, he looked like he could easily be-"

"Oh god no, i would have instantly walked out of the door in that case," you cringed and showed an estimated size from memory.

"Ok but how did you do it? Bed, table, shower, wall? All of them?" she asked, talking so fast you weren't able to interrupt her. "Sorry, i haven't had sex in months i'm going insane if i don't get some soon. Like my vagina is actually screaming to be filled. Does he possibly have a hot friend? Could you text and ask? Friend, brother, dad - i'll take anything."

"I'm not going to ask that!" you laughed.

"How could you find a hottie like that in a damn subway station anyway? The only man who has come to talk to me there was a homeless man asking for money because he just got out of jail for drunk driving," she said. "Let's go clubbing this Friday, you can be my wingwoman."

"I don't know, i don't really do clubbing," you said awkwardly, you weren't a fan of those places and hadn't been at any club in a few years.

"Please you have to share your tricks with me," she was begging by now. "Otherwise i'm gonna have to seduce our professor who i've had hots for since the beginning of our semester and we all know that's a horrible, horrible idea."

"Yeah, that's a big no," you said instantly.

"You know what must be big? His-"

"Okay shut up," you interrupted immediately before she was able to continue. "Ask one of your friends to go clubbing with you."

"I will, but you should tag along," she insisted. "You should be more social with us outdoors, come on."

"I'll pass this time, thanks," you said, giving an 'i'm sorry' smile. You took a sip of your coffee, then changing the subject. "Oh, by the way, my brother is coming for a visit," you said and pointed a finger on your roommate before she was about to say something. "And he's definitely OFF limits, don't even think about it, he's going to get married next summer."

"Aw, fine," she pouted, for a second she had had her hopes up, but it was quickly erased.

♡♡

The salesman went to a park with a large bag full of bread, there was atleast 50 loafs in total, and pockets full of lottery tickets.

He found a group of homeless men and women, sitting on different benches. He approached them one by one, holding a loaf of bread on the other hand and a single lottery ticket on the other.

The homeless man looked at his hands and was about to take both to himself, but the salesman pulled his hands back.

"You can choose only one of these," he said. The man thought about his choice for a few seconds, until grabbed the lottery ticket. The salesman offered him a coin to scratch the ticket with.

The man's face fell when there was no win. The salesman repeated this action to all the people in the park nearby, and only one of them chose the bread.

Suddenly, he saw you in the distance, but his face fell when he saw who you were with. A young man was walking next to you, arm around you shoulder, keeping you close to him. The salesman had no idea what you were talking about, but somehow the man managed to make you laugh.

He didn't like what he was seeing, not one bit. Anger was rising inside him, he couldn't help it.

"Hey, give me the bread!" one of the homeless men yelled at him.

"Yeah, give us the bread!" a woman shouted nearby.

"I apologise, but you had a chance to choose the bread, but you chose the ticket instead," the salesman pointed out politely and threw the bags of bread on the ground.

He started pouring his anger out by stomping on the breads, mushing them all completely and letting out a few frustrated screams out of his mouth.

The homeless people looked at him like he had lost his mind and should have been taken into a mental hospital. They got up and left, it became too hard to watch a grown man's sudden tantrum.

The salesman pulled his hair back and brushed sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his suit. He took a deep breath to calm down.

"I'm cool, everything's cool," he mumbled to himself and straightened his tie a little bit. He looked around him, barely anyone on his sight anymore. He really needed to work on his anger issues.

♡♡

"Hi," you greeted and planted a kiss on his cheek when you arrived to the cafe a few hours later to meet him.

"How was your day, sweetheart?" he said and forced on a smile. He might have had a little sarcastic tone in his voice, but nothing what you might have noticed.

"Oh, my brother came to visit me, he's staying for a few days. I showed him a few places around here, he had never visited Korea before or really travelled much outside the States," you explained, seeming excited. "I haven't seen him since i moved to Korea."

He lifted his eyebrows and after a moment started laughing a little bit. You looked at him, confused what was so funny.

"Your brother," he mumbled. "Right, of course, your brother. Did you have fun?"

"A lot of fun, yes," you smiled widely. "Do you want to meet him?"

He went silent for a moment, somehow surprised by your suggestion. Sure, you had been dating for a while now but he hadn't been prepared to meeting your family members since they were all far away in the United States. It hadn't really seemed like an option before.

"Well, sure, why not," he said with a smile, though he was surprisingly a little nervous about it, which was quite unusual for him.

♡♡

That same night, your roommate had texted that she had found a guy at the club and if it wouldn't be a problem for you to find another place to spend the night, since she didn't want to go to the guy's place right when she had met him.

You were fine with it and answered that your boyfriend let you stay at his house. Calling him your boyfriend sounded so strange, but he was one, right? It just sounded like you were both still in high school, and he was a lot older than you anyway.

This was your first time visiting his home. You hadn't thought about what kind of home he had or what you were expecting, but it was larger than you had imagined. Certainly a lot fancier than your apartment, which felt like a closet compared to his place.

He hadn't visited your apartment either, so you didn't think much of it that you hadn't seen his place sooner.

He went to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine for you and left you in the living room by yourself. You saw a shelf which seemed to be full of old records, most of them seemed to be artists you weren't familiar with.

"Hey, can i look through your records and find something to listen to?" you shouted.

You heard his approval to choose anything you wanted and started browsing through them.

Then, opening one of the drawers to see if there was more, your heart stopped for a second when you saw something hidden in there.

A gun. He had a gun in his drawer.

You had never held a gun in your hand and carefully lifted it with your hand, making sure to keep your fingers far from the trigger, just in case it was loaded. You looked at it side to side, you didn't know much about guns but it seemed to be a real revolver.

Then, he came back to the living room, a red wine bottle and two wine glasses in his hands, eyes widening when he saw what you were holding and the shocked look on your face.

"Why do you have a gun?"

[robertreich]

Trump Is Project 2025

Trump claims he has “no idea who is behind” Project 2025.

Hogwash!

Project 2025’s nearly thousand-page plan for a total MAGA takeover of America was assembled by more than 25 of Trump’s own administration officials.

Trump’s Make America Great Again PAC is running ads calling it “Trump’s Project 2025.”

CNN found that at least 140 people who worked for Trump are involved in the project, including six of his cabinet secretaries.

Trump’s campaign press secretary and his adviser Stephen Miller star in Project 2025’s recruitment video.

If Trump has “no idea” who they are, that’s some serious cognitive decline!

I can see why Trump wants to distance himself from such a toxic plan. Page 5 calls for jailing teachers and librarians over banned books.

Page 455 calls for “abortion surveillance” and stripping Americans of reproductive freedom.

Pages 587 and 592 have plans to gut overtime pay rules.

Page 489 demands the government prioritize “married men and women” over any other type of family.

Page 371 proposes privatizing nuclear waste disposal. What could go wrong?

Trump has promised to be a “dictator” on Day One. The Supreme Court has given their blessing. Project 2025 is the how-to manual for Trump’s dictatorship.

Trump is Project 2025. He cannot escape it.

[newspaper-advertisement]

Connecting Opportunities with Talent: Booking Recruitment Display Ads in HT Shine

HT Shine Recruitment Advertisement

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Elixir

wednesday addams x female reader

part i | part ii

summary: What happens when your best friend's roommate who you're always at odds with, suddenly becomes uncharacteristically affectionate towards you? Just what was in that mysterious bottle that set everything into motion?

word count: 1.9k

a/n: I've made a taglist! If you want to join, refer to this post

————

Friday nights at Nevermore Academy held different meanings for different students.  Some gathered for the Vampire Book Club, an all exclusive group that spent their evenings immersed in gothic horror novels.  Others were part of the secret society, kicking off the weekend by leaving cryptic messages and riddles around the school in search of their next recruit.  And then there were those fortunate enough to be welcomed home by their parents for the weekend.

But for you, Friday nights meant something different. You had no interest in secret clubs or cryptic hunts. Instead, you chose to spend the weekend cozied up with Enid for a movie marathon.

With a grin, the werewolf-in-training held up two DVDs, one in each hand. "Okay, we've got 10 Things I Hate About You and When Harry Met Sally."

You point to the hand holding the first film and Enid squeals excited to begin your long awaited movie night. It's been difficult finding a time where you both could commit to a long task like watching a movie without Wednesday getting in the way.

It wasn't that Wednesday particularly got in the way of these activities, but you both did. You two would inevitably clash when put in the same room together and be at each others throats until you were separated by some brave soul (most of the time Enid).

"Are you sure we won't be interrupted?" You ask as Enid climbed into the bed.  "I don't want to get my hopes up, and believe that I can actually have a moment of peace in your room," you added, recalling all the times you've stormed out of this very room due to Wednesday.

Enid bumps into her drawer as she climbs into bed and almost knocks off a glass bottle with a bulbous base, fortunately you were able to grab ahold of the dresser leg in time and stabilize the furniture before the glass bottle filled with liquid could fall.

"I should probably put this somewhere safer," Enid says grabbing the glass and walking it over to Wednesday's side of the room and placing it on her desk. "And yes Y/n, I've quadrupled checked.  She should be in the car by now, heading home.  Her mom was really insistent on her visiting this weekend, so she had no choice." Once Enid and you cozy up together in her bed and turn all the lights off, you hit play and the movie begins.

"Wednesday will literally deep cleanse this room if she found out we're watching rom coms in it," you laugh as Heath Ledger makes his appearance on screen.

Enid giggles, "Sometimes I think she's a secret romance lover, recently I found out she knew the plot to Clueless."

"No way!  I wonder what critiques she has about that film," you muse sarcastically. "She definitely had to feel some type of way about that yellow outfit."

Enid hums and you notice that she's now engrossed in the film.  Taking the cue, you focused on the screen as well, ready to enjoy your peaceful night together.

Only thing was, you couldn't.

As the film continues, all you can think about was how relieved you are that Wednesday isn't here.  How you don't have to listen to the incessant click-clack of her stupid type writer.  How you don't have to endure her cold, calculating gaze that always seems to dissect your every word and action, and especially how you don't have to listen to her sharp and cutting remarks that always seem to find their mark.

At some point during the movie Enid notices that you were not present and paused the film.  "Okay what's on your mind?"

Absentmindedly not registering her question, you respond, "Wednesday." Your eyes go wide, "Wait! I meant-"

She smirks, "You know Y/n/n, for someone who hates her, you bring her up an awful lot.

You scramble at Enid's statement. What was that supposed to mean? "She's just frustrating you know? Get's under my skin, obviously I'm gonna bring her up."

Wednesday suddenly enters the room following your explanation, and sits at her desk without a word. Then after a minute she speaks, "It's gratifying to know that my efforts have left the desired impact."

You didn't care that Wednesday walked in on you complaining about her however you did care that Wednesday walked in.

You give Enid a look, "I thought she wasn't supposed to be here."  The blue-eyed girl holds her hands up in defense, "She wasn't! I swear she was supposed to be back Monday morning."

She then turns to her roommate and asks, "Wens, what are you doing here? I thought your mom wanted to see you?"

"Something came up," the unconventional girl replies short, not explaining any further.

Enid knew that was the only explanation her roommate would give, and there was no point questioning any further. You however did not care, and narrowed your eyes at Wednesday. "Something came up?" That's all you're going to say? You're just going to crash our night with no explanation?"

Wednesday raises an eyebrow, her voice cool and detached. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to be in my own room."

"You know that's not what I'm saying," you snap back, frustration bubbling up. "You always do this—just show up and take over, like no one else matters. We had plans, Wednesday."

"And now you have new plans," she replies evenly, not a trace of guilt or concern in her voice. "Plans that include me."

You let out a groan. "But that's your problem, you can't just conform to our plans. You always give Enid and I shit for the things we want to do and we always end up catering to your needs. This is exactly why we can't get along. You never consider anyone else's feelings. It's always about you, your needs, your twisted games."

Wednesday's gaze narrows, and her tone turns icier. "If you can't handle a simple change in plans, that's your weakness, not mine. My presence shouldn't be so disruptive unless you're letting it be."

Letting it be?! You couldn't just let this dark kooky girl think that she has some sort of effect on you.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Wednesday," you retort, standing your ground. "Your presence isn't 'disruptive' because I'm weak, it's disruptive because you deliberately make it that way. You thrive on pushing people's buttons, and I'm not about to give you the satisfaction."

Wednesday's expression remains unchanged, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement? "Is that so? Then why are you so bothered by it?  If I truly had no effect on you, you wouldn't even be arguing with me right now."

You clench your fists, struggling to maintain your composure. "Maybe I'm bothered because I care about Enid, and you're always in the way. Maybe I'm just sick of you making everything about yourself!"

Wednesday's eyes narrow further, and her voice drops to a whisper.  "You care about Enid, yet you argue with me, knowing it will disturb her. Perhaps you should examine your true motivations, because from where I stand, it seems you're more interested in clashing with me than in protecting her peace."

You scoff, "I don't know what you're implying." Behind your cool nonchalant front you were panicking, worried that Wednesday will say something that you did not want to hear.

You glance over at Enid who is picking at her nails, calculating the perfect time to break you and Wednesday up without getting hit in the crossfire.

"I'm sorry Enid," you say genuinely. As much as you hate to admit it, Wednesday was right, you're a hypocrite. You know how much it bothers Enid when you and Wednesday fought, yet you always find yourself caught up in these verbal battles with her.

Giving Wednesday one last glare, you storm out of the dorm room not knowing where exactly you're headed. All you know is that you're done with the movie night—and done with Wednesday.

As you march down the hallway, footsteps echoing behind you catch your attention. You don't slow down, but you know exactly who it is before she even calls out to you.

"Y/n, wait!" Enid's voice rings out, filled with concern. You sigh, your pace slowing down automatically.

Enid catches up to you, and grabs onto your arm incase you decide to storm off again. "Please talk to me, I know you're upset."

You find your frustration start to crumble as you sense the concern in your friend's eyes. "I don't know Enid," you begin, your voice quiet. "It's like every time I'm around her, I get so worked up. And tonight, I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm so tired of feeling like this, I'm just constantly on edge around her."

Enid carefully listens, her expressions softening with empathy as you speak. "I get it Y/n. But you don't always have to fight her. Sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do for yourself and for her."

You nod, understanding where Enid was coming from. "You're right, I guess it's just hard when she knows exactly how to get under my skin. And tonight when she accused me of arguing with her for some other reason, like it was something I wanted. It just got to me." You finish in a whisper.

"She has a way of getting to everyone, but that doesn't mean you have to let it affect you so much. You've got to take care of yourself too." She smiles gently.

"Yeah, you're right." As you look at Enid, you can see the worry in her eyes, not just for you, but for Wednesday too. You get it. Wednesday is her friend as well, and even though she came running after you, she's probably also concerned about how Wednesday's handling things. Not that anything in this world could really faze her, but still, Enid cares.

You sigh dreading your next words, "Go." Enid quirks her head to the right like a puppy. "Let's go back to your dorm, I have to grab my bag anyways, and... you should check on her."

Enid smiles in relief and gives you a quick hug before you stroll on back to the dorm room of the polar opposite girls.

As you approach the door a sense of unease starts to creep in, but you push it aside. You probably just didn't want to face Wednesday after your heated exchange.

When you open the door, the sight that greets you is... off. Wednesday is sitting at her desk, but something about her looks strange— her normally sharp posture seems a bit more relaxed, and her gaze, usually piercing, is unfocused, almost dreamy.

Before you can fully process this, you hear a soft rolling sound, and your eyes dart down to see Thing, casually pushing the glass bottle that Enid almost knocked over from earlier. It stops right at your feet. You pick it up, turning it in your hands. It's empty.

A chill runs down your spine as realization dawns on you. Wednesday drank whatever was in this bottle.

Enid steps closer, noticing your frozen expression and the empty bottle in your hand. Her eyes widen in alarm, quickly shifting to Wednesday, who now seems to be gazing at you with an intensity that's entirely different from her usual cold demeanor.

"Wednesday?" Enid's voice is hesitant, as if she's afraid of what the answer might be.

Wednesday stands up slowly, her movements uncharacteristically casual. She steps toward you, her eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, it feels like the air in the room has shifted.

"I'm glad you're back," Wednesday says softly, her voice carrying a warmth that catches you completely off guard.  "I was just thinking... how much better this night would be if you stayed."

Your heart skips a beat for reasons you do not know the answer to yourself. You exchange a bewildered glance with Enid, something is definitely not right.

The room falls silent, the tension thick as you both realize that Friday night just took an unexpected turn. Looks like your movie marathon will have to wait.

next chapter

[releasemyad1]

Classified Careers: Understanding the Role of Newspaper Job Ads

[justjensenanddean]

Countdown article on the upcoming edition of TV Guide.

With a title like Countdown, Jensen Ackles' incredibly welcome return to series TV had better be packing the explosive twists. "You will get them," promises showrunner Derek Haas. "And by the time we get to the climax, it gets even more literal."

That's saying a lot given that Prime Video's new thriller-a pulse- pounding, guns-blazing homage to '80s hit films such as Lethal Weapon, Die Hard and Tango & Cash about a covert task force racing to save L.A. from catastrophe is surprising from the get-go. Within the first 10 minutes we get a big-name cameo, an OMG! ground-chase sequence that ends tragically for a Homeland Security officer and a wisecracking Ackles in prison garb. It's clear this show is here for a good time, not a grim time.

"The last 20 years of television- not in a bad way-[has embraced] the sort of dark sensibility where if you have a detective, it's like they're so haunted by the job, they drink and all of these things," assesses Haas, who, among other credits, cocreated Chicago Fire and codeveloped Chicago P.D. and Chicago Med. This new series, he says, is the opposite: a classic popcorn entertainment with cheeky heroes, smart dialogue and practical stunts galore. "I just like the fun vibe of those old movies."

Luckily, he had a kindred spirit in Ackles. The actor was quick to sign on as nonchalant LAPD homicide officer Mark Meachum after hearing how Countdown's adrenalized action and smart-ass heroics were embedded in his own DNA by 15 seasons as Supernatural's demon hunting Dean Winchester.

Haas' charter was to "create this character around Ackles, who'd have fit perfectly in the world of Die Hard. He's such a great actor; you can't match his energy, and he's genuinely hilarious." "I certainly knew Derek's pedigree," admits Ackles, adding that the two "hit it off right away" after realizing they'd both grown up in north Texas. "Then I got a clear sense of what he wanted to do. I was like, 'Oh, this is not only in my old wheelhouse, it's the stuff I grew up being attracted to."

"And it's not just Ackles' Meachum saving the day. In the series opener, he's teamed with a colorful cadre handpicked by an old pal, Special Agent Nathan Blythe (Euphoria's Eric Dane). Among them: FBI-ers Evan Shepherd (Violett Beane) and Keyonte Bell (Elliot Knight), DEA pro Amber Oliveras (Jessica Camacho) and narcotics transfer Lucas Finau (Uli Latukefu). The idea for this off-the-books Avengers-like team capable of witty banter and badassery, Haas confesses, was inspired by a technical adviser on Chicago P.D. who had told him that the government often recruits experts from various branches for task forces.

"I thought this whole world was really interesting, the idea that they're all-stars, that you could have these rebel personalities in each department put into a squad led by somebody who is very good at his job," Haas says. So while the team mission is life-or-death, their methods are lightened by gallows humor. And, this being TV, plenty of character development.

"You really get a sense of who these people are," agrees Ackles. "Not just together as the team, but individually. That lets the audience invest in the characters and not just the story."

There was a similar investment off camera. Haas brought in two consultants and the cast went through gun training. Camacho spoke to "many different law-enforcement agents and officers," went on a ride-along and sat in with a task force. "Every day they're facing high stakes and have to be on high alert," she marvels. "It creates this deep embedded sense of camaraderie between them and their partners." Much like the ties that formed during Countdown's long days and many night shoots in L.A., apparently. "There was a disgusting amount of chemistry that was formed very quickly off set that lends itself to on-set chemistry," says Ackles.

"The cast members and Derek watched the first three episodes," recalls Camacho of a key bonding moment. "We were screaming with joy. It was so exciting. We're like, 'Oh my God, Derek, this is a ride!'  Will viewers be just as clocked in to Countdown? "I think they're going to be shocked a few times through the course of 13 episodes," teases Haas. "They're not going to be happy with me several times." But mostly, they'll be getting hours of pleasure.

Countdown premieres Wednesday June 25 on Prime Video.

credits for the scan: cloexbrosluvr

[frost-queen]

I'mma fight (Fem!Reader x Agatha Harkness)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @harknessshi

Summary: At a witch party to welcome your newly debut to the coven, Agatha stays in denial that she likes you. Even when each look of yours makes her heart leap. Agatha breaks when you keep teasing her with her hair and dancing with someone else that isn't her. Making her claim you in a heartbeat.

Lights flashed around, music booming loud.

The room cramped with dancers. Dancing sensual near each other at the smooth beat. Letting them be led away from this world. Further away from the bar in a corner sat Agatha with her coven. Agatha having a sour expression on her face.

Arm resting on the railing, legs spread to sit most comfortably. Glass in her hand and resting on her knee. Alice looked nervously around at the quiet, awkward atmosphere in their booth. – “I’m sure she’ll be here.” – Teen spoke with a nervous chuckle to cut through the silence. – “She better be!” – Agatha huffed out as a snarky comment.

Jennifer widened her eyes mockingly, bringing her glass closer to her lips. – “Whatever I’m going to the ladies room.” – Lilia shouted loud over the music, getting up. – “Yeah and I’m coming with you.” – Jennifer quickly pitched in. Setting her glass down to get up.

Following Lilia out of the booth to get away from the awkward situation. Teen chuckled nervously, looking back at Agatha. – “She’s coming. I promise.” – he spoke with a wave of his hand. Receiving a glare from Agatha, made him turn his head away.

Agatha tapped her fingers impatiently on the railing. Finally a figure appeared. Arriving out of breath. – “Sorry I’m late.” – you panted out. – “I just couldn’t choose what to wear.” – you added. Agatha’s eyes went over to you. Letting slowly go up and down. A tiny smirk appearing in the corner of her lips.

Exhausted you plopped down in a seat. Waving yourself some cool. – “I’m thirsty.” – you spoke. Agatha snapped her finger at Teen. – “On it!” – he mumbled out, hurrying out of his seat towards the bar. Agatha removed herself from the back, leaning forwards.

Arms resting on her knees. – “How good of you to finally show Y/n.” – she spoke. You gave her a sheepish smile, with a pulled up shoulder. Agatha blinked surprised, quickly turning her gaze away from you. Teen hurried over handing your drink over.

She couldn’t help herself but glance a second time at you. Sneak it in no matter how hard she was denying it herself. Denying herself that she felt attracted to you. The newly recruit to her coven. – “Good you have arrived.” – Jennifer spoke upon arrival. Alice stared into her glass. Shaking it around.

“I need another drink.” – she spoke. – “Good! Me too!” – Jennifer added pulling Alice up to her feet. Agatha shot Jennifer an annoyed glance. Jennifer responding with a mocking smirk of herself. Not caring one bit that she was doing anything to avoid her.

Jennifer shoved Alice towards the bar. – “Uhm…I’m going for a dance.” – Teen nervously said. Making you turn around in your seat to see. Looking as a boy was lurking eyes at Teen. Inviting him teasingly over with only glances. – “Have fun.” – you called out, cheering him on.

Teen smiled nervously back at you, nearly tripping over his own feet. Lilia let her eyes go from Agatha to you. Seeing how Agatha’s gaze was fixated on you whilst you weren’t looking. – “Well I’m going to find peace and quiet.” – she spoke holding her hands up.

Stepping out of the booth. Your gaze met up with Agatha’s seeing how she quickly adverted it. It made you swallow nervously, staring at your drink. Taking a deep breath, you knew you needed some assist to get over the nerves. Easily you gulped down half of your drink.

Agatha watching you with a quirked up brow. – “Are we really going to sit here in silence?” – you questioned, scooting a bit closer to her. Agatha turned her posture away from you. – “Maybe.” – she huffed out. You moved just that bit closer to her. – “Agatha.” – you said letting your finger tap her shoulder.

Agatha kept ignoring you. Crossing her arms annoyed. Biting your lip a bit, you let your finger trail up her shoulder for her attention. Your fingers finding a way through her long hair that hung over her shoulder. The feeling of her hair under your touch was something you didn’t think you’d find pleasuring.

Fully focused on her hair now, you let your fingers trail through them. Teasing the tips of her hair. Relieved Agatha wasn’t looking at you or you would’ve been bashful.

“Are you playing with my hair?” – Agatha let out confused. – “Maybe.” – you responded brushing the tips of her hair over your hand. – “Do you want me to stop?” – questioning in return. – “No…” – appeared after some silence.

Happily you kept teasing her more with her hair till Agatha turned to look over her shoulder. Her gaze meeting with yours. A bashful expression, making you look flustered away. Making you quickly drop your hand. Rubbing your hands nervously in your lap, made you glance up to Agatha. Agatha’s eyes briefly widened.

Swallowing nervously at what she was feeling inside. Her heart pounding loudly in her chest with only a simple look of yours. Denying it, she quickly turned her head away. – “Do… do you want to dance Agatha?” – you asked, leaning forwards as your hand found a way on her lap.

Agatha puffed loud. Sighing soft, you pulled back. – “If you change your mind.” – you hinted at her whilst getting up. Receiving no word back from her, you headed for the dance floor. Mingling with the crowd.

First moving around a bit awkward as you still needed to catch the vibe. The sudden change of music, made the deal. One of your favourites came up, blasting loud through the speakers. Closing your eyes, you let the music take you over. Moving sensual with your hands and hips. The club vibe settling in your veins. Feeling a sudden knock against you, made you open your eyes flustered.

“Oh sorry.” – another girl said. – “It’s okay.” – you responded. – “That can happen in a club.” – you told her to reassure her it was alright. She smiled warmly back. She started to dance again as not keeping her gaze away from you. It made you dance as well, moving closer to her.

Before you knew it you felt her fingers trail up your arm to find your hand. Linking her fingers with it as she slowly rose your hand up in the air. Swaying her hips from side to side, letting it rub against you. You dropped a hand on her hip, following the movement of her swaying.

Coordinating it better. Feeling the warmth of her on your body. Forgetting about the rest as the music was like a drug. Sweat drops forming from the crowded heat that was rising to the ceiling with everyone around. Your hand slipped a bit deeper towards her lower stomach. Nearing her thigh. Feeling her bottom rub against your front.

Agatha had been staring with narrowed eyes. Glaring with hot steam. Fuming at the fact that you were dancing with someone else. Her denial about you completely burned out. Heated up with rage, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could withhold herself. For you were hers to take.

It lasted a few more seconds before Agatha lost her cool. Riled up with how you were testing her. In a fit of rage, she stormed over. Pushing everyone out of the way that crossed her path. Her hand dashing to your wrist, pulling you hard away from the other girl. – “Hey!” – the girl squeaked out as Agatha raised her hand. Using her purple to shove the girl all the way up to the wall.

You quirked your eyebrow up at her. – “She was taking my spot.” – Agatha said with a sarcastic smile. – “Good of you to finally claim it.” – you responded. Grabbing Agatha by her cheeks. Mouth wide open, you shoved your tongue in her mouth.

Letting it twist and turn inside of her. Agatha’s tongue came joining, shoving yours back to explore your mouth. Lips closing to deepen the kiss, you settled to follow her movement. With a loud gasp, you got spun around. Pressed firm with your behind to her front.

With both her hands on your hips, she forced your hips to sway from side to side. Teasing her with pleasure. Agatha kissed your neck and shoulder deeply. Panting loudly in your neck as her hand went to your lower stomach. Her other hand, taking your hand to play with your fingers.

Agatha’s gaze hardened when other people looked. Making clear to everyone there was no sharing and every dance you owned to her.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[pandapetals]

ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.