#I just!!! I want to talk about how my life is changing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 2 days ago

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➽ summary: To love is to cherish, to endure, to fight. But to love is also to forget—at least, for you and Logan. Despite countless attempts to erase the part of yourselves that yearns to find completion in each other, you always end up back where it all began: the moment your eyes first met his—the moment everything changed.

➽ word count: 12.4k words

➽ warnings/tags: mdni smut 18+ angst. fluff. feels. enemies to lovers. petnames. multiple focalizors/POVs. memory loss. x1 logan. mutant!reader. flashbacks. dirty talk. oral (f and m receiving). fingering. thigh riding. unprotected p in v. missionary. doggy. creampie. cum swallowing.

➽ a/n: inspired by “eternal sunshine of the spotless mind”, one of the most hauntingly beautiful (and life-changing) films ever made. i took some creative liberties when it came to charles' powers, so just follow along. i’d love to know your thoughts on this one, hope you like it as much as i do! <3

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

Alexander Pope.

Logan thinks Jean is speaking to him, but her words dissolve into fragments, lost before they reach him. Her reddish lips shape the vowels and consonants with precision, yet the meaning is drowned out by the pulse in his ears. She’s agitated, her long strides barely matching his pace, heels striking the wooden floor in a staccato rhythm.

A few children peek their heads out from their rooms, curiosity tugging at their expressions as the tension unravels in the hallway. Had it always stretched this far into eternity? It feels as though he’s been walking it for centuries now.

If Jean Grey is the embodiment of grace and intellect, then Logan carries the weight of all the world’s stubbornness. It clings to him like a birthright. Defying her beliefs—or anyone’s—is as instinctual as breathing. She’s trying to dissuade him, to talk him out of this reckless act: asking Charles to meddle in what she’s called his personal issues. He suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on the steady cadence of his steps toward the man’s office, each one heavier with purpose.

Jean’s voice grows sharper, her warnings echoing in his mind. This is a mistake. You’ll regret it. You’ll want to undo it. Don’t be stupid, Logan. Don’t do this to her—don’t do this to yourself.

But her protests are futile. The cards have already been laid out. Only meters from the door, he comes to a sudden halt. Jean, caught mid-stride, almost stumbles into his back. For a fleeting moment, hope flickers across her face. Maybe, just maybe, she’s convinced him to reconsider. A tentative smile begins to form on her lips, until he turns to her with a look so unyielding, it steals the breath from her lungs.

She has never seen him like this. This resolute, this… haunted. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed so tightly it seems etched in stone. There’s no trace of relief or satisfaction in his expression. Only the grim determination of a man about to pass a point of no return.

Why is he doing this? Soon, there will be hands prying into his thoughts, a marauder pulling apart his memories. Think about her. Now think about this moment. What do you remember? Each memory bearing your name, inked into his unconscious, will be inspected, cataloged, and then erased.

A mind already scarred will be stripped even further, the void swallowing everything. It has to come from a place of self-loathing, he thinks, because no reasonable explanation suffices. Perhaps he’s always been this broken, this damaged, and it was only a matter of time before he sought refuge in the very solution that had once been his calvary.

“I’ve made my choice,” he says with a tilt of his head which aims to deliver a tacit message: stay back. Don’t follow me. I have to do this. I need to.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks to himself, to willingly want to forget, to crave oblivion. To stop caring.

His fist hovers over the door, but he doesn’t have to knock. Charles’s been waiting for him. His voice resonates behind Logan’s eyelids, calm and inescapable. Come in.

“Coward.”

That’s the last thing he hears before he steps into the office, leaving her behind.

The first time you saw him, he was a contained storm, seconds away from coming undone in front of a rather small audience. Hardly the most convenient introduction.

You were in Charles’ office, attending one of his Physics lessons—not because you needed to. He’d already taught you these principles long ago, in a different time, under different circumstances. But lately, Charles had been trying to delegate some of his responsibilities, hoping to carve out time for the pressing matters that demanded his full attention. Ever the sweetheart, you’d offered to help, stepping in to take over this class.

Which is why you spent those past few weeks studying him—not just his teaching style, but the way he presented the topics: the analogies he drew, the subtle inflections in his tone. You’d promised yourself perfection, committed to live up to his standard, and that was exactly what you were working toward.

The sound of a door slamming shattered the flow of the lesson. A man burst into the room as though escaping from some unseen predator, shutting the door with a loud, final thud. He didn’t turn to face you. Instead, he lingered by the door, chest pressed against it, his ragged breathing filling the silence. The students abandoned whatever fragments of attention they had left for the class—this new stranger was far more compelling.

And, truthfully, he’d caught your attention, too.

You hesitated, fists clenching slightly at your sides, bracing for something you couldn’t name. A familiar voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you: This is the man I’ve been telling you about.

Apparently, this was Logan Howlett in the flesh. You certainly didn’t expect Charles’ newest recruit to look like this.

“Good morning, Logan,” Charles greeted him when the man finally spun around. From this distance, you could see the tension carved into his features, the crease in his forehead betraying his distress. Charles, still composed, redirected his focus to the students. “I’d like your definitions of weak and strong anthropic principles on my desk on Wednesday, all right? That’ll be all.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, gathering their belongings in a flurry of notebooks and murmured goodbyes, barely sparing you a glance as they shuffled out. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, lifting a hand in acknowledgment, but your attention was drawn elsewhere. Logan was looking at you—or rather, through you—with a gaze that felt assessing. You never quite met his eye.

He stood there barefoot, dressed only in a sweater and sweatpants, his breath still uneven. Disoriented. His eyes swept across the room, his expression distant yet guarded, as though he was questioning the reality of it all. Considering the way he carried himself, it almost seemed like this was his first encounter with other mutants—but you knew better.

At some point, Charles decided to break the tension. “I’m Charles Xavier,” he began, his tone inviting. “Would you like some breakfast?”

But, of course, his cordiality and kindness were dismissed, being met with a gruff, “Where am I?”

“Westchester, New York,” Charles replied evenly, maneuvering his wheelchair closer. “You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention.”

You hadn’t been part of the mission that led to this moment; that had been Scott and Storm. In fact, you hadn’t even met Logan or the girl they’d brought with him—Rogue, as you later learned. Although at the time, rooted in the aftermath, you stepped forward, bridging the distance between yourself and Logan. You extended a hand toward him, offering your name with a cautious smile. “Nice to meet you.”

The gesture lingered awkwardly in the air, refusing even the pretense of acknowledgment. His eyes locked on yours, piercing and unrelenting, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was his way of dissecting you. Then his gaze shifted back to Charles, impatience dripping from every word he uttered. “I don’t need medical attention. Where’s the girl?”

Oh. So that’s how he wants to play this. You withdrew your hand, doing your best to mask the sting of rejection as you pivoted on your heels and returned to your place beside Charles. “Jerk,” you muttered, low enough that it almost drowned beneath your breath, fussing with your sleeves in a vain effort to seem unaffected.

He didn’t miss it. His expression hardened, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Come again?”

To end the exchange right there, Charles cleared his throat, effectively steering the conversation into a different direction. Seizing the opportunity, he wheeled himself closer to the brown-haired man, his composure intact. What you admired about him was his self-control, something you’d tried to master in the years spent under his guidance without success. Yet, you couldn’t fathom how he managed not to tell Logan to just fuck off. “About Rogue, she’s doing fine.”

Logan arched a brow, his sneer cutting through the air like a blade. “Really?” You couldn’t grasp how he could hold so much bitterness toward a person he barely knew. His voice was thick with condescension, and a dozen sharp retorts swirled in your mind, each one eager to escape your lips. Your mouth parted to respond on Charles’ behalf, but he beat you to it.

“You’re in my school for the gifted. For mutants.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the dense air. Even the act of breathing felt strained, a soundless tug-of-war for the air around you. “You do know you’re not the only one with gifts, don’t you?”

“Is that what you tell those kids?” Logan’s scoff was a window into his beliefs. “That they have gifts?”

“It’s no more than the truth.”

“Yeah? Truth my ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The words escaped you before you could stop them, fury flaring in your chest. You stepped forward, the crackling heat of frustration coursing through your veins, ending in your fingertips. His blank stare only fanned the flames. “We took you in. We saved your life. How about showing a little fucking gratitude?”

Logan advanced, and his eyes bored into yours with a stinging glint of smugness. “I don’t remember asking to be saved.”

Your jaw tightened. You could’ve cracked a tooth as well. “Well, the least you can do is not act like a complete prick.”

A hand encircled your wrist, its grip firm but soothing. Charles’ touch anchored you, grounding you back in the moment. Your breath faltered, tearing your gaze away from Logan’s eyes to meet Charles’ calm expression.

“Don’t be so hard on our guest, my dear,” he murmured, as if the hostility in the room didn’t exist. It could’ve also been that he was too practiced at disarming it. He didn’t bother to glance at Logan, speaking as though the man was just a shadow. “Give him some time. He needs it.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you bowed your head. You sidestepped Logan without another word, avoiding his presence like he was a flame that threatened to scorch. The tension clung to your skin, and you flung the room.

From that day on, Logan becomes the only subject you seem capable of discussing.

It’s everything about him—his walk, his voice, the sheer audacity of his existence—that drives you to the brink of madness. You tell yourself to let it go, to not let it eat away at you, but your mind refuses to cooperate. Each day, it does a stellar job of reminding you that you now share the same roof as a man with forks for hands.

Logan is, undeniably, the source of your every frustration.

“He’s an idiot,” you grumble around a bite of your lunch, settling into one of the chairs in the kitchen. Scott, Ororo, and Jean are gathered around the table with you, savoring a rare break before the afternoon classes pull them back into their routines. “I can confirm it.”

“Trust me, we know,” Ororo snaps, her tone more cutting than you expected. The words catch you off guard, and you pause, napkin halfway to your lips, to lift your eyebrows in surprise. “Look, I’m sorry,” she continues, her voice softening just a fraction, “but could you please talk about something else? It’s been Logan this, Logan that, for weeks now.”

“I think I understand what she means,” Scott chimes in, his tone lighter, nearly playful. You lift your hand for a high five, and he obliges with a grin, stealing a laugh from you.

“See? He gets it!”

Leaning back in his chair, your friend shakes his head. “I must admit I don't like the guy either. He’s—”

Jean’s elbow shoots out, jabbing Scott in the ribs just as Logan crosses the kitchen threshold. Scott’s indignant “Hey!” is muffled by your exaggerated cough, though it does little to mask the smirk threatening to break across your face.

How does the saying go? Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Logan’s eyes sweep across the room, his silence louder than the faint hum of the refrigerator. He strides toward the cupboard with methodical ease, and Storm bites her lip to stifle a laugh once she catches you watching him far longer than you should have. His back muscles tense and flex as he stretches his arms, the white tank clinging tighter with every movement.

“Please, don’t stop talking just because of me,” he remarks, his voice gravelly as he rummages through the cupboard, his focus presumably on some elusive snack. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Your response comes out of instinct, words laced with irritation. “It’s hard not to,” you retort curtly, putting down your sandwich with a firm slap of your palms against your jeans.

That gets his attention. Logan turns around to confront you, a flicker of amusement twitching at the edges of his mouth. It’s that toothy smile of his that sets your blood simmering. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You jump to your feet, matching his intensity. “Such a pity I can’t say the same about you.” Without missing a beat, you step closer, snatching the bag of chips he’s holding. Hiding them behind your back, tilting your head in mock innocence, and then saying, “Oops.”

His brows draw upward, though his tone stays measured, as if speaking to a child. “C’mon,” he replies, making a half-hearted grab for the bag. “How old are you? Twelve?”

Unable to suppress the grin threatening to break free, you rest your back against the counter. “We both know you can do much better than that.”

Already preparing yourself for the lecture Ororo’s going to unload on you the moment he leaves, you watch as Logan exhales sharply. His irritation is palpable in the way he leans in, one hand planting itself on the counter behind you, his frame eclipsing yours. The proximity is electric, his scent, a mix of leather and something woodsy, fogging your senses. Hazel eyes, so deep you could drown in them, peer down at you, as he attempts to strip away every layer you’re desperately trying to hold together.

Safe to say, it’s working. Damn it.

“Alright,” he finally says, tapping his fingers against the cool surface. “What do you want from me?”

Your galloping heartbeat is a major detail you choose to ignore, instead turning to the others for support. With an exaggerated motion, you point to each of your friends in turn. “Ororo and Scott were the ones who found you that day,” you start, trailing off, “and Jean ran a ton of tests on you to make sure you were okay. Have you even bothered to thank them for their hospitality?”

You believe you can joke with him—it’s how you usually bond with others, how most of your friendships have started. But you can’t help questioning if Logan can even get your sense of humor. The room falls silent, and his eyes flicker, just briefly, to your friends.

“You’re right, you’re right. My bad, princess.” One of his big, manly lands on your shoulder, the pressure of it too casual, too familiar, working the muscle there. Your fingers slacken around the bag of chips, the feeling of his touch making it harder to maintain your grip. “Guys, I’m deeply sorry for my lack of amiability. Hope you can forgive me.” The sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it’s the sensation that clings to you, that doesn’t seem to fade—the warmth of it seeping through the layers of your clothes, pressing into your skin, stubbornly refusing to fade.

His hand leaves only when he yanks the bag from your grasp, and the warmth that had been just beside you evaporates with his retreat. In an instant, he’s already pulling away, his parting words a careless “See you around,” tossed over his shoulder.

No one dares to speak after that. Because to speak would be to acknowledge what has just happened. Your stomach has turned into a knot, that kind of knot sailors make that are impossible for beginners to undo. Logan’s fingers left a burn in your shoulder. Can you still smell him, the trail he left? Scott is the first to speak after a minute or so. “What… was that?”

“I have no clue,” Jean says between bites, staring reflectively at you. “Care to elaborate?”

Your tongue feels heavy, your throat parched. Even if you tried, a rational explanation wouldn’t come.

Ever since you were a child, you had yearned to grow up, to experience love as only adults could. In your young, unformed mind, it all seemed like a simple equation: adults dated; adults embraced love in the flesh; adults reveled in freedoms that children could only dream of, waiting patiently for their time to come.

And you did grow up. You did fall in love. But now he’s forgotten you, and nothing could have prepared you for that kind of ending. It wasn’t the closure you would have chosen, not the goodbye you imagined for you and Logan.

You find yourself caught in the in-between—not quite a child, yet not fully an adult either. Because surely, an adult would know how to handle this pain. An adult would find a way to cope. But you feel small. Weak. Hopeless.

It leaves you wondering just how much you are willing to forsake.

More weeks go by, and Logan remains in the mansion, defying the departure you’d expected. Part of you is relieved. He moves through the halls like a shadow, his eyes always on Rogue: checking on her, observing her interactions with the rest of the students at the mansion. She’s thriving, really. Blending in with her peers, forming bonds, especially with a boy named Billy. They are quite the pair.

Yet, despite Rogue’s happiness, Logan can’t seem to shake the grim air that surrounds him, an aura that emanates a quiet kind of disgust.

One night, you’re flipping through channels in the living room, stopping when an old love movie catches your attention. You place the remote down on a cushion, and pull your knees up to your chest, the murmur of the characters’ voices the only sound in the otherwise hushed room. You don’t think anyone else is awake at this hour.

“Can’t sleep?”

There he is again. Always intruding, always finding his way back to you. The predator creeping into the vixen’s nest. He moves closer, slowly, and you lift your gaze to him, replying, “Actually, I’m a sleepwalker.”

Your comment earns a half-smile from Logan as he drops onto the couch beside you, his leg brushing against yours momentarily, worn denim against bare skin. His attention shifts to the TV, to the grainy images of the film playing out. You steal a glance at him, tracing the hard lines of his side profile.

“Feelin’ romantic tonight?” he asks.

“Not precisely,” you retort, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the blanket pooled at your feet. “There’s nothing else on. Sometimes you have to make do with what’s there.” Your gaze drifts back to him, lingering just a second too long before you add, “What about you? Any ghosts keeping you up?”

“You could call them that,” he says after a pause, his face still angled away. It must be easier to speak to you with this thin, invisible wall between you. “I have nightmares.”

“So you’re the one screaming at two in the morning?”

“Exactly. That’s me.” He ends up meeting your gaze, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, harboring an emotion he doesn’t voice. “M’sorry if I ever woke you up.”

“I’m usually awake at that time, too.” Your eyes flick to the screen. The couple in the movie bursts out of a building into the rain, their body language unmistakably revealing the heated argument unfolding between them. The man, clad in a raincoat, removes it to cover the woman, his supposed girlfriend. She’s visibly upset, but accepts the gesture nevertheless. “You can always knock on my door if you need anything. Unless I’m snoring—then I’ll be useless.”

Logan clicks his tongue, his focus shifting to the film as well. The man shouts, ‘Because I love you, for God’s sake!’ He casts a glimpse in your direction, his expression unreadable. “Same goes for you.” The woman in the film responds with a strangled, ‘Then prove it!’

“Anytime?”

“Anytime.”

The man cradles the woman’s face before kissing her. She throws her arms around his neck, and the music swells, evolving into a much more melodic song. A chorus of angelic voices replaces the earlier tense harmony. The camera lingers on every angle of their kiss, every desperate touch, as the world outside their embrace ceases to exist.

“This is cheesy,” Logan mutters, his heel bumping against the floor in repeated, short motions. Is he nervous?

“Yeah, so cheesy,” you reply quickly, pulling the blanket over your lap and curling into yourself. He doesn’t look like he’s thinking about kissing you, not even remotely, but you are.

A quiet yawn escapes you, and you rub your fist against your eyes, sleep beginning to take over your body. Logan catches it, his own yawn following like a reflex. “Looks like the movie’s workin’ wonders,” he quips.

You let out a drowsy giggle. “Shut up,” you murmur, but then he’s inching closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. His warmth seeps through, and after a few seconds of hesitation, you allow yourself to lean into his frame, resting your head on his arm. It’s awkward, your neck already protesting the angle, but you accept it. You’ll take the stiffness tomorrow without complaint, because this moment is worth it.

It won’t last long, though, this rare tenderness. These nights, the quiet ones, are when Logan opens up the most—when Jean and Storm aren’t around, when it’s just the two of you. That’s when he approaches you, like a wary black cat testing the waters. But he doesn’t need to tread carefully. Not with you.

“What if I were to fall asleep… hypothetically?” Your eyelids grow heavier with each blink, the pauses between each one stretching longer. Your cheek nuzzles against him, seeking warmth, and you feel the subtle tug of his hand as he pulls the blanket over his legs as well.

“Hypothetically,” he begins, rasping his words near your temple, “I wouldn’t mind.”

Within moments, sleep claims you. You never find out what happens after that, but he stays, trailing quietly behind. No nightmares or shadows from his past dare to haunt him that night.

It was inevitable that an encounter like that would spiral into something more. You weren’t naïve. You could connect the dots, and the picture was clear: Logan wanted you, too. Desire often walked a fine line, and from hatred to something else, it’s hardly a leap—just a small, barely perceptible step. It could change with the shift of light, from dawn to dusk. But you’d need the strength to cross that line, to be bold enough to make the first move.

And now, with the sun already dipped below the horizon, taking its long-awaited rest after a full day of burning up in the sky, you find yourself alone in the kitchen, though you hadn’t started that way. Scott had lingered for a while, insisting he didn’t mind keeping you company. You’d thanked him with a polite smile before subtly nudging him out. It hadn’t taken much—just a few hints. Simplicity at its finest.

At the table, a neat pile of student papers spreads before you. Your pen dances across the pages, leaving corrections and grades in its wake. It’s then that he appears. He doesn’t speak at first, but his presence saturates the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him; it must be the unspoken familiarity of how he fills a space. Or maybe it’s just how attuned you’ve become to his every movement.

Logan leans in behind you, close enough that you feel the heat he radiates at your back. His low hum sends a shiver down your spine as he peers over your shoulder. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to be playin’ the teacher?”

Your grip on the pen tightens, a small tremor in your fingers giving away the tension pooling in your stomach. You exhale softly, blowing on the fresh ink. “Would you prefer to have me doing something else?”

Smugness prickles at the edges of your words, but the resolve in your chest is faltering.

“Now that you mention it…” His voice dips, grating next to the shell of your ear as his chest brushes your back. His presence is magnetic, the scrape of his beard scratching your skin while he tilts your head to one side. His fingers sweep your hair over your shoulder, lips mapping the nape of your neck, tasting your fevered skin. “I might have a few ideas in mind.”

Your breath hitches. You try for composure, but it wavers in your reply. “Really?” you ask, because playing dumb always has its merits, after all. “Want to show me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand moves deliberately, tracing a sensual, teasing path up your abdomen. His palm settles over one of your breasts, his thumb brushing the sensitive peak through your sweater. “I don’t think you’d want me to do it here,” he says, his voice thick with suggestion. “Too public for what I’ve got planned for you.”

You disentangle yourself from him, slipping off the chair with an unsteady grace, but Logan doesn’t give you time to find your feet. He smashes his lips with yours, the force of his kiss almost sending you reeling. His tongue presses insistently, seeking entry, as if the urgency in his touch could dissolve every barrier between you. He grabs your cheeks, holding you in place as though you might slip away, drawing you so close there’s barely space to breathe.

You’re caught off guard, not knowing where to put your hands, searching for purchase. The cold metal of the refrigerator handle digs into your lower back as he backs you against it, his groans reverberating through your mouth like a growled confession.

“My bedroom,” you manage to gasp between kisses. “Take me to my bedroom.”

Logan obliges, intertwining his fingers with yours. Together, you ascend the stairs, your laughter mingling in the noiseless night when he missteps and stumbles, momentarily breaking the spell. But he recovers quickly, finding your room in mere seconds.

The door clicks shut behind you, and he presses you against the wood with a force you’d never experienced, his hands sliding down to grip your ass and knead the supple flesh with a possessive fervor. It all helps to feed the fire pooling in your core.

“Quiet, baby,” he whispers, slipping his fingers beneath the back of your sweatpants. His nails trace fiery lines along your skin, igniting your every nerve. “Don’t want anyone wakin’ up to those pretty sounds you make. They’re just for me, right?”

You nod frantically, longing for more, arching into his hands as your hips grind against his, your body moving with a will of its own. The friction is exquisite, a tantalizing promise. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his words laced with unfiltered hunger. “I’ve thought about havin’ you like this ever since I met you.”

His confession sends a surge of pride through your chest, an ache that feels equal parts affection and astonishment. Ever since the beginning? When he could barely look at you without scowling, his disdain practically tangible? “You hid it well,” you reply, breathless as you trace the outline of his erection over his jeans. The way it twitches under your undivided attention makes your pulse race. “I thought you hated me.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “I thought the same about you,” he counters, before crushing his lips to yours once more. This time, you can’t help but smile into the kiss, your bodies moving as one, the pent-up tension between you unraveling in waves. “Guess we were both wrong.”

Your pants hit the floor in an unceremonious heap. It should embarrass you, how desperate and utterly needy you sound, the pleas spilling from your lips like the filthiest confessions. But the hunger in you is too vast, too insistent, drowning any possible flicker of shame. Decency was abandoned the moment you crossed that threshold. Logan nudges your legs apart with his knee, and the instant you feel him against your center, a contained sigh escapes you, half-resignation, half-surrender. Thought dissolves, leaving only instinct as you rock against him in slow circles, seeking relief.

“When was the last time someone took care of you?” He toys lazily with the waistband of your panties, like he has all the time in the world. You don’t give him an immediate answer, choosing instead to grind harder against his thigh, your breath hitching at the pressure. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart,” he says, dipping his head to mouth at your collarbone, the scent of his cologne heady and intoxicating. “Judging by the way you’re basically humpin’ me, I’d say it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember,” you blurt out, your head thudding against the door when his teeth nip at the delicate curve of your neck. Your pulse thrums beneath his lips, and you’re seconds from biting your tongue just to keep from crying out. “Stop teasing.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a wicked smile against your skin, his knee retreating only to be replaced by his fingers, trailing them along the fabric covering your heat. “I like it when you get bossy. It reminds me why I like you so damn much.” He tugs the fabric of your underwear aside, the cool air hitting your wetness for only a moment before his fingers glide over your arousal, testing your patience. One digit slides into you, curling slightly as his palm presses over your mouth, muffling the whine that falls from your parted lips. “So wet for me, princess.”

Your legs shake under the weight of sensation, threatening to give out as you lean into the door for balance. His fingers move inside you with a sharp rhythm, hitting that spot with each furious thrust. The pressure builds, hot and insistent, and it’s overwhelming, but then he drops to his knees, and the sight alone sends a jolt through your core.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds is molten. He laps at you with long strokes, his pace never faltering, pumping his digits in sync with the flick of his tongue, coaxing every sound you’ve tried so hard to stifle. “Oh, fuck. Logan—”

He groans against your core, his eyes remaining locked on your face, soaking in every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His focus is relentless, as though your reactions fuel him. You rake your hands through his hair, clutching at his dark locks with haste whenever his wet muscle lavishes extra attention on your clit, the intensity of his ministrations making your voice break, a choked gasp dying on your lips.

Your climax teeters on the edge, faster than you anticipated. “Close,” you manage to huff, the obscene noises he elicits driving you wild. “I’m gonna come. Please, come here—”

Logan detaches himself from you, standing tall with a fierce determination in his eyes. He’s set on pushing you over the edge with his fingers alone. His lips crash against yours, biting and licking, swallowing every desperate mewl that falls from your mouth, spit glistening down his chin. Three knuckles deep, coaxing your body to respond, your walls tighten around him, shuddering as he corners you against the door, the sharp edge of pleasure sending your knees buckling. Your orgasm washes over you, rendering you boneless in his hold. Limp and spent, you can barely return his kisses, panting harshly against his mouth, his arms the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

As you steady your breath, a satisfied smile tugs at your lips. Your eyes flicker down to his slick palm, and a rush of pride floods you. "That was amazing," you breathe, your fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation, reaching for his belt to tug at it. “My turn now.”

He ends up with his back pressed against the headboard, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. You’re positioned between his legs, stimulating him over the fabric of his boxers. “It won’t take too long,” he says, and you feel the weight of his words more than hear them as you pull him free, revealing the hardness beneath. He’s already swollen, the tip wet with precum that coats your thumb as you stroke him once, feeling the heat pulse beneath your touch. A shiver runs through him, his legs stiffening as though on the edge of restraint. Bewitched by the size of him, you lean forward to slip the leaking head past your lips. “Jesus Christ.”

It’s difficult to take all of him at once, but you push through, your mouth stretching to accommodate his size. As you work him with your hand, your tongue traces the veins that snake along his length, feeling him throb. Logan’s body betrays him, his fists tightening around the sheets as if holding on to his last thread of control, desperately keeping his hips still, resisting the urge to fuck up into you.

“Honey, pull out,” he warns, stroking your back. “M’not jokin’. You’re gonna make me come.” But you don’t stop. Instead, you deepen your movements, cheeks hollowing as you take him with more enthusiasm, pushing him toward the back of your throat. When he realizes what you’re doing, a moan escapes him, laced with a dark laugh. “Filthy girl. So that’s what you want? To choke on my cum? Should’ve asked for it sooner.”

Not long afterwards, you feel the first splash of his release hitting your tastebuds. Ropes of his seed flood your mouth, some of it dribbling out to stain the corner of your lips. He watches, his thumb gently swiping over the edge, collecting what’s spilled, his eyes never leaving yours as he moves.

“Show me,” he asks, still breathless. You lean closer, your faces a whisper apart, and then you part your lips, revealing the evidence of your devotion like a masterpiece on display. His fingers find your chin, holding you there as he bites into his lower lip, the pressure turning the skin pale. “Now swallow,” he commands, and you obey, the motion deliberate, your satisfaction mirrored in the curve of his grin. He kisses you languidly, as if savoring the moment. “Where have you been all my life?”

The question invites countless answers, but you choose to murmur, “Down the hallway.”

“Logan, are you even listening?”

Charles’ voice slices through the playful moment, forcing Logan’s hands to still against your sides. The team sits around the table, embroiled in serious discussions that demand focus and discipline. Yet Logan’s fixation on you has rendered him deaf to anything beyond the sound of your laughter. Not a single word of the last hour and a half has stuck, his mind entirely preoccupied by the warmth of you perched on his lap.

He’d insisted he was much more comfortable than any chair, and you’d indulged him, leaning into his chest as his fingers danced teasingly along your ribs. “Of course I am,” Logan drawls, though the way his hand resumes tracing lazy circles on your stomach says otherwise, his entire attention remaining fixed on you.

“I don’t think you are,” Charles counters, leaning forward with both palms flat on his desk. His sharp gaze locks to you, narrowing faintly. “Do I need to seat you two on opposite ends of the room, or can you manage to behave?”

You stiffen in response, the easy comfort of moments ago evaporating. Sliding off Logan’s lap, you settle into the nearest chair, your departure catching him off guard. Your eyes meet his subtly, and you offer him an apologetic smile. Beneath the table, your fingers squeeze his knee, a silent reassurance. Finally, you direct your attention to Charles, straightening in your seat as if to demonstrate your newfound focus.

Logan, however, is less cooperative. His arms cross over his chest, and a crease forms between his brows, the picture of rebellion. Nothing that Charles says registers in his brain. All he can think about is how much better it felt to have you on his lap, where you weren’t bothering anyone. He contents himself with watching you now, contemplating your profile and the way your fingers absentmindedly tap against your notebook.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. It’s not the same. You’ve been dating for a month, much to the surprise of everyone in the mansion. It’s as if the idea of the two of you together had never even crossed their minds. Not even Rogue believed it when she came to ask Logan if the rumors were true. He hadn’t known how to respond to her, caught between mirth and disbelief himself.

It’s been decades since he’s felt this alive. He’s head over heels for you in a way that’s exhilarating. Seeing you, even across a crowded room, lights a fire in him, and he has to actively fight the urge to walk over, pull you close, and kiss you senseless right there in front of your friends.

As the meeting finally draws to a close, Charles asks him to stay for a while. “I just need to have a quick word with you,” he says, waiting until the others leave.

Once you’re out of earshot, Charles sighs, shaking his head like an exhausted parent addressing his wayward child. “Look, I’m glad you two worked through your differences,” he begins, a note of cautious joviality in his tone, “but this... well, this is the opposite of that.”

Logan exhales wearily, rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, and regretting it instantly. Don’t shrug him off, his inner voice scolds him. “C’mon, Charles. You’re overreactin’.”

The man arches a brow. “Am I? Watching the two of you cuddling during a meeting feels like chaperoning teenagers. Honestly, I must admit you’re even worse than them at times.”

That remark lands harder than Logan expects. He opens his not-so-smart-mouth, ready with a retort, but no words come out. For once, his quick wit fails him, leaving him standing there in uncharacteristic silence.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Charles’ eyes fall shut. “Just… try to be more present, alright? And don’t distract her, or yourself, too much. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Later, when he recounts the conversation to you, you start pacing nervously across his bedroom, your teeth worrying at your nails.

“Maybe he’s right,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Darlin’—”

“I just don’t want him to be angry with us,” you cut him off, arms dropping to your sides in defeat. Turning toward him, you sit down on the edge of his bed, your shoulder brushing his as your eyes bore into the carpet. “Do you think we should... give each other some space?”

Your suggestion feels like a punch to his gut. He sits up straighter, hands finding their way to your hips as he guides you onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. “I think we’re fine the way we are,” he says, tipping his forehead against yours, his nose brushing yours in a loving gesture, coaxing a small smile from you. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Are you happy with me?”

You nod—once, twice, like it’s the only answer you could possibly give. “I love you,” you whisper, the words trembling, your lips curving into a smile that he feels against his own when he kisses you.

“God,” he grumbles against your mouth, long fingers tightening on your hips. “I never get tired of hearin’ that.” Logan cups your ass through your clothes, rocking you against him, and a groan escapes his throat as your center presses against his half-hard cock. “Say it again,” he rasps, his voice wanting.

“I love you,” you breathe, your head falling back when his hands move to unbutton your shirt, his touch reverent and greedy all at once. “I love you so much.”

Before you know it, he’s rolled you onto your back, hovering above you as he peels away the layers between you. He can’t comprehend how he got so lucky, how he gets to have you like this every day, so pliant and eager beneath his body. Your whimpers grow softer, more airy, but even then, you’re still whispering how madly in love you are with him.

This is a memory he’ll hold on to when Charles inevitably asks him to reconsider—to think about what’s best for both you and him. Fragile moments like this will slip through his fingers, but for now, they’re his to cherish.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

It turns out that love doesn’t come neatly wrapped in perfection. No—it’s a chaotic blend of tender glances and fiery clashes, of whispered promises and cutting comebacks. It’s arguments that sting as much as they heal, moments that don’t glitter but still matter, making the difference.

“Fuck off!” you snap, shoving the door against its frame, trying to shut him out. But Logan’s hand wedges in the gap, his strength effortlessly outmatching yours. “Get out, Logan.”

“No.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he grits through clenched teeth, pushing the door open and stepping inside. Behind him, Jean calls your name, but he doesn’t turn. “Not now, Jean!” His voice echoes down the hall, and the sound of her retreating steps leaves the air tense.

You’ve already crossed the room, standing by the window. The sunlight filters through, painting your silhouette in warm flickers. Outside, the kids are in their break, passing a ball, their laughter carried by the breeze. Logan moves toward you, his presence heavy, and you hold up a hand to stop him.

“I’m going on that mission,” you say firmly.

“No, you’re not.”

Your head snaps toward him, a storm unraveling in your gaze. “Charles wants me there. The team wants me there,” you shoot back, jabbing a finger into his chest with each word, “and most importantly, I want to go. You don’t get to decide for me.”

Logan doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch. He can’t understand how you don’t see his side of things, how the thought of you being in danger like this twists his insides into knots. “I can’t lose you.”

“Logan—”

“No, you don’t get it!” The words burst out of him. “What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt, and we can’t get you back in time?” His fists clench at his sides, fighting the need to pull you into his arms, to feel that you’re still here with him, still safe. “It’d kill me, because I love you with everything that I am. Just thinkin’ about losin’ you makes me sick.”

Your expression softens, but only for a moment. You take a step in his direction, closing the space between you. There’s no hesitation in your tone when you speak, leaving space for conviction. “I had a life before you, Logan. I’ve been here since I was a child, learning how to fight, how to survive. I’ve gone on missions for years—missions that were just as dangerous as this one. I don’t need you to protect me like this.” Your voice wavers, just barely. “I appreciate that you care, but I’m just as capable as you are.”

How long can someone hold their breath? Logan doesn’t even notice he’s doing it until your arms encircle his waist, your embrace melting the tension that’s been coiling in his chest. You bury your face against him, your breath steadying, and he draws a long breath, pressing his lips to your forehead like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands with a softness that feels almost out of place after the heated exchange.

“You get so bossy sometimes.”

"I thought you said you liked me bossy," you answer, your voice low, laced with mixed feelings, as you look up at him through hooded eyes.

Logan’s lips twitch into what aims to simulate a smile, but it’s weighed down by the sadness pooling in his gaze. It doesn’t reach the crinkle of his eyes, doesn’t carry the warmth it usually does.

“I do,” he says, his voice rough, barely audible, brushing a thumb across your cheek. The words hang between you, carrying a plea for things to feel less heavy, for this closeness to fix what words can’t.

The arguments come more frequently now. The love hasn’t faded—of course, it hasn’t—but it feels buried beneath the noise. You and Logan clash over everything, over nothing, over things neither of you can quite name, all the fucking time.

It’s a cycle that none of you can seem to break, passion feeding the fire until it burns too bright, too hot. One of you always storms out, slamming doors or throwing words that linger in the air like acid smoke. And yet, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how lost you both feel, the love is still there. Aching, waiting for the dust to settle.

You tell yourself it’s just a rough patch. That love like this isn’t easy, that it’s supposed to be messy. But sometimes, when the silence stretches too long after another fight, you can’t help but wonder how much more the two of you can take before something breaks for good.

Lust becomes your apology, an untamed collision of anger and desire that you can’t resist. It’s not gentle—it’s frenzied and blazing. The bed creaks beneath you, the sounds of your moans and the slap of his hips against your ass enveloping the room. Every thrust drives you closer, the ferocity of it making your head bump into the headboard, but all you can think about is how full he makes you feel.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, drooling all over the pillow, ass high up in the air as Logan continues to pound into you. He pulls out all of a sudden, making you gasp in protest. That’s when you feel his tongue against your slit, eating you out from behind, spreading your cheeks to see just how much further he can go. Your hand flies back, pressing him into your skin. “So good, baby. F-fuck.”

There’s no leaving him, not even in your wildest dreams. When he spills inside you, you always ask him to hold you close, whispering for him to stay there. To keep you full of him. And he does, fusing your body with the mattress, his weight anchoring you to the pleasure he knows how to grant you.

But then, it’s morning. The sun filters through the curtains, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets, and you’re tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist. You stare at the ceiling, your mind crawling back to the fight, to the anger that seemed so vital only hours ago. You have to force yourself to remember why you were so mad in the first place. As his hand slides over your hip, pulling you toward him, the memory slips further away.

Dating Logan means understanding the darkness he carries, the nightmares he has almost every night. Usually, you’re woken by his movements, his rambling, the tremors that run through his body. You’ve perfected a way of rousing him gently, pulling him from the grip of whatever horrors his mind conjures without causing him more harm.

Though tonight, you must’ve been drained. You didn’t notice the moment the nightmare began.

“Honey? Oh, fuck. Wake up, c’mon.” His voice pulls you from the depths of sleep, and when your eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light, the first thing you see is Logan, sitting rigid, staring at your arm as though it’s breaking him apart. The pain in his gaze is nearly palpable.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, voice groggy as you sit up, still partly disoriented. “Logan, are you okay?”

Then you see it: Blood. Dark stains seeping into the sheets, trailing from a jagged cut running the length of your forearm. It isn’t deep, and oddly, it doesn’t even hurt that much. But Logan looks stricken, his eyes flickering between your wound and his own hands.

“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” you assure him as you fumble to grab the ruined sheets, bundling them up to contain the mess. Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, you switch it on, bathing the room in a golden glow. That’s when you notice the droplets of blood on his knuckles, the torn skin where his claws must have pierced through. This has never happened before. Neither of you know what to say or how to react. When you reach for his hand, he recoils, shaking his head like he’s trying to will the scene away. “Hey, don’t do that.”

“I knew it’d happen eventually.” He’s spiraling, rising to his feet. A man trying to escape himself. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his chest and back, his body tense with the effort of holding his pieces together. Turning to face you, his expression is the embodiment of torment. In his eyes, it’s as though the prophecy has been confirmed, irrevocably, by his own doing. “I hurt you. I told you it was going to happen.”

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, pushing yourself off the bed to meet him. You’re tired, too tired to be arguing like this. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be so sure? You said the same thing before, and now look. Look at where we are.”

You’re at a loss for how to calm him. The exhaustion weighing on you makes your thoughts sluggish, and you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. But giving up isn’t an option—not with him, not because of this. Slowly, you step back and spin in place, letting him see you fully, the wound and all.

“You see? I’m fine,” you insist. “I’m not hurt. Please, Logan, believe me when I say I’m okay.”

He doesn’t respond, but the uncertainty etched into his face lingers. For a moment, you think you’ve reassured him, as he lets you guide him back to the bed. Together, you pull the sheets up to cover your bodies, and he leans into the pillows with a weary sigh. He mutters something about being sweaty, so you don’t rest your head on his chest as usual, settling into the curve of his shoulder instead. The rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, begins to steady.

At some point, the warmth of his body disappears. You stir faintly, but your mind is too clouded by sleep to register it as anything more than the remnants of a rather vivid dream.

Logan remains standing, staring at Charles, refusing the invitation to sit down. “You told Jean,” he says, and the other man doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “I asked you to keep it between us.”

“I thought she might help you reconsider,” Charles answers, looking more serious than usual, his piercing eyes fixed on Logan. “Logan, I still don’t believe this is the right path for you. It’s not the solution to your problems. You can’t run from her, from this—relying on forgetting won’t bring you peace.”

Who really knows what’s best for him? Logan certainly doesn’t. After all these decades of walking the earth, what has he truly learned? His long life feels like a cruel irony, offering time without clarity. What use is immortality when you’re paralyzed by indecision, unsure of what you truly want?

“I can’t leave her. At least, not willingly,” he explains, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the arm of a chair, the gesture lacking finesse. “She’ll get over it. She’s stronger than she thinks.”

“You’re deciding for her.”

To that, Logan has no reply. He only looks away.

“When I got here, you told me you’d help with whatever I needed.” Logan crosses the room, lowering himself into a chair by Charles’ desk, his posture stiff. He lifts his chin slightly, trying to convey a confidence he doesn’t actually feel. “This is what I need you to do. Today.”

“Let’s start with your most recent memories and work backward from there.” Charles rolls himself closer, his chair nearly brushing Logan’s legs. “There’s an emotional core to every memory, and when you eradicate that core, it begins to degrade. By the time I’m done, those memories will have withered, as in a dream upon waking.”

Logan’s throat tightens at the description. There’s no comfort in Charles’ words. It doesn’t sound like a dream. It sounds like a nightmare.

“Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes.” Logan’s reply is immediate, though it scrapes his throat like gravel.

Charles nods once, solemnly. “Then tell me your most recent memory of her.”

I think I was preparing a class when she burst through the door, uninvited. I’d been trying to keep my distance from her, because of... well, all of this. But it wasn’t easy. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to leave, so I let her stay. She came up behind me, wrapped her arms around me, and asked if I had much left to do. I told her everything else could wait. Big mistake.

We were lying on my bed. Somehow, we always ended up there, tangled together. It wasn’t strictly... sexual. There’s something profoundly vulnerable about sharing that space. Snuggling, you could call it. Now that I think about it, she likes resting her head on my chest. Says it’s the best way to hear my heartbeat and find out if it matches hers.

“Focus, Logan.”

Yeah, I know. You’re right. Anyway, she asked me if I believed in soulmates, and I laughed. Obviously, she thought I was mocking her, so I had to convince her I wasn’t. I just thought the question was funny.

“Why did you laugh?”

Because it was exactly the kind of question she’d ask. She hadn’t before, but I’d been waiting for it. She told me she thought soulmates existed, and that I was hers. And I laughed again, and she threatened to leave. I held her tighter.

I told her I didn’t know if soulmates were real. I didn’t have that kind of certainty. What I did know, I said, was that I loved her. That was the only thing I was sure of. Soulmates or no soulmates, I loved her. I was right where I wanted to be. Those were my exact words.

“When did this happen?”

Yesterday. Before she left with Ororo and Scott for their mission. That’s why I’m choosing to do this now.

“I’m afraid I have to ask you again. Are you absolutely certain you want me to do this?”

Yes, Charles. Please, don’t ask me again.

Throwing open the mansion’s entry door, you let it swing wide as you step inside. You could use a shower, but right now, all you care about is finding him. Where is he?

Before starting your search, a cluster of students rushes toward you, their arms wrapping around your waist. Their laughter fills your senses as they chatter excitedly, hugging you tightly. “We missed you!” A boy exclaims, and you can’t help but smile, ruffling his hair.

“Have you seen Professor Logan?” you ask, crouching to meet the eye of one of the younger girls.

She grins, her innocent smile spreading, and she points toward the kitchen. “He’s in there.”

You thank her and make your way to the kitchen, your heart beating a little faster. You find him standing by the counter, slicing bread. His movements are methodical, his posture calm, but something feels off. You pause in the doorway, scrutinizing his face for a sign, any sign, that he’s happy to see you.

But his gaze flicks to you for only a brief moment, cool and detached, before returning to his task.

“Hey,” you call softly, tilting your head. His shoulders tense, and he doesn’t stop cutting. “I’m back,” you add, stepping closer, hoping for some sort of acknowledgment.

It takes him a few seconds to respond, and when he does, his voice sounds flat. “I see.” He opens a drawer, pulling out a fork. “Good for you, I guess.”

The words hit you like a slap. A joke, surely. But why? You take a hesitant step forward, your brows furrowing. “Logan, why—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs yours, yanking you out of the kitchen. Startled, you turn to see Jean, her expression pale and stricken.

“Jean?” you ask, confused. “Is this another one of Logan’s pranks?”

Her lips twitch, and tears glisten in her eyes when she swallows thickly. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I tried to stop him. I really did. But he—he wouldn’t listen!” Her hands tighten around yours, quivering. You’ve never seen her like this before.

“Wait—slow down,” you urge, your stomach twisting.

“I swear, I tried to talk him out of it,” she pleads, each of the words she utters rushing out like a flood. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

It doesn’t take too long for her panic to feel contagious. The pit in your abdomen deepens as you glance back toward the kitchen, where Logan stands just out of sight.

Something is wrong—terribly wrong.

“Jean, what did he do?”

Despite all his wisdom, Charles had known this moment would come the second he agreed to help Logan.

The door to his office flies open, slamming against the wall with a force that reverberates through the room. You storm in, your strides long and charged with anger, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Madness blazes in your eyes. “You did what?!”

“My dear—”

“You erased me from my boyfriend’s memory!” The words erupt from you, shaking the very air. You fling your arms wide, your fury spilling over. Before he can respond, you turn on his bookshelf, yanking ancient, cherished volumes from their resting places. One by one, you ignite them, flames devouring their fragile pages in an instant.

Then, there’s a momentary pause—a flicker of silence before you seize another book. This one you hurl in his direction, not quite at his face, but close enough to graze the air near his shoulder before it hits the floor with a heavy thud. The sound echoes, a physical punctuation to your rage.

“You made me disappear! He doesn’t fucking know who I am!”

His expression, pained and weary, holds no exasperation—only regret. “He asked me to do it.”

“What kind of an answer is that?” The question hangs underlined by the tears that stream down your face. Your voice breaks, the pain behind it cutting deeper than any accusation. “You could’ve said no, Charles. How many times have you denied me things?”

“You didn’t see him in the way I did, he was—” He stops himself, faltering. No words can repair what he has already destroyed. “I’m sorry.”

You stand there, breathing hard, the space between you filled with smoldering ash and a silence so loud it feels suffocating. The remains of his books lie scattered, the faint scent of burnt paper lingering in the air. Charles watches you, but he doesn’t move to stop you. He doesn’t fight you.

The fury ebbs, leaving behind a hollow ache that takes its place in your chest. “If you’re so willing to erase love like it’s nothing, then do it for me, too.”

Charles’s brows knit together. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I? Logan doesn’t remember me. I walk into a room, and he looks right through me. Like I’m a stranger, like I never mattered. So tell me, what’s the point in remembering him if he’s already forgotten me?”

“I don’t believe forgetting will give you the peace you’re looking for.”

“Is that what you told him as well? Clearly, it worked out well.”

Touché.

“I’ve already hurt you enough,” he whispers.

“And you’ll keep hurting me if you don’t do this. I can’t carry this alone.” You kneel in front of him, clutching the edge of his wheelchair. “If you could take it away from him, you can take it away from me, too.”

Charles stares down at you, his mouth tightening, as if the weight of your words presses down on him. His hands, usually so steady, shift uncomfortably in his lap. It’s clear he can’t believe this is the second time he’s found himself in this situation, faced with the same desperate request. “Are you sure?”

You nod your head. “He wanted to forget me. Now, I want to forget him.”

He exhales slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. “All right,” he says softly, though his voice carries a sadness he doesn’t try to hide. “But I need you to understand… once it’s done, there’s no going back.”

“That’s the point.” You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, as though erasing the tears could also erase the doubt creeping in.

“Then sit,” he counters, motioning to the chair Logan sat in days ago.

You hesitate for a moment, the finality of the act looming large. Slowly, you lower yourself into the chair, gripping its arms with all your earnest. Charles wheels himself closer, and the reality of what’s about to happen sets in.

“Tell me your last memory of him,” he says gently, his voice barely above a whisper.

You close your eyes, and the image surfaces instantly: Logan, holding you close, whispering that he loves you. No soulmates, no destiny—just love. You let out a shaky breath, your heart breaking all over again as you begin to recount it. “The last time he looked at me like I was his whole world.”

Charles nods, his expression unreadable, placing his hands on your temples. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I had to leave the next day, so I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. My things were already packed. I walked into Logan’s room and asked him if he was busy. A week isn’t a lot, but ever since he moved here, we hadn’t been apart from each other. I was anxious about that. I thought it’d be so hard to fall asleep without him at night. What—oh, God, what’ll happen now?

“I need you to keep going, darling.”

Don’t call me that.

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

I convinced him to lie in bed with me. I had my head on his chest, and he kissed my forehead. His beard scratched me in the right way. It never hurt or bothered me. I had once dated a guy who had a beard, and it was just so uncomfortable. But that wasn’t Logan’s case. He would kiss me and hug me, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

There was a question I’d been meaning to ask him. It was about soulmates, and the existence of them. I thought Logan was my soulmate, and I said it to him. I asked if he believed in them, but he laughed. He told me he wasn’t making fun of me or anything, just that he thought the question was funny.

Logan said he didn’t know whether soulmates existed or not, but he knew for a fact that he loved me. He didn’t care about anything else. He loved me. He really did. Do you think he loved me, Charles?

“Yes. I do believe so.”

Then why did you take that away from me?

“I’m sorry.”

I hate you.

“I know.”

Your head pounds, an ache that feels like it’s splitting you in two. It’s a pain unlike anything you’ve ever known. Your vision blurs, forcing you to blink repeatedly until the world around you sharpens into focus.

Four blank walls. The stark, colorless void offers nothing but the oppressive weight of emptiness. This must be your mind, stripped bare. Somewhere in the depths of this space, Charles is at work, pulling threads and unraveling every memory of Logan.

You push yourself off the cold floor. A soundless shift disturbs the space—a door appears out of nowhere, its frame faintly glowing, and without hesitation, you reach for the handle and swing it open.

On the other side is a fragment of your past: that night months ago, sitting in the living room, watching a movie. Logan had decided to join you. The memory pulls you in, and suddenly, you’re no longer standing—you’re on the couch. Your clothes have altered to match that night. Logan sits beside you, the warmth of his presence impossibly real.

This moment feels untouched by time, but deep down, you know the truth. Charles is erasing it even as you relive it. Soon, this too will vanish.

The scene begins to warp. It’s no longer the movie on the screen. The couple has been replaced by you and Logan. You’re watching yourselves from a third perspective, your bodies framed by the flickering light of the TV. It’s deeply unsettling, but in this fragmented state of consciousness, it doesn’t feel worth questioning.

“Logan?”

“Tell me.”

You grab a cushion and smack him on the arm, the motion instinctive. “You idiot!”

“What was that for?” he asks, laughing as he takes the cushion from your hands, tossing it aside. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You erased me from your memory!” you accuse him, even as you know the futility of it. He’s merely a fragment, a faint echo of who he once was to you. A lingering shard of memory caught in the tangled wires of your brain, sparking as it teeters on the edge of a short circuit. “You’re not even real, are you?”

“No,” he admits, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just in your mind. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. You’re just what’s left.” You lower your gaze, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “How long do you think it’ll take Charles to erase you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The words you long for, the closure you might crave, are swallowed up. His lips vanish mid-formulation, and then you’re staring at a blank void where his mouth used to be. The rest of his features begins to fade—his eyes dissolve into nothingness, followed by his nose, his brows, the lines of his face. All that’s left is the space where he once sat, and even that feels tenuous.

You’re on your own now. The memory of him—of that night, the first time you truly shared an intimate moment—has been swept away like smoke in the wind. You collapse onto the floor, trembling as sobs tear through you, your hands pressed tightly against your face, attempting to contain your anguish. “I don’t want to forget you,” you choke out between hiccupped breaths, the sting of tears burning your eyes. “I never asked for any of this.”

“I know,” a familiar voice murmurs behind you, and there he is—Logan. This time, he’s wearing his suit. His claws are unsheathed, gleaming. “I shouldn’t have done it first. I don’t know what I was thinking’.”

You push yourself to your feet, drawn to him. When you move to hug him, he takes a step back, raising his claws as if to protect you from getting harmed. “I can’t retract them. If I hug you, I’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” you whisper, pressing forward and slotting yourself between his arms, ignoring the danger. Your face finds its habitual place against his chest, and you inhale deeply, inhaling his scent. “I just want you.”

His arms fold around you hesitantly, careful yet incomplete. You feel a sharp pain, a searing slice along your ribs that rips a scream from your throat. The agony is blinding, drowning your world into darkness.

When you open your eyes again, you’re somewhere else entirely. The bed feels soft beneath you, the sheets tangled around your legs. Logan is there beside you, his body warm against yours, both of you naked under the sheets.

“You’re lost in thought,” he says, his voice tender, taking a strand of your hair, twisting it gently before tucking it behind your ear. “You alright?”

His face won’t stay still. Beard, no beard. A moustache that fades as quickly as it appears. Hair long, then short. Sideburns one moment, smooth skin the next. He’s a shifting mosaic of himself. You realize you can’t remember what he looked like the last time you saw him.

“I’m forgetting you.” Your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek, memorizing each detail. “I don’t think I can stop it now.”

He’s seconds away from crying, his lips finding yours in a kiss that feels both desperate and resigned. “Stay here with me,” he whispers against your mouth, his hands sliding over your arms, your stomach, your legs. “Don’t let me go.”

“You did it to me first,” you say, voice thick with emotion, pulling him closer, down until his body presses fully against yours. His weight feels real, but you know it’s not. Nothing about this moment is.

His voice breaks, repeating the same mantra. “Stay here with me. Don’t let me go.”

The touches multiply. It’s no longer just his hands on your skin. It’s as if the entire universe is reaching for you. The cacophony of touches, the overlapping voices—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry”—swirls into a suffocating chaos.

Logan begins to blur, like a photograph left too long in the sun. His face fades first, then his body, until all that remains is a ghost of his shadow. Then even that is gone. The bed disappears beneath you, leaving you adrift in an empty expanse. You can’t tell if you’re still there, or if you’ve vanished with him.

You exhale slowly. Silence, at last.

The second first time you see him, he’s sitting alone outside on a weathered bench, his shoulders slightly hunched. He’s completely alone, and you pause a few steps away, studying him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like someone you would’ve missed at the mansion. Charles mentioned he’d recently joined the team, a mutant who had spent too long wandering the earth.

You clear your throat, trying not to overthink it. “Mind if I take a seat?” you ask, your hands clasped behind your back as you wait for his reply.

He shifts to one end of the bench, leaving you more than enough room, though his movements seem cautious. You sit down, exhaling softly as an awkward silence stretches between you. His demeanor isn’t exactly inviting, and you wonder how to bridge the gap.

After a moment, you stretch out your hand, offering a polite smile, giving him your name. He glances at your hand, then takes it. “M’Logan,” he says simply, though you already knew that from your previous talk with Charles. His fingers are rough, calloused, yet they linger a beat longer than necessary before letting go. “The other day, I was in the kitchen, and you walked in. You were acting… strange.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between his face and your hand that still feels warm from his touch. “I don’t remember that. Are you sure it was me?”

Logan hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “I thought so… but maybe not.” His lips press into a thin line, shrugging. “Never mind. I could be wrong.”

Tilting your head, you study him. There’s something familiar that you can’t quite place. “Have we met before? Outside this place, I mean. It’s just… I feel like I know you. Like I’ve seen you somewhere, but I can’t figure out where.”

His eyes meet yours then, like your question has triggered something dormant. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxing as he lets out a low chuckle. “Funny you’d say that. I wasn’t planning on bringing it up, but… I got the same feeling.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.” His lips quirk into a smile, one that matches yours.

Inside the mansion, Charles and Jean watch the scene through the window. Jean folds her arms across her chest, her expression caught between awe and disbelief. “This is crazy,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“Don’t get me started,” Charles replies.

“They don’t know what happened, but they still feel it. Like they’re connected.” She peers down at Charles, her voice quieter now. “You erased everything, didn’t you? Every memory, every trace.”

Charles keeps his eyes on the scene outside, his features softening as he watches the two of you talk. He sighs, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You’re asking me for an explanation I don’t have. I guess some things… refuse to be forgotten.”

Blessed are the forgetful, for they get the better even of their blunders.

Friedrich Nietzsche.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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kirislovelygf · 21 hours ago

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make us proud (sevika x reader)

warning!! season ii act iii spoilers ahead!! read at ur own risk :)

contents: you and sevika are dating. takes place post piltover-noxian war (act 3) jinx is gone :( but isha is alive!! you, sevika, and isha are a little family. nicknames, fluff, arguments, sevika's stubborn but she loves you a lot so

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

the war between piltover and the noxians was brutal. zaunites bled in a fight that wasn’t theirs. but piltover and zaun become united as they once were and defeat the enemies now there’s a bright future for zaunites.

when caitlyn invited sevika to the kiramann house, she was scared. her first thought was she was about to be arrested.

she held the letter in her hand and i asked to read it. it sounded much better on paper than how she reacted.

“maybe she wants to settle some treaty.” i said to her. she walked behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of whiskey only god knows how old.

“don’t make me laugh.” she grumbled. she pulled out a glass and then struggled to pull the cork off the bottle.

i sighed and took the bottle from her, pulling the cork off with ease. “let’s just go and hear her out. she thanked you after the battle, remember?” i said, pouring the heavy whiskey into the glass.

“i could've done that..” she muttered. “please, let’s go. i’ll come with-”

“no.” she said.

i scoffed. “just like that?”

“what if she gets you arrested too? i’m not gonna break you out, i’m telling you now.” she said, raising the glass to her lips.

i sighed out. “what if she wants to help us? she wouldn't be asking us to go to her house if she wanted to arrest us, she would have sent enforcers down here by now.” i said.

she scrunched her face slightly from the drink before putting it down. she stared at the ground, ideas and thoughts and possibilities conflicting.

“it says she wants to talk to you about something new and.. innovative. says you have the sense of leadersh- did you even read this whole thing?” i snapped before looking at the paper again.

she rolled her eyes. “i might have skimmed it..” she mumbled. i looked at her again.

“vika, this could be life-changing. we have to go.” i said. she let out a heavy sigh.

“this is the opportunity you’ve been fighting your whole life for.” i said to her. she looks up at me slightly.

she sighs out heavily before downing the rest of the whiskey and nodding. “okay, i'll go.”

i smield. “yes!” i clapped my hands together, to which she rolled her eyes to.

“i don’t know how you survived that battle.”

“and killed more noxians than you. alright, let’s go!” i jumped off the bar stool and ran out the bar.

we went to the kiramann house together and caitlyn and vi greeted us at the front steps.

i wnet and hugged vi quickly before going back to stand by sevika again. sevika glared them both down while caitlyn rubbed her hands together nervously.

“thank you so much for coming.” she smiled. i smiled back and looked up at sevika. she just simply nodded.

“come inside, please.” caitlyn sputtered. vi took her hand and they walk in together. i look at sevika and n judge her to follow. she looked up at the castle-like mansion with awe.

i don't remember that last time she willingly came up here.

we followed caitlyn to some lounge area with a fireplace. there was a desk in front of a giant bookshelf. in fact, most of the walls were just tall bookshelves. sunlight poured in from the fancy gold-lined windows.

“the reason i sent you the letter was first, to thank you for your help. piltover would have fallen if you hadn’t led the zaunites into battle to help us.” she started.

sevika nods. “it’s our city too” she muttered. “and of course, we have jinx and ekko to thank…” i added.

vi’s face softens when i mention jinx. but caitlyn quickly diverts the conversation. “yes, of course, well.. the other reason i invited you is because i have a proposition for you.” she said.

she looks at vi. “vi helped me realize i need to use my position to give zaunites a voice. to give you a voice, sevika and y/n.” she said, lookign at us.

sevika and i glance at each other.

“there’s space on the council for one more councilperson. vi suggested you take the spot, sevika." she said.

“what.” sevika and i gasped. "are you serious?" i asked, lookign at vi. she gives a slight nod.

“you are a symbol of hope and loyalty. you know exactly what zaunites need and how to get rid of shimmer so your people can thrive again.” she said.

“the council needs someone who has seen the pain firsthand.” she continued. “but it’s.. it’s up to you if you would like to take up the responsibility.. and of course, every councilperson needs an assistant...” she gestures to me.

“so i don't get a seat on the council?”

her eyes go wide and she glances at vi. “oh.. um-" vi chuckled softly.

“nah, i’m just fuckin wit ya.” i smiled. she laughed nervously while vi rolled her eyes.

“well? sevika?” i smiled, looking up at her. she was still in shock from the offer.

“i think.. i um..” she stuttered. caitlyn nodded. “why don't you take a moment to disuss this? and let me know what you decide." she starts to step out of the room.

"the choice is yours, but i truly do hope you join the council, sevika. you’d help a lot of lives.” she said softly.

she nods at her and caitlyn left the room, vi walking slowly behind her. i look up at sevika and stand in front of her. i waited for the door to close to talkto sevika.

“vika, you have to say yes!” i whisper-yelled.

“i can-t.. i don’t- ugh, it's just-” i noticed vi didn’t leave the room and she went and stood by me.

“did she ask you?” she looks at vi. “i’m not old enough. you gotta be like a hundred.” she joked.

sevika rolled her eyes and started walking out the door to leave. “vika, she was just kidding!” i said.

“i'm serious. you think i’m about to become a pawn in piltover’s game? what would our people think if they saw me sitting at that table?”

i laughed in disbelief. “vika, this is.. so amazingly huge. how can you not see this as a good thing? let me remind you that there has never ever once been a zaunite councilperson. you have the rare chance to make real change.” i continued.

she keeps her back to me, staring a the door. i look at vi. “say something.”

she sputtered. “uh-sevika, you..” she takes a second to think. “i seriously can’t think of anyone better fit for the job than you. that’s why i suggested to caitlyn it be you.” she said. i nodded and looked to sevika.

she looks back angrily. “you told her to do this. i bet even a topsider like her would rather die than have someone like me sitting next to her.”

vi sighs. “vika, come on.” i begged.

“i’ll see you at home.” she muttered. she slams the door behind her and the stomping of her boots fades to silence. vi and i look at each other.

“i’m sorry.. i thought she’d jump at a chance like this.” i told her.

“me too.” vi nodded. caitlyn comes back into the room and her face scrunches when she sees that sevika left.

vi and i look at her carrying a tray of a teapot and four cute teacups “oh!” aw, she’s so cute.

“uh.. what did she say?” she asked, putting the tray down on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. we walked over to her.

“she needs a little time to think it over, caitlyn.” i said to her. “oh.. of course. please let her know to take her time.” she nodded

"i will.." i smiled and couldn't help myself. i jumped into a hug, wrapping my arm tightly around ber. “but thank you, thank you so much!” i said. “you have no idea how much this means for us.”

she laughs awkwardly but returns the hug. i pull away from her and she holds my hands. “piltover has done enough damage in the lanes. it’s time we pick up the mess one step at a time. and that step is you and sevika.” she said.

i smiled at her and thanked her again before going to take my leave. i assumed vi was gonna come with but when i looked to see if she was following, her and caitlyn had their foreheads pressed together and then they kissed.

“aw..” i mumbled before quickly taking my exit. i strode through the messed up streets of piltover and then zaun where the sunlight gradually grew less and less.

i found sevika at this tent some enforcers set up in the square. people came to get fixed up, get some medicine, to get some rest.

while i maneuvered my way through e crowds of people in bandages and walking on crushed, i found sevika.

weirdly enough, physically helping people. she was crouched down in front of a gurney where a little girl was with blue hair was sat. sevika had just finished wrapped a bandage around isha's ankle.

“isha!” i called out. her gorgeous light brown eyes lit up and she jumped off the make-shift gurney to run to me. “aw, my baby!” i laughed out as she jumped into my arms. i held her head gently before pulling back to look atv her.

i picked her up and saw sevika walking over. “i thought i told you not to run.” she said to isha. she looks down at her ankle.

“what happened here?” i asked.

“twisted it running away. thankfully, some of these crazies were sane enough to take her here, where she's been resting the past couple days.” she said.

i look up at isha’s scratched face. “you’re a brave little one, damn.” i said, shaking her, making her bounce. she laughs and i put her down. she walks back to her gurney and sist where sevika nd i follow her.

i hung around until sundown and a medic said isha was good to go home.

sevika and i walked home to my palace while she carried a sleepy isha in her arm.

“vika, about today..” i started.

she sighed out. “i know you have no reason to trust caitlyn. or anyone in piltover. none of us do.” i said.

she stares ahead. “but you can make so much more change while sitting at that table than you have in the last twenty years.”

“you make me sound way older than i actually am, i just turned 34 like a month ago.”

i glared at her and sped up so i could stand in front of her. “i’m serious. you’re worried about how people would look at you if you were on the council but why is that a bad thing? i bet zaunites would be ecstatic to see someone just like them get to represent them up there.”

she blinks and looks down. then her gaze shifts to a sleeping isha. i smiled softly before inching closer to her.

“you’ll help little girls like her. people like us. don’t you think she deserves more than this?” she looks at our surroundings.

the dirty alleys, the lanes she grew up in, where we looked death in the eye multiple times.

hints of shimmer laced on the walls, on the ground, in the air, in the food and water. anyone who was born in the lanes inhaled shimmer at least once, whether on purpose or not.

sevika looks down at me and nods. “fine. i’ll do it.”

i smiled. “really?”

“for her.” she looks at isha as she stirs in her sleep. i cupped her face in my hands, my arms extended since she was so much taller than me. "and for you.. i guess."

she leaned her forehead against mine before i hugged her. she didn't have her mechanical arm anymore, so she just let her head rest on mine.

the next day, the two of us were standing behind the doors that led to the council room. i’ve never seen sevika so nervous before.

i step in front of her and move strands of her hair out of the way of her eyes. “you could’ve cleaned up a bit before your first day, vika.” i pat off the lint from her maroon cape, covering her missing arm.

"gotta look your best for these topsiders." i fix her hair a bit again.

she chuckled softly. my hands fell down and held her face. “thank you for convicing me this is a good idea.”

she hums, leaning into the touch of my palm. i pulled her face down slightly to kiss her, even then having to get on my toes. her hand slips around my waist to pull me closer.

i pulled away to rest my forehead against hers. i pull away from her and step beside her.

“i’m not worthy enough to open the doors, a councilwoman has to do it..” i smirked.

“tch.. come one.” she shakes her head and follows her. she slams open the giant doors. i winced at the sudden sunlight from the giant windows but kept walking behind her.

i pulled her seat out for her and she nodded as a thank you before taking her seat at the end of a half-circle table. i stood beside her as she took her seat.

i look around at the other council people, giving us dirty looks. a moment later, caitlyn comes in.

“everyone, i’d like you to meet our newest member of the council. councilwoman sevika, representing the lanes.” she said, her heeled boots clicking on the polished granite floors.

“i expect everyone to give her and her assistant a warm welcome.” she said. she comes up to me and pats my shoulder.

the council people didn’t look at sevika any differently than before caitlyn walked in.

change for the lanes, change for isha, was not about to come easily or quickly.

i wondered what jinx would think of sevika sitting here if she were alive now. and how isha was going to grow up as i watched an airship fly past the council building into the blue sky.

a/n: OMGGGG i am so proud sevika got a seat at teh council as her ending, i was so proud of her!!!! <33

#arcane #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika fic #sevika is so sexc #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 spoilers #wlw writing #wlw #wuh luh wuw #vi arcane #caitlyn kiramman arcane #jinx arcane #isha's alive in this one #i love isha #i miss isha #isha arcane #arcane act 3

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uravitypng · 2 days ago

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soulmate hanta who is completely oblivious to that fact that he is your soulmate. everybody is born with a soulmate mark, a scribble of words that are the first words your soulmate utters to you placed somewhere along your hip. hanta sero who is nonchalant and chill about things that he doesn't realise he's already met his soulmate. they met on the first day of ua and he didn't even notice, and you... well you noticed but how could you tell him.

everyone's going around introducing themselves, he doesn't introduce himself though. your bag was neatly tucked away under your desk, already ready to start class when hanta somehow tripped over it, he caught himself in the last minute

"fuck, that could've gone really bad." he grinned at you and you were too stunned to speak, your body felt warm, like fireworks exploding and the warmth left over from sparklers their bright vivid colours flowing through you, you found your soulmate. you didn't get the chance to reply to him, an authoritative voice started speaking, aizawa sensei, and then class started.

you tried really bad to talk to him but he oozed of confidence and friendless, if the roles were reversed and you tripped over his bag you don't even think you would of been able to say something, you'd probably just rush off in embarrassment. he jokes around with everyone and you fade away in the background, you didn't even mean to, it wasn't your intention, you told yourself that when you started ua and started the hero course you'd put yourself out there more but that changed when the idea of talking to your soulmate was so daunting.

soulmate hanta who lays in his hammock with his arm of his face, groaning because you are just so adorable! and you won't talk to him, you're quiet anyway but around him it's like you don't say anything. he doesn't even know if he's ever heard you talk. he frowns at the idea that you won't talk to him because you don't like him, he wants you to like him, he wants you to talk to him! everything about you leaves him in a tizzy- the way you smile, your laugh, your anime pins stuck to your bag, how you got bakugou to open up to you even before kirishima. he can't explain it but he just wants to be near you.

you want to be near him, you want to ask him about his favourite manga, you want to know more about him but you conclude your soulmate wants nothing to do with you. you've only spoken to him once, a month into meeting each other, and he didn't say anything about your mark. he didn't have any reaction. you were talking to bakugou, arguing over who did better in the practical today out of the two of you and you're too involved in proving that you were better that you don't realise hanta and kaminari have walked up to you both. you've spoken to kaminari on a couple of occasions he's nice but a bit too complimentary to girls for your liking and you haven't said one single word to hanta, overthinking every little thing. "oi, you two which one of us was stronger today in our practical?" bakugou shouts over to them.

you don't remember kaminari's response, you remember hanta's, "i mean you're good bakugou but she's miles ahead of you." your heart soars, you don't think you've ever been so happy in your life. shouting ensues, lots of shouting, bakugou calling hanta blind and various other insults.

over all that you say, "thanks sero, you were great too," the end of your sentence gets quieter and you stutter more. they can barely hear you over all the shouting. hanta doesn't look at you or make any acknowledge of what you just said, like 'oh hey, that's what my soulmate mark says' nothing. he heard you but he didn't want anything to do with you. the rejection hurt but you knew something like this would happen, you never expected him to like you but you would've liked him to say something like 'i'm not interested but i still want to be friends with you.'

the lack of any acknowledge on his behalf made it clear to you and you don't want to disrespect his wishes, if he doesn't want to get to know you then you won't force yourself into his life. what you didn't realise is your soulmate didn't even hear what you said... he didn't reject you at all he just didn't hear.

five minutes beforehand he was almost dragging denki by his sleeve over to you and bakugou because he wants to talk to you. he's had this warm fuzzy feeling from the first moment he's seen you and it's just grown and grown.

soulmate hanta is buzzing now that everyone is moving into dorms because surely that means you'll have to talk to him.

soulmate hanta who inserts himself into your life. that anime pin on your bag? he's asking if you've read the manga. he's making teasing jabs at bakugou with you about how his cooking for everyone gives it away that he loves all of the class, bakugou always tells him to fuck off and you have a fit of giggles. he gives you ideas when he can see you're struggling and hit a road block with your hero costume support items. he'll swing you with him to the roof of tallest towers in the city and talk for hours until the sun comes up about the future and plans for being a pro. he's loud and sociable and brings you out of your shell to speak up when he can see that you want but are too afraid to, he's there to give you a push but also relax with you in the dorms when he can tell that you don't have the energy for everyone. he'll bring snacks and you'll watch films and he'll speak to you gently and soothingly that puts your mind at ease when you get overwhelmed. he'll read you manga while you rest your head on his lap and you'll get overly competitive when it comes to mario kart.

you don't understand why your soulmate had this change of mindset about you, maybe it's because you're all living together but now you have him in your life you're not jeopardising that. the time you share with everyone is amazing, and the time you and hanta share with everyone is amazing but when you're just together alone that amazing turns into perfection. you want to bottle up those moments with a glass and keep them forever.

falling in love with hanta didn't surprise you, you knew it would happen sooner or later. you never spoke to each other about being soulmates or relationships (you thought you knew why) you didn't engage in conversations with the rest of the class about it either. you didn't want to put hanta on the spot like that, 'yeah, i've found my soulmate guys, i spend every day with him but he rejected me. oh look! here he comes now, hi sero!' you were wrong though. it didn't happen like you thought it did.

soulmate hanta who isn't just called 'hanta' in your head but when you speak to him or about him, after eight years of knowing each other you've gotten past the use of family names. the first time he heard you speak it his heart skipped a beat. your heads were pressed together and you were under a blanket asleep. you both drifted off at some point during film night, it was time for you both to start joint patrol so you woke him up, whispering his name. you joined the same agency so that meant you liked doing as much joint patrol with each other as possible.

soulmate hanta who's never been in a relationship before and is a complete virgin. he doesn't care about other girls, not even to look their way for a night, all he cares about is you. the idea of even dating a girl riddles him with guilt over how he wishes it was you. hanta is fully aware that you've never been in a relationship either.

soulmate hanta can't bare to look you in the eyes and hear about the person you love or how you're yearning to find your soulmate. he couldn't bare that pain. the idea that you have someone out there- it kills him. in that sense he's insecure, he knows he should be supportive and ask about your soulmate, it seems that every other person has had at least one conversation about it but he just can't. you've never even had a relationship and he knows he should ask why but then you might ask him the same question and the reason would be- you.

the thought that his words may be written on your hip never cross his mind, he's never been in denial that he loves you but he never thought it was reciprocated.

the thought that he himself has a soulmate never, even for a second, flits through in his mind. he doesn't think he's met them and he doesn't care if he does. they won't be you.

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queer-lemons · 1 day ago

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oh this is one of my favourite soap boxes because i think it's also connected to how people will let you talk about your trauma. pretty much my entire life before college (and still now all my home life) is traumatic. like actually, psychologically and physically traumatic. and you know what, i have the right to share that with people! i shouldn't have to be some kind of happy little puppet that shuts it's mouth in public, right?

except everyone's co-opted the term traumatic. the girl at my math table says she's traumatized by our homework of the week. i overhear someone say that the ending of that tv show traumatized them. etc etc over and over.

So guess what happens if i want or even need to share anything about myself? Saying "traumatic" doesn't mean anything anymore. I either have to give more info than I want to, or shut up. And that's the purpose of censorship, not just forbidding terms, but purposefully watering them down, until the actual things that they stand for can't be talked about without being just brutally laid out. Which puts the traumatized people at a severe disadvantage.

And that's why language is important. Yes it evolves and changes etc. but ask yourself, is the word changing? Or is how we treat the actual concept behind it changing?

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

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acindra · 2 days ago

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Joe Hills and ZombieCleo from Hermitcraft

Cleo Doll Notes: -I'm undecided on the permanent positioning of the snakes still so I haven't pulled in all of the yarn tails yet. -The dress design was partially based on @weaselmcdiesel's art here. -I did try to make hats for the snakes but they ended up looking too undefined. -I could not figure out how to show a rib hole in a stuffed doll without making the doll much much bigger.

Joe Doll Notes: -The first time I intended to make a Joe doll it was going to be based around the various arts from Joe winning the mcyt sexyman tourney but time got away from me. -This time I intended to make Joe in the puppet style when the juppet was made (with the mouth neck and everything) but then the court case happened. -This Joe doll is specifically based on how @judas-iscaryot drew xem in this art because I am absolutely enamored with the design.

Bonus Sentimental Thoughts about Joe Under the Cut:

I've actually wanted to make Joe many times over the years since I found xem through Super Hostile in 2012. Xyr videos taught me how to play Minecraft and I've always wanted to commemorate that because it became such a big part of my life, I just didn't want to make Minecraft Steve with an @ on his shirt, yanno? Especially with how much xe has affected my attitude on life.

We talk about "keep jumping on boxes" a lot but the thing that always stuck out to me the most in the early years was Autumnification (and the other iterations of it). Just the concept that even in a static world you do not have to be beholden to that stasis- you can implement small changes to create a story or to do something nice for your community or even simulate the passage of time if you're willing to put in the effort. It really means a lot to me (especially with how the world is right now) to remember that even small changes build up into something bigger and can make a world of difference.

I hadn't been intending to make these dolls so soon but then the election happened and I found myself at a loss of how to handle it so I started crocheting. I'm so grateful to Joe (and Cleo) for streaming the TCG signing during those days. I'm almost never able catch the streams live nowadays (and xe has stopped letting us access vods, which I used to watch all the time) so I'm very glad I was able to listen to these ones because even if it was an awful realization how things were going it was comforting to know we aren't alone.

(Also don't get me wrong I have many sentimental thoughts about Cleo too I just wanted to share the Joe ones specifically because these dolls came about now due to xyr election day TCG signing stream)

#zombiecleo #joe hills #joehills #joehillstsd #hermitcraft #amigurumi #createcins

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sulphuricgrin · 2 days ago

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Thalmor and Fascism, a 'short' analysis

Hello! Welcome to my breakdown of the Thalmor party that gained power steadily after the Oblivion Crisis and soon created the Third Aldmeri Dominion. I follow Umberto Eco's Ur-Fascism (or Eternal Fascism: Fourteen Ways of Looking at a Blackshirt) and use his points as I delve further into how the Dominion might work in the 4th Era. I also use historical parallels and create world-building ideas for scenarios one could use. (ex: in fanfic, RP, etc.)

The parallels with real-world fascism make the Thalmor’s ideology both chillingly familiar and deeply immersive. >:3

By integrating these traits into world-building, I want the Dominion to become more than just an imperial power—it becomes a pervasive and insidious force shaping every aspect of life within its borders and beyond. These features not only make the Thalmor a more compelling enemy but I think also creates rich opportunities for storytelling.

I'm also planning a one-shot TES parody of sorts of Ur-Fascism, written by the father of one of my OCs. That's the reason why I started this to begin with. That, and my love for history, philosophy, and all things Elder Scrolls.

Fair warning, this is a long post! +3.6k words! So strap in, and please, I encourage talk/criticism, but keep it civil. Obviously this is only my interpretation and I tried my best at this. I would love to hear what others think.

I offer my short paper to Hermaeus Mora to store in Apocrypha ;)

1. The Cult of Tradition

The Thalmor’s reverence for ancient Elven supremacy mirrors real-world historical movements that glorified an idealized past to justify oppressive ideologies.

TES: The Thalmor frame the time before the rise of Men as a lost golden age of Elven dominance. They’ve always venerated the old, almost mythological Aldmeri civilization, despite very little history has survived. They could hold the Ayleid Empire (a high point of Elven civilization) as a model, ignoring its brutal practices like slavery and human sacrifice. They vilify human achievements, such as the Empire of Man under the Septim Dynasty, as an aberration in Tamrielic history.

Historical Parallel: The cult of tradition can be seen in Fascist Italy under Mussolini, where the regime idealized Ancient Rome. Fascists claimed to restore the grandeur of the Roman Empire to evoke pride and justify militaristic expansion. Similarly, the Nazis glorified an Aryan past, constructing myths of ancient Germanic peoples as paragons of civilization to reinforce their racial ideology.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor’s obsession with restoring ancient Elven dominance could involve deliberate distortion of history, erasing inconvenient truths about the Ayleids and glorifying their achievements to unite the Dominion under a shared identity.

2. Rejection of Modernism

The Thalmor’s disdain for change and multiculturalism reflects their rejection of modernity in favor of an exclusionary, stagnant worldview.

TES: The Altmer have a history of xenophobia. The Thalmor oppose the integration of races and cultures within the Empire, viewing it as a dilution of "pure" Elven tradition. They also resist technological and cultural advancements driven by non-Elves, such as innovations from the Empire’s blending of cultures. Their policies enforce strict adherence to Elven superiority, preventing any progressive mingling of traditions.

Historical Parallel: This echoes the Nazi and Fascist rejection of modernist art, multiculturalism, and democracy. The Nazis, for example, condemned modern art movements like Expressionism and Cubism as “degenerate art” while promoting a “pure” Aryan aesthetic. Similarly, fascists saw liberal democracy as corrupt and promoted authoritarian control as a return to a purer societal order.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor could actively suppress creative or intellectual progress, possibly banning works by humans or elves that deviate from their idealized Elven cultural norms. Their strict cultural laws could possibly lead to an underground resistance of artists, scholars, and mages seeking to preserve diverse traditions.

3. The Cult of Action for Action’s Sake

The Thalmor’s focus on aggressive policies and grandiose actions often prioritizes symbolism over practicality.

TES: The Thalmor's enforcement of the White-Gold Concordat—especially the persecution of Talos worship—is a clear example. The ban on Talos worship is more symbolic than practical, aimed at asserting dominance over human cultures rather than resolving tangible problems. Similarly, their brutal measures to crush dissent, such as burning shrines and executing priests, serve to showcase their power rather than address any real threat posed by Talos worshippers. Their actions seem more about demonstrating power and control than about achieving specific, practical goals.

Historical Parallel: This parallels Fascist Italy’s grandiose projects, such as Mussolini's attempts to “modernize” Italy with large-scale public works that were often inefficient or impractical but served as propaganda. Similarly, Nazi Germany emphasized militarization and dramatic displays of power (like the Nuremberg rallies) even when these actions were economically or militarily unsustainable.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor could undertake elaborate but ultimately impractical projects, such as reconstructing ancient Elven temples or waging unnecessary wars to expand their influence, draining resources while reinforcing their narrative of Elven superiority.

4. Disagreement is Treason

The Thalmor’s intolerance for dissent ensures their ideological purity but creates a climate of fear and oppression. They suppress dissent with brutal efficiency, labeling any resistance to their rule as heretical or treasonous.

TES: The Thalmor persecute anyone who challenges their rule or ideology. This is seen most clearly in Skyrim, where even whispering a prayer to Talos can lead to imprisonment or death. Their Justiciars patrol Tamriel, rooting out dissidents and executing them as traitors, regardless of the validity of the accusations. This mirrors a broader policy of suppressing free thought to maintain their narrative of unquestionable Elven superiority. There’s also the Night of Green Fire, were they attacked Altmer dissident refugees who had fled persecution in Alinor.

Historical Parallel: This is reminiscent of the totalitarian regimes of the 20th century, such as Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia. In Nazi Germany, opposition parties and individuals were quickly silenced, with dissenters labeled as traitors or “enemies of the state” and sent to concentration camps. Stalin’s Soviet Union similarly purged perceived enemies, creating a culture where questioning authority could result in imprisonment or execution.

Implication for World-Building: Within the Dominion, paranoia would dominate daily life, with Thalmor spies embedded in communities and neighbors reporting on one another. This pervasive fear could lead to widespread distrust among Elven citizens, undermining the very unity the Thalmor claim to promote.

Criminalization of Debate: Debating Altmeri policies could be considered treason. Citizens speaking against the Thalmor might be arrested or "re-educated."

Idea: Characters might rescue political prisoners or distribute forbidden pamphlets challenging Thalmor doctrine, or they could be forced into “re-education”.

5. Fear of Difference

Fascist regimes thrive on creating "others" to vilify and unite the populace through a shared enemy, using xenophobia and racial supremacy as key tools.

TES: As mentioned in #2, the Altmer have a history of closed borders and xenophobia. The Thalmor's ideology is rooted in the superiority of Elves over Men and other races. They actively foster division by portraying humans—especially Nords and Imperials—as inferior beings who disrupted Tamriel's natural order. This fear of difference extends to cultural and religious practices, as seen in their persecution of Talos worshippers and their disdain for mixed societies like the Empire. (The problem with Talos worship also stems from just the idea of a human achieving divinity, which is what every Altmer strives towards through their practice of the Path.)

Historical Parallel: Nazi Germany used antisemitism and anti-Slavic sentiment as core components of its ideology, portraying Jews and other minorities as existential threats to the purity of the Aryan race. Similarly, Imperial Japan framed non-Japanese Asians as inferior and justified brutal colonial domination under the guise of superiority.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor could implement policies that segregate or exclude non-Elves from certain professions or cities within the Dominion. Their propaganda might frame intermingling of races or cultural traditions as a dire threat to Elven purity, driving a wedge between the Dominion's Bosmer, Khajiit, and Altmer populations. (We don’t see any Bosmer or Khajiit Thalmor/Dominion soldiers within Skyrim by 4E 201, but that’s very likely just to villainize one race.)

Segregated Settlements: Towns in Dominion-controlled regions could be segregated by race, with Altmer areas enjoying more lavish infrastructure while Khajiit or Bosmer neighborhoods languish.

Idea: Characters might assist oppressed communities in improving their living conditions or organizing resistance.

6. Appeal to a Frustrated Middle Class

Fascist movements often gain traction among those who feel displaced or diminished in status, using resentment and promises of restored glory to rally support.

TES: The rise of the Third Aldmeri Dominion likely appealed to Altmer who resented their perceived loss of status under the Empire, particularly after the Oblivion Crisis and the Empire's weakening influence. By promising to restore Elven dominance and undo the damage caused by human rule, the Thalmor capitalized on the frustrations of disenfranchised Altmer elites and middle classes.

Historical Parallel: Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany drew significant support from the middle classes, who felt economically and socially marginalized after World War I and the Great Depression. The Nazis promised to restore Germany’s national pride and economic stability, appealing to those disillusioned by the failures of liberal democracy and internationalism.

Implication for World-Building: In the Dominion, the Thalmor’s rise might be tied to social unrest among Altmer artisans, merchants, and scholars (the most important roles within Altmer society) who felt overshadowed by Imperial influence. Those Altmer could display open disdain for humans or non-Altmer races, citing the Thalmor’s rhetoric as justification. Those promises of prosperity could mask policies that disproportionately benefit the Altmer elite while exploiting the Bosmer and Khajiit.

Economic and Social Tensions: The middle classes in Summerset Isles might be portrayed as benefiting from the Dominion’s policies, creating resentment among Bosmer and Khajiit laborers who are exploited for the Dominion’s expansion.

Idea: Characters might witness these attitudes in “quests” dealing with class or racial tensions.

7. Obsession with a Plot

Fascist regimes fuel paranoia by inventing or exaggerating conspiracies, framing all opposition as part of a grand, malevolent scheme.

TES: The Thalmor's rhetoric portrays Men as orchestrating the downfall of Elven civilization. Their ban on Talos worship is part of a broader narrative that blames human cultural and religious practices for undermining Elven power. They likely propagate myths of human conspiracies to keep the Dominion united against a common enemy.

Historical Parallel: The Nazis famously promoted the stab-in-the-back myth, claiming that Jews and communists betrayed Germany during World War I. Stalinist Russia similarly fueled paranoia with fabricated conspiracies, such as accusing political rivals of plotting against the state during the Great Purge.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor could use propaganda to spread exaggerated stories about Imperial plots, such as secret Talos cults planning to overthrow the Dominion. This paranoia would justify oppressive policies and galvanize Elven citizens to report suspected traitors, deepening societal divisions.

Conspiracy Theories: Thalmor propaganda could exaggerate Imperial plots, creating paranoia.

Idea: NPCs might warn characters about spies everywhere, leading to “quests” involving false accusations, actual Imperial agents working to undermine the Dominion, or the real spies being from the Thamor.

8. The Enemy is Both Strong and Weak

Fascism often paints enemies as simultaneously omnipotent (to justify fear) and weak or degenerate (to inspire contempt), creating a contradictory but effective narrative.

TES: The Thalmor frame Men as both a dire existential threat and as an inferior, corrupt race destined for subjugation. For example, the Empire is portrayed as a decaying shadow of its former self, yet it is also seen as a powerful adversary whose influence must be eliminated to restore Elven supremacy. This contradiction serves to keep the populace vigilant while reaffirming their racial superiority.

Historical Parallel: Nazi propaganda depicted Jews as both a weak, parasitic race and as cunning masterminds behind global conspiracies. Similarly, Cold War propaganda in the U.S. framed communism as both an inefficient system and an existential threat capable of destroying the free world.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor could disseminate propaganda that mocks the declining state of the Empire while simultaneously warning of its "hidden strength" through Imperial-backed Talos cults or covert military alliances. This narrative would keep the Dominion in a state of perpetual war-readiness, fostering paranoia and militarization.

Contradictory Narratives: The Thalmor could mock the Empire as weak and corrupt while simultaneously portraying it as a looming existential threat.

Idea: Characters might investigate inconsistencies in Thalmor messaging and uncover deliberate manipulation.

9. Pacifism is Trafficking with the Enemy

Fascist regimes view peace or compromise as betrayal, advocating for perpetual conflict to maintain unity and reinforce their strength.

TES: The Thalmor’s stance toward the Empire and Talos worshippers exemplifies this mindset. Despite the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, the Thalmor show no interest in genuine peace. They exploit the treaty to destabilize the Empire and justify continued hostilities. Their relentless pursuit of Talos worshippers, even in regions nominally under Imperial control, signals their refusal to tolerate coexistence.

Historical Parallel: This trait is reminiscent of Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy, which glorified war as a tool for national renewal and strength. Hitler dismissed diplomacy as weakness, emphasizing militarization and expansion as ends in themselves. Mussolini similarly viewed war as a mechanism to revitalize the Italian people and demonstrate national greatness.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor could have internal propaganda glorifying war as a sacred duty of all Altmer. They might train their youth in military academies that indoctrinate them with a belief in perpetual conflict as necessary to reclaim and preserve Elven supremacy.

Perpetual War Machine: In Dominion regions, resources could be heavily taxed to fuel war efforts.

Idea: Characters might aid farmers, merchants, or workers struggling under the burden, while the Thalmor justify this as a necessary sacrifice for Elven supremacy.

10. Contempt for the Weak

Fascist ideologies promote the idea that strength is inherently virtuous and weakness is despicable, justifying oppression of those deemed inferior.

TES: The Thalmor’s belief in Elven superiority leads them to view other races, especially humans, as weak and undeserving of respect or autonomy. Their treatment of the Bosmer and Khajiit within the Dominion could possibly reveal a hierarchy even among their allies, where Altmer dominate, and others are relegated to subservient roles. The Thalmor’s disdain for the “weakness” of the Empire is evident in their rhetoric and actions, portraying its willingness to negotiate as proof of its inferiority.

Historical Parallel: This mirrors the Nazi ideology of Lebensraum (living space), which framed Eastern Europeans as subhuman and justified their subjugation and extermination to make way for German expansion. Fascist Italy similarly dehumanized colonized peoples in Africa, justifying brutal exploitation under the guise of spreading civilization.

Implication for World-Building: Within the Dominion, the Thalmor might implement policies that systematically disenfranchise Bosmer and Khajiit while celebrating the physical, magical, and intellectual prowess of the Altmer. The Thalmor’s propaganda could depict other races as servile or parasitic, encouraging Altmer citizens to feel pride in dominating these “weaker” peoples.

Propaganda Celebrating Strength: Altmer architecture, literature, and art could be designed to evoke themes of Elven might and dominance, depicting other races as subservient or parasitic (point 10). For instance, public statues might show Elves towering over Men or crushing symbols of Imperial power.

Oppression of the “Weak”: Non-Altmer races could be forced into hard labor or conscription.

Idea: Characters/NPCs could share stories of family members sent to fight in far-off conflicts, providing characters with morally complex choices about intervening.

11. Everybody is Educated to Become a Hero

Fascist regimes emphasize the importance of sacrifice for the nation, glorifying those who devote their lives to the cause and framing ordinary citizens as warriors for the state.

TES: The Thalmor cultivate a culture where every Altmer is expected to serve the Dominion’s cause, whether through military service, loyalty to the state, or ideological compliance. The Justiciars are portrayed as paragons of Elven virtue, exemplifying the ultimate commitment to the Dominion’s ideals. Citizens are likely educated to believe that their sacrifices, no matter how small, contribute to the restoration of Elven greatness.

Historical Parallel: Nazi Germany placed significant emphasis on the concept of the "Volksgemeinschaft" (people's community), where every German was expected to contribute to the nation’s goals. Similarly, Fascist Italy glorified the ideal of the selfless soldier and the hardworking citizen as heroes of the state. In both cases, youth programs like the Hitler Youth and Balilla were used to indoctrinate the next generation into these values.

Implication for World-Building: The Dominion could have institutions that indoctrinate young Altmer into Thalmor ideology, teaching them to see themselves as part of a sacred mission to reclaim Tamriel for Elvenkind. Public ceremonies might honor fallen Thalmor agents as martyrs, reinforcing the idea that dying for the Dominion is the ultimate act of heroism.

Hero Cults: The Dominion might establish festivals or holidays commemorating key Thalmor victories and honoring fallen agents. Schools could teach children patriotic songs or hymns about their duty to restore Elven supremacy, with heroic figures like early Thalmor leaders mythologized. (Maybe? This seems too far.)

Idea: Characters could infiltrate these events to gather information or sway public opinion by exposing the truth about these “heroes.”

More World-Building Ideas

Points 9-11 underscore the Thalmor’s militarism, supremacist worldview, and ability to co-opt individual lives into their grand vision for Elven dominance. These elements not only enhance the narrative tension between the Thalmor and their opponents, but could also create opportunities for characters to encounter internal resistance movements, oppressed groups, and Altmer citizens questioning the cost of their rulers’ ambitions. I believe after the Great War, tensions would be even higher.

12. Machismo

Fascist regimes glorify a hyper-masculine, militaristic culture that celebrates dominance, aggression, and disdain for non-conformity or “soft” values.

TES: The Thalmor embody this through their emphasis on martial prowess and superiority. While not tied to gender in the traditional sense, their ideology promotes a cultural machismo centered on Elven dominance, physical and intellectual superiority, and disdain for perceived "weakness." They scorn the cultural diversity of the Empire and other races as decadent or effeminate. Their authoritarianism also seeks to suppress dissent, intellectual inquiry, or emotional expression that doesn’t align with their rigid ideals.

Historical Parallel: Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany glorified masculine ideals of physical strength and aggression while marginalizing traits like compassion or introspection. Mussolini often emphasized virility and militaristic values, while the Nazis celebrated the archetype of the strong, disciplined Aryan soldier. Non-conforming individuals, particularly LGBTQ+ people, were persecuted as threats to this hyper-masculine ideal.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor might promote a rigid cultural code that prizes dominance, obedience, and aggression, possibly extending to martial tournaments or ceremonies that celebrate Altmer “purity.” Artistic expressions or philosophies emphasizing introspection or diversity could be banned or dismissed as “decadent.” They would continue with the tradition of marrying proper matches to keep their family blood “pure.”

Propaganda Festivals: The Thalmor could organize grand public events where martial displays (military parades?) glorify Elven strength. These events would reinforce the idea that the Dominion thrives through dominance and order.

Suppression of Non-Conformity: Non-militaristic or “soft” cultural traditions—like Bosmer storytelling or Khajiiti spirituality—might be ridiculed or suppressed, leading to underground movements that preserve these traditions.

13. Selective Populism

Fascist regimes use rhetoric that claims to speak for “the people,” but this “people” is defined narrowly, excluding minorities and dissenters.

TES: The Thalmor’s concept of “the people” explicitly excludes humans and often sidelines their Bosmer and Khajiit allies. They frame themselves as the sole representatives of Elvenkind, claiming to act in the best interests of a unified racial identity. However, their vision of unity ignores or suppresses internal dissent among Altmer who reject their ideology, as well as non-Altmer who are relegated to subordinate roles. Their claim to represent all Elves is thus selective and exclusionary.

Historical Parallel: Nazi Germany used the idea of a Volksgemeinschaft (people’s community) to create a narrow vision of unity, excluding Jews, Romani people, and political dissidents. Similarly, fascist regimes often co-opted populist rhetoric to claim they acted in the name of “the true people” while disenfranchising anyone who didn’t fit their criteria.

Implication for World-Building: Within the Dominion, the Thalmor’s rhetoric might emphasize solidarity among Elves, but their policies reveal stark inequalities between Altmer, Bosmer, and Khajiit. Resistance movements could emerge within these oppressed groups, challenging the Thalmor’s selective definition of unity and exposing their hypocrisy.

Elven Hierarchy: Bosmeri and Khajiiti groups could face higher taxes, forced military conscription, or exclusion from political power.

Resistance Movements: Selective populism could foster alliances between oppressed groups—such as humans, Bosmer, and Khajiit—who band together to challenge Thalmor dominance.

14. Newspeak

Fascist regimes manipulate language to limit free thought and ensure ideological conformity. They simplify language and control its meanings to make dissent or complex ideas impossible to articulate.

TES: The Thalmor could enforce linguistic purity within the Dominion, outlawing words, phrases, or writings that contradict their ideology. For example, they might ban texts that celebrate Talos, Imperial culture, or non-Elven achievements. The Thalmor’s propaganda would use simplified, emotionally charged language to emphasize Elven superiority and demonize humans. Over time, this manipulation of language could erode the population’s ability to think critically or question authority.

Historical Parallel: George Orwell’s concept of Newspeak in 1984 was inspired by real-world totalitarian regimes, such as Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia, where propaganda and censorship shaped public discourse. The Nazis used simplistic, repetitive slogans like “Ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer” to embed ideology in everyday life. Stalinist Russia altered history books and redefined terms to serve the Party’s goals.

Implication for World-Building: The Thalmor might use the Divine Prosecution, making them responsible for censoring Imperial and Talos-related literature while promoting carefully curated texts that reinforce Thalmor ideology. Dissidents could smuggle forbidden books or create underground presses to preserve cultural diversity and historical accuracy.

Censorship Laws: The Thalmor could outlaw specific languages, such as Cyrodiilic, in Dominion territories. Altmer children might be taught revised histories that erase human contributions to Tamriel’s culture and development.

Idea: “Forbidden Literature” - Characters might encounter hidden libraries or secret meetings of scholars seeking to preserve banned texts. These locations could serve as hubs for resistance or offer “quests” to recover lost knowledge.

More World-Building Ideas:

Cultural Propaganda: The Thalmor could sponsor plays, books, and artworks that glorify ancient Elven achievements while mocking or demonizing human cultures. This would reinforce both their fear of difference (point 5) and their obsession with a plot (point 7).

Perpetual Fear Campaigns: Justiciar crackdowns on "Imperial spies" or "hidden Talos worshippers" could escalate over time, creating a culture of fear where anyone might be accused of treason. This aligns with points 7 and 8, as the threat is exaggerated to justify authoritarian control.

Resistance Movements: Bosmer and Khajiit characters might form secret organizations to challenge Altmer dominance. Characters could align with these groups or face pressure to spy on them, adding moral and faction-based dilemmas.

Thalmor-Run Education: Schools in Dominion territories might indoctrinate children into Thalmor ideology, with NPCs lamenting the loss of older traditions. Characters could disrupt this system by recovering banned texts or creating underground schools.

Religious Persecution: Talos worshippers might practice in secret, creating opportunities for characters to assist them or decide whether to betray their location to the Thalmor.

Civil Unrest: Cities in Dominion territories might feature visible tensions, with oppressed groups protesting or clashing with Justiciars. Characters could influence these outcomes by siding with either the protesters or the authorities.

#tes #tes skyrim #the elder scrolls #tesblr #thalmor #the third aldmeri dominon #altmer #the elder scrolls skyrim #tes v skyrim #tes v #fascism in fantasy

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emmemmelyn · 2 days ago

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How to shift realities right now using the law of assumption

This is a guide that I put together myself using all of the knowledge and wisdom that I've accumulated over the past three years of studying the law of assumption including my experiences using the law with reality shifting!

Going Back to the Basics

What is the law of assumption?

The law of assumption is what you believe is true is what you will see and experience in your reality.

We are creators who are meant to create. Where creation starts is from imagination/the 4D. And what is from imagination/the 4D gets reflected out into the physical/the 3D. In other words, what you see and experience is a reflection of what goes on in your mind (the thoughts that you have and continue to think, the beliefs that you have that you took in from the people who you were surrounded by when you were a child, and the assumptions you formed in your own mind).

For example you believe that you have to work hard to be successful. Because you believe this what you continue to see and experience is you being successful only after working hard.

Another example is you believe that something that you own is a lucky charm and makes you lucky when you carry it around. Because you believe this you see and experience that you are lucky whenever you carry that item around.

How do you manifest using the law of assumption?

Actually, you are always manifesting using the law of assumption. You are just unconsciously doing it. To consciously manifest using the law of assumption you change what goes on in imagination/the 4D by being the person who has what they want already in your mind by knowing what you want, knowing that you have it in your mind, and receiving it in the physical/the 3D.

How do you manifest shifting to your desired reality using the law of assumption?

Let's apply the three steps that I mentioned above to shifting realities specifically...

Step One: Know what you want.

This would be wanting to shift to your desired reality.

Step Two: Know that you have it.

Know that you have shifted to your desired reality already in your mind and be like how you would be long after you have shifted to your desired reality. How would you think long after you have shifted to your desired reality? When you think about your desired reality and living in it how fulfilled would you be?

If you like using manifestation techniques and believe that it helps you then do ONE of these things to "know that you have it":

Go through your day and night affirming and/or visualizing that you have shifted to your desired reality already and you are in your current reality right now because you choose to be.

Go through your day and night affirming and/or visualizing that you have shifted to your desired reality and you are living in your desired reality right now in your mind. (For example, if you are shifting to Hogwarts then while getting ready in the morning in your current reality you would think to yourself, "I can't wait to meet Luna later to go shopping at that crystal shop she was talking about.")

Remember, you are doing all of this IN YOUR MIND.

Step Three: Receive it in the physical/the 3D.

You experience shifting to your desired reality and living in it in real life.

When you stay in the state of already having shifted to your desired reality without having doubts and without wavering long enough then you will experience shifting to your desired reality and living in it in real life (wavering by the way is going back and forth in your mind thinking, "I have this," and then thinking, "I don't have this.").

That's it!

From the moment you want something you have it. From the moment you wanted to shift to your desired reality you shifted to your desired reality. Manifestation is instant. You can manifest things fast. Having this belief that you cannot is only because of conditioning, because of what you believed when you were a child from the people around you and from society. Also, time is an illusion. This is because you manifest your desire the moment you get into the state, the moment you believe that what you are telling yourself is true.

Furthermore, manifesting is easy and natural. You don't have to know how things will manifest in the physical/the 3D. That is not your job. Your job is to know that you have what you want now. Know what you want and go through with it in your mind long enough until it manifests in the physical/the 3D.

Other Things to Note

I know that most of us like to use shifting methods (myself included lol), so this portion is for those of you who do! You DO NOT need to use a shifting method to shift to your desired reality, but if you believe that using a shifting method will help you to shift you to your desired reality then do this...

When the time comes to use your shifting method believe that you will shift to your desired reality after using your shifting method.

If you see in the physical/the 3D that you don't shift to your desired reality after using your shifting method..that's okay. Don't be so hard on yourself. Keep acting as if.

Affirm and/or imagine that you have shifted to your desired reality:

"I shifted to my desired reality."

"I woke up in my desired reality."

"I opened my eyes in my desired reality."

Then, go to sleep knowing this or go on with the rest of your day or night continuing to know that you have shifted to your desired reality already in your mind.

Your subconscious mind cannot tell the difference between what is real and what is not real so as long as you keep telling yourself the same affirmations (affirmations are just new thoughts that you want to have) then your subconscious mind will eventually take it as true and they will be your new assumptions or beliefs. And because your assumptions or beliefs create the physical/the 3D you will eventually experience shifting to your desired reality.

I hope this helped any shifter out there in some way!

With love, Emme

#shifting realities #reality shifting #shifting community #shiftblr #shifting blog #shifting #reality shifter #shifters #law of assumption #loassumption #the law of assumption #reality shifting community

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wisecura · 3 days ago

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Next.

Wc: 6k

p.2 to this p.1

AN: thank you again for reading—proofread warning.

Warning: dub-con, jealousy, manipulative behavior, controlling behavior, smut (MINORS DNI), degradation, demeaning, rude gojo-like bad boy, bad, just not healthy my dude. Read with caution

Again.

Satoru, of course, had heard everything. The menace he was—he’d wound you up hoping to draw a confession from you. But like always he managed to get carried away. He couldn’t say he was upset with the outcome. He’d been able to see you so deliciously vulnerable right before his eyes. The way you squirmed beneath him, your beautiful doe eyes practically begging him to fuck you. And the second he’d heard your footsteps prattle away, a moan coming from your room, he knew it was all worth it.

His feet carried him straight to your door, long forgetting the food. He quietly approached, leaning in closely to listen. Your moans mixed with the wet squelches made him stutter out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His dick painfully hard in the confines of his pants. The image of you shuddering beneath him still burned into his mind. He’d pushed you, yes. But it was worth it to see the jealous look smearing your pretty features.

And now, his prize and punishment. Just out of reach. The sound of your vibrator, your whimpers and moans, and finally the sound of your climax. You filled the entire apartment with your sinful sounds.

His head rests against the door, his palms flexing. He put himself in this position, yet he wasn’t mad about it. His ear tinted red as he tried to imagine what your face looked like when you came. He’d thought long and hard, leaning against your door like that.

Satoru left the house soon after that. And when he’d arrived home, the lights were out in the apartment. He saw you had eaten the curry he left out for you, as he listened in for any sign of life. You were likely asleep. He brought the bag back to his room, locking the door before digging in. He’d bought several things that night, and was itching to put them to good use. Ordered some more to come in the next day.

You on the other hand were suffering from post nut clarity. What had you done? What had he done?

Would he pretend this never happened? He left the house before you could work up the courage to go talk to him about it. He’d been the one to push you, though. Would you even be able to face him. Explain to him the actions of your stupid horny brain. You had wondered if he really hadn’t heard you. Would you just be embarrassing yourself by bringing it up? And what about your conversation at the island table?

When you left for work the next day, you hadn’t seen him at all. Usually he’d be in the kitchen making breakfast for the two of you. You’d typically eat together, laugh about the movie you’d watched the night before, then say your goodbyes for the day.

But his bedroom door was shut. So you left. The change in routine was more noticeable than you thought. You didn’t realize how accustomed you were to having Satoru’s presence around you, that it just threw your whole day off.

When you got home that evening you immediately noticed something was off. You spotted more artwork on the walls. More furniture in the previously bare environment. It felt warmer than before, as you placed your bag by the door. More like home.

You heard rustling in the kitchen, making your way to the source of both the noise and the delicious smell. And there he was. In all his handsome glory. Who made him that attractive? You think spitefully.

“Oh! You’re home?” The word home hung a little more heavier than it did before. “Yeah, I just got back.”

He nods, as you take your seat in the island chair. Your mind flashes back to your position there yesterday night before he speaks up.

“How was your day?” The conversation remained light. You talked about each of your days, excluding the awkwardness of the morning.

“What’s with all the new decor? It’s nice don’t get me wrong, but…”

“Ah I wanted to liven the place up a bit…you can add whatever you want. It’s your place too, y’know?”

The words hang there. Should you address it? How would that conversation even go?

“Should we…should we talk about yesterday?” He remained playful and easygoing, “what’s there to talk about?” Was he being serious? He was just going to ignore it? Your confusion must’ve shown on your face—

“I think I was pretty upfront. You aren’t leaving. This is your home as much as mine.” That was only the tip of the iceberg, and you didn’t know how to approach the topic that would change the entire basis of your relationship.

“What are you expecting from me? Some kind of friends with benefits?” Your voice attempting nonchalance yet failing to hid the bitterness. He just didn’t seem the type for relationships. But a situationship did seem right up his alley. His smile tightened as he addressed you coldly, head tilting.

“I don’t care what label you put on it. Long as you aren’t seeing other people. Long as you stay here.” You decide to drop it there, not liking how cold his eyes had gotten. Eating in strained peace.

You shower off before heading to bed, but not before running into him in the hallway. His eyes shamelessly skimmed your body, which thankfully was still wrapped in a towel. You nodded at him before scurrying to your room and closing the door quickly. His gaze still made you so flustered.

You moved to grab your clothes before noting the framed landscape painting on the wall in front of your bed. It was somewhat awkward knowing that he’d been in your room while you were away, but it is his apartment, right?

You dress in your pajamas before tucking yourself in bed. The room was dark as you snuggled in the overly soft comforter.

That was before you heard him.

A low groan, followed by another. You sat bolt upright in bed. His room was on the other side of the wall, so you didn’t need to strain much to hear it. Continuous strings of moans, groans, and pants. You weren’t sure you were hearing right. You wait a few moments, unbelieving. Was he really doing this? Your face flushed red as you lay back in bed. You reach down between your legs feeling the dampness over your clean panties. Damn.

All it took was his voice. You touch your clothed pussy, feeling the damp spot grow. His groans and panting heavier as he begins moaning out your name.

You to freeze up, heart hammering. He was playing so dirty.

Too warm. You pulled the covers back, pulling down your shorts and underwear. The cold air hits your slick pussy and you rub meticulously. Your other hand stifles your moans before they can come out.

Satoru was playing dirty and he knew it. The second he was in bed, his mind never left how you looked walking around in that small towel. The water droplets clinging to your hair, and the smooth expanse of your creamy skin on display.

You were a fucking minx walking around like that. Pulling that stunt yesterday. All he had to do was imagine you, and the rest was history.

He was sure his moaning carried through the walls. He wanted to give you a little something for the day before. A few minutes go by before he pulls out his phone, clicking his new home security app. He’d placed cameras around the house. Expensive ones. Ones you wouldn’t see, hiding behind the decorative paintings he’d placed everywhere. Including your room.

You were lying there on your bed, your finger on that perfect gushing pussy. The camera quality, crystal clear. He couldn’t stop the groan from his mouth, calling out your name softly again. The satisfaction rolled in waves at the movement of your hips, no doubt in response to his voice.

This had been the best investment he’d ever made.

Tensions had been high around the apartment. Much to your displeasure. Satoru was still very friendly with you, spending much of his free time around you. Still very touchy, yet never crossing that line of too much.

He still never addressed your silent war of loudly masturbating in your rooms— a war which you both seemed to continue after that first day. And it was not something you were going to comment on first, especially if he was being stubborn. You’d spent more time out of the house, feeling that tension stifle you. But you’d wanted more from it. Wanted more from your relationship and he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk about it.

He would complain when you stayed out for long periods of time, but it was better than addressing the shift in your dynamic. And you could only stand to see his face so often when you frequently heard him climaxing in the next room over. Your name a constant on his tongue.

You’d met up with your childhood friend from home. You’d known him for years, having grown up together.

Satoru had met him too—funnily enough. He’d been the catalyst for Satoru’s possessive best friend hugging era. That friend.

He’d came into town, and messaged about a meet up. He’d only be there for a day or two. On the way out of the apartment that morning, you let Satoru know you wouldn’t be back for dinner, not wanting him to set the plate. He looked bored when he’d ask where you were going. Even when you told him who you were meeting up with. And he said nothing when you left the house to go to dinner that day.

All of this to say, you now found yourself very shocked. That conversation had only been a few hours ago, though it felt longer. Here you were sat across from your childhood friend.

And to your right was Satoru Gojo.

In the flesh. The look on your friend’s face was nothing short of awkward. He hadn’t expected you to be bringing a plus one. And judging by the look on your face, you hadn’t expected Satoru there either.

Maybe this would’ve been more comfortable had it not been for how Satoru was acting.

Satoru sat back in his chair, legs sprawled out beneath him, and was possibly the only comfortable looking person at the table. His smile broad, eyes easy going. The only tell for his own irritation was the tension in his shoulders.

“Sooo, who’re you again?” His underlying tone, condescending, boarding on mean, but still managed to keep his playful persona.

“Satoru—“ “Ah my name’s—“ You shoot your friend a look for him to shut up, giving him a light kick under the table. “Satoru, you know his name. Stop teasing.”

You give him a pointed look, still unsure why he was even there in the first place. With the way he was acting you had no doubt he’d wanted to make it awkward. You’d found out he was just quirky that way.

“Why’re you even here? This wasn’t supposed to be a group thing-“ He hummed out your name in a singsong voice, his arm swiftly clapping around on your friend’s shoulder, yanking him closer. “He doesn’t seem to mind, mm? What’s your problem with it?”

He pouted out his lips, feigning innocence. His tone doing nothing but stoking the small flame of annoyance in your chest. His puppy eyes were on display, seeming to plead his case with you, but you wouldn’t give in this time. You wouldn’t have minded him joining in, but it was the fact that he just showed up with no word. It was painfully rude. Especially when he seemed less than interested that morning. Your eyes flit to your friends, pitying his position, “Sorry for him-“

“Sorry for what!” Satoru’s loud voice rang out, “I’m a delight!” His voice indignant. You huff out, before hearing the waiter approach the table. She eyed your situation, before flushing at Gojo. Ugh.

“What can I get started for you~?” Her pitch was a bit grating to your ears. Maybe you were being too critical? But the way she eyed up Satoru solidified your critique. Absolutely grating.

Satoru smiled at the soured look painted across your face. It only got worse when the waitress came over, practically tripping over him. It did nothing to help his ego, and he pat your friend on the back, a little more forcefully than he intended before letting go. He was irritated that you were here. That you’d chosen a little date with this waste of space sitting next to him.

His grin was wide, as he made sure to eye you down—gauging your every reaction. But your eyes were on the waitress. Not him. And that annoyed him even more than he cared to admit.

“Mmm” he hummed out, turning his charm up. He hadn’t meant for it to sound so…He leaned over the table, resting his head on one hand, making eye contact with the waitress,

“What’s your sweetest dish?” The question was innocent enough. His tone light—somewhat suggestive, he knew you wouldn’t like it. The waitress flushed, and she looked away, giggling. The sound was a bit annoying, he’d admit.

He didn’t like playing this game, but he couldn’t control his actions when it came to you. His eyes flit back to you-just marginally, hoping he’d find you looking over at him. But you wouldn’t turn your fuckin’ head.

He reminded himself that it was fine. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to remind you who really mattered here.

His competition was sat to his right, his grin uneasy and uncomfortable. Satoru could tell he was a fish out of water, and it satisfied him to no end knowing that he knew. He knew he could never size up to the Satoru Gojo.

If you didn’t see it, he’d just have to show you. Show you that he was the more desirable option. The better pick.

If others showed some interest in him then maybe you’d see it? He contemplated flirting some more, giving you a taste of your own medicine. He eyed the waitress shamelessly, hoping you saw him. Only for a moment.

But his thoughts were racing, and he felt somewhat desperate and out of control. You still refused to look at him, and it really was starting to drive him crazy. If only you hadn’t come out to see this fuckin shrimp.

He wouldn’t wait around for you. He didn’t need you.

But that was a lie. And he knew it. He was just jealous. And he didn’t know how to convey it.

But he knew how to get your attention.

Instigating obvious sexual tension for weeks. Act nonchalant when you spoke about your childhood friend—randomly, your supposed dinner plans with him. Pretend to ignore you as you left the house dressed up that sleek form fitting black dress.

✨Show up when you least expected it.✨ Make your friend uncomfortable, putting you in an awkward position. Flirt with the waitress right in front of you when he felt like you hated him. When he felt like you preferred someone else’s company. And now?

What else could he do to garner your attention? He could make good on his comment from before, bringing her home and fucking her right next to your bedroom door.

But the thought disgusted him. He couldn’t even picture it. And when it reached his mind, he pulled back from the flirting immediately. You glared at him now, your arms crossing over yourself in a self soothing gesture. He couldn't understand how you were able to come out like this. Not when he revolted at the idea of even touching another woman. How could you so casually sit across from another man and eat dinner like it was nothing?

And like always, Satoru took it too far. But damn if it didn’t get him results.

Your eyes were back on him.

“Right, I think I’ll be leaving now—“ you stood up, not even having placed your order. The waitress caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Before you could finish raising from the chair, Satoru followed suit. Standing up frighteningly fast, causing you to stumble back. His quick reflexes caught you on instinct, straightening you back upright. You shrugged him off, not feeling too fond of the white haired sorcerer at the moment.

You looked over at your friend, “I’m so sorry, we’ll just meet up next time, okay?”

Your voice so sincere it made Satoru’s chest hurt. His cursed energy licking up his insides. He could barely reign in the emotions he felt kicking back up. He watched the exchange with growing annoyance, as your friend slowly stood up, agreeing. He hugged you before parting ways, and before Satoru could utter a word, you were flying past him, the opposite way.

“Hey, wait!” His long legs catching up with you quickly. You ignore him, opting to pretend he didn’t exist in that moment.

You were still fucking hungry. And now you were cold, the nighttime air biting at your exposed legs. You walked for a few blocks, as Satoru silently tailed behind you. He hadn’t said a word, and you hadn’t bothered looking back to check if he was still following. You’d been looking for a decent food stall you could buy some noodles at.

Sure, Satoru hasn’t specifically come out and said he’d refrain from talking to other girls. But you didn’t think he’d be so blatant with his flirting. And right in front of you. Right in front of your friend? How embarrassing.

Your conversation flitted back into your mind, remembering the possessive tinge to his words. As long as you stayed with him. And as long as you didn’t see anyone else. No labels needed.

You so badly wished he’d been more forward with his intentions. It almost felt like he was stringing you along. Did he even care about you the way you cared for him? You hadn’t even kissed him yet. But you’d heard the way he’s climaxed. Those two didn’t fit together, you thought.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to kiss him with the little tantrum he’d thrown earlier. And his blatant disregard for your feelings. Did all of that not apply to him? None of it made sense.

And now he was invading your other friendships, putting you in shitty positions by making you look bad. All you wanted was a chill night out. Catching up with a long time friend. Hearing about the new gossip around your hometown. It’d be ages since you’d gone out.

“You ready to talk?” His voice irritated you to no end, your head snapping back to look at him. Only to find yourself looking up. When had he gotten so close? You’d been so surprised you stumbled. “Wha—“

His cocked head back, looking down at you with icy eyes, stopping you in your tracks. Was that malice?—He pulled you off the side of the road, tugging you by your arm into a dim alleyway. You stumbled over your heels before you felt your back hit the freezing wall. He had you caged again, his hands on either side of your head.

“Let’s talk.” He’d decided for you. Voice dipping low, you felt a shudder run up your back. From the cold? or him? you aren’t sure. “Satoru-“ “Are you doing this on purpose.” His voice heavy, still maintaining a teasing lilt to his voice. Always teasing.

“Doing what?”

“Playing these little mind games.” He seemed to seethe, now, “Mind games?” You parrot, dumbfounded at his accusation. What the hell was he on about?

“Yes” he hissed out, laughing, “your little games.” His tone boarded on hysterical now, blindsiding you in seconds. The whiplash inevitable. He seemed to break at your lack of adequate response. Where was this coming from?

He leaned in closer, breath tickling your ear, “I can put up with the moaning and the whimpering coming from your room. The slutty clothes you wear around the house. The sly little looks you give me. The way you call my name in your sleep.” His voice teetering on the edge. “But I won’t have you running around in that skimpy outfit, meeting up with other men for dinner.” words harsh, and blunt.

Was that really how he saw you? Some needy whore he put up with? The thought made you cringe. Why’s he being so mean?

“If you didn’t want me there then you should have said something, Satoru.” You spat his name out like it was a rotten bite of food. Ignoring the fact that he’d finally addressed what you’d been skirting around these past few weeks.

But you’re too moody to deal with his bullshit right now. You go to move, wanting to just go home, “its none of your business what I wear, and who I go out with—“ He uses his body weight to his advantage pressing you back against the wall, his leg slitting between yours, easily riding up your dress. This position feeling uncannily familiar. His hand finds purchase in your hair, yanking your head back to look up at him, holding you in place.

“None of my business? No, Sugar. I’d definitely have to disagree.” His voice cold, any trace of teasing long gone. You struggled a little now, not knowing where he was going with this. But his eyes seemed to be swirling. He had to be going crazy. You refused to respond to this. He wasn’t acting like himself— “Should I just lock you up? Chain you to my bed?” You choke on your own spit. Maybe it’s just a bad joke? But that tone. And his eyes—“Y’know I could, right?” But he isn’t joking. This feeling—his cursed energy licking up your sides, pooling off of him. He wasn’t reining it in. This wasn’t your best friend— “wouldn’t even need your permission. Got a whole place where noooo one else would hear you.” He’s talking to himself—at you. You couldn’t find the words to respond. “You’re lucky I’m so nice.”

You’re shaking now, feeling his cursed energy press into you from every angle. He was suffocating, and for the first time you felt really felt scared of him. That strength always there but he’d never pointed it at you. This felt like a bad dream, your stomach twisting in knots. You just wanted him to stop.

“No other man would let his woman leave the house like that. Dolling herself up to meet some other guy. Whoring herself out-“ “Satoru…please.” His eyes seemed to finally refocus on you.

Your trembling form, the tears pooling in your eyes. From any other man’s perspective, it’d be the right thing to pull back, and let you breathe. If he were any other man, he might’ve given in and given you that comfort you so desperately craved right then and there.

And if it had been any other situation he would have.

He stood between your legs, your tight black dress bunched up high on your thighs. You were straining for some stability. He could feel your heat through your panties, and it made him feel that much more feral. Tears pooled around your eyes in the most provocative way, your lips twisted up like you were ready to cry. The image of you had been burned into his mind. He remembered how pretty you looked when you cried.

Your form trembling beneath him, gave him back all the control he’d lost when he was back at that table. You couldn’t have had any other ideas, coming out tonight looking like that. And to think if he hadn’t shown up, you’d still be sitting there across from another man. Having to watch you doll yourself up for anyone but him.

He hadn’t thought long about it before. What he’d actually do if you decided to try and find another partner. He was always so sure you’d be there for him. By his side. He’d always been the best. The strongest. Who wouldn’t want Satoru Gojo as a partner? He’d been waiting for you. Waiting for you to make a move, for you to come to terms with your feelings and give him more to work with. Flirting, in the only way he knew how. And he thought it’d been going pretty well. Considering how you responded to all of his advances.

But now. Now he couldn’t stand it. The concept of you leaving the house. The concept of you going on dates. The days leading up to tonight, you’d been going out more. Something he couldn’t stand. You’d gone too far this time. Satoru had already come to terms with all of his feelings. It was about time you did too. But he didn’t intend to play nice after what you’d done.

“What’s wrong?” He feigned a comforting tone. You began sniffling, trying to keep it together. “You gonna fuckin’ cry? After stringing me along like that?”

Looking up at him with those eyes. It made him fuckin insane. Your voice was shaky, “I didn’t—“ “I know you’re not gonna say you didn’t try and play me. You wouldn’t be that stupid to think this whole mess was a good idea? That you’d forgotten what I told you before.”

You didn’t know what to say, your mind so hazy and frazzled from your oncoming mental breakdown. He wasn’t helping it either with his incessant badgering. He was easily overcrowding you, his frame blocking your field of view. Your breathing picked up as you felt your vision closing in. He was everywhere. And all in between.

You’d wanted to tell him you really had only been going out to see a friend. And you really didn’t think it was that far off to assume you and Satoru weren’t together. But it was a little silly saying that. To not feel somewhat responsible for this. He was jealous of your friend. Fine. You could work with that. But were you dating? Did he consider what you’d had an actual relationship? You hadn’t even talked about it. Really talked about it. You kept repeating to yourself that you could fix this. You struggled to find the breaths and the words to voice your placations.

“I-I’m sorry.” You whisper, your voice somewhat breathy from panic. “Huuhh~” his voice drawn out, boarding on cruel (in your opinion) “What’d you say?” He leaned closer, voice lowering. “you’re too quiet.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” Your voice wobbled, as you tried not to cry. A tear made its way down your cheek despite your best efforts. You still loved him. Despite how much he was scaring you right now. You still loved your best friend. “Aww~” his thumb wiped away your tear, “you think a ‘sorry’s gonna cut it?” You couldn’t stop the trembling now, his actions boarding on unpredictable. He wasn’t being the best right now, but when this was over, it would all be ok. Everything would be ok.

Satoru had to think quickly. And his mind was running a mile a second. He had you pinned against himself and the wall, the alleyway hidden from flooded roads.

It was late, and the odds of being interrupted were low. He wouldn’t let the moment slip. He had to solidify his place in your life. Had to push past your thoughts of him being friendly or playful. He’d say anything—do anything if it meant no one else’d have you. And that thought terrified him. He was positive that if another man touched you, he’d rip his throat out. Without batting an eye. He’d been ready to do so had your “friend” given any slight hint of wanting to hook up. He had been so sure he’d scared him away last time, but it seems he hadn’t taken the hint.

You watched Satoru carefully, his words sinking in. You still had no idea what he wanted from you. Had he not wanted an apology? Was he teasing you again? “Satoru, I don’t know—“ he quickly leaned in—kissing you. His teeth nearly knocking against yours as he further dominated your space. His hand still tangled up in the back of your hair.

He groaned into you, rocking himself closer against your cunt. You were so out of breath, you opened for air, only to have his tongue push through your lips. The feeling of him —all of him—was enough to make your head spin and your mind go blank. His proximity calmed your nerves in a way that made you feel more antsy than ever before. His hands left your hair, and began to roam. Feeling, clinging to places he hadn’t been before. At least not ‘intentionally’.

Giving you a second to breathe, his eyes darted, trailing his hands, his head resting on your shoulder. He was panting like a dog now. He’d never felt so riled up. It was only when he was with you. Only with you.

He’d easily found his way under your dress, tugging the fabric up to expose you to the cold night air. “W-wait, please—“ Your tugging on his arm did nothing to stop him, as his free hand found its way around your neck. A firm warning to shut up. His other hand, groping at your pillowy thighs, making their way up your side, fingers toying the underside of your bra. He shifted his thigh, pushing it right against your clothed cunt. You’d let out a breathy moan at this, as he loosed his hold on your neck.

He could see the way you responded to him. You were just as desperate as he was. He could feel you grind your hips against his thigh. The fabric of his pants dampening from the contact, as he released a string of curses. Your nails clawing into his shoulders as he started leaving wet open mouthed kisses against your neck. You felt so fucking good. He could feel himself succumbing to your needy whimpers, placing his clothes cock right where your entrance was hiding. His hips setting a rhythm that left you whining against him. He never wanted this to end.

All those nights spent listening to your siren’s call through the walls. All of those nights spent listening to your needy whines and whimpers. Begging for someone to come fuck you. Watching you through those cameras. Fucking his fist so hard, til he became his own needy pathetic whimpering mess. So close, yet he wasn’t ever able to touch. You were a fucking tease. And he loved every bit of you.

You were panting again. You felt yourself grow wet, your thighs seeking some friction against his leg. You needed to hold onto something. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“You wet, baby?” His voice was teasing again, loving the way your pussy seemed to beg for him. He’d slotted himself fully between you, holding one of your legs up only to grind against your soaked pussy. When you don’t respond, his fingers curl around your neck tighter. You nod, breathlessly. “yes, yes, please, feel s’good” you’re fighting to stand, balancing on one leg, but you were sure he’d catch you if you stumbled.

“Ah, so honest. Where was this good girl earlier?” He felt his cock strain against his pants, almost painfully. “So obedient now.” Your eyes glazed, you mind filling with lewd fantasies of him spanking you black and blue for disobeying his word. You weren’t a virgin by any means, but you sure as hell weren’t ready for this man. “Want me to fuck you here?”

His eyes watched you closely, scanning for any sign that you wanted him to stop. Though he doesn’t think he’d stop even if you had wanted him to. Finding nothing but lust clouding your vision, his fingers press in between your legs, edging the spot you needed him the most. He traced circles across your clit, stalling his dry humping. He was tempted just to eat out your pretty pussy there and now, feeling the slick pooling on his fingers. “Satoru,” you let out a breathy whine, bucking your hips.

“There you go. Look at you. You’re drenched for me.” You didn’t have the head space to be embarrassed now. When his fingers finally found your clit, it was game over. Your fingers dug into his back, desperately holding yourself up. His hand around your thigh offering some support as your knees buckled under you.

“Do you think you deserve to cum tonight?” Your gaze desperately snaps up to his. Your eyes pleading to let you cum. Begging him. He’s smiling at you, a genuine lazy smile. But his eyes do all the talking. “Answer me, pretty girl.”

You nod eagerly, feeling your hips push against his fingers again. He’s circling, slow and steady, painfully slow, never dipping into your dripping hole.

“Where’d that honesty go?” He narrowed his eyes, tutting. “Think long and hard about what you did tonight. Why you shouldn’t have gone out with him.” His words continued to wrap around your haze ridden mind, his pace picking up finally. “why you shouldn’t make me do unnecessary shit to earn your attention.” His voice nearing hostile now, as he rubbed your clit with damn near precision. “You think I like seeing you with him? That I like other men’s eyes on this body.” He was relentless in his pace, you felt yourself close, body stilling and mind barely listening, nails biting into him. You tried so hard to listen to him. So hard to be a good girl. So hard not to cum. “You’re mine. Everything that involves you, involves me. Every part of you—mine. Don’t you fuckin’ forget who you belong to.”

The sound of his voice mixed with his fingers slotting against you—not even inside you yet—had you climaxing hard. Your pussy clenching-pulsating around nothing. Satoru watch you come down from your high, transfixed on your face. On the way your hips pushed into him. The way your cum mixed slick coated his hand and fingers, dripping on his thigh. He was fucking obsessed. His fingers continue slowly circling your clit, maintaining a slow punishing pace. Your body going through shockwaves with each swipe, you desperately wiggle to get away, feeling heavily overstimulated.

“Please-please stop, ‘Toru, please, please” your whimpers and pleas going straight to his cock head. He couldn’t stop himself from abusing your cunt, wanting nothing more than to watch you squirm in his arms. He’d be nice.

He brought his fingers to his lips, taking a long digit into his mouth. Something he’d never wanted to do before. He just couldn’t help the morbid curiosity—what did you taste like? And fuck you tasted amazing. He cleaned his fingers, eyeing you hungrily.

“Who knew you’d be so naughty? Did you even listen to me?” His tone taunting, as if he were scolding a child. He flipped you around, pushing your chest against the wall, practically bending you over. It was uncomfortable to say the least. When you tried to move, he pressed his chest up against your back, leaning over you. Locking you in place. You felt his dick pressed against your ass, his hands on your hips.

“Stay still for me, yeah?” He rutted against you, letting out a strained groan.

“S’not fair.” He huffed against your neck, dry fucking you against the wall. Your previous slick trailing down your leg. You needed him inside you. So so so badly. “You don’t play fair.”

His hand finally made its way back to what you sure was a rats nest of hair. He’d already tangled it up either way. He finally had enough of the teasing, pulling himself free from his pants. He slotted himself between your folds, gathering some least your honeyed goodness before brutally thrusting into you.

He’d buried himself to the hilt, his hand holding your hip in place—leaving you no where to go. You’d wiggled to move away, and at your whimper, he all but growled into your neck, “take it. You’ll take it til I’m done. You hear me?”

He pulled himself to the tip before slamming himself into again, repeating the process over and over and over. The position had him hitting your sweet spot each thrust, the quiet whimpers turning into louder moans as his hand found its way to your mouth, fingers thrusting inside, gagging you. “You forget where we are? Pipe down, pretty girl. Don’t wanna get caught, do you?” He left his fingers in your mouth, fucking fiercely into you. Driving into you with a force that left you gasping. Each push pulled you closer to the edge as you felt like you were going to—needed to cum again.

He felt your cunt clench around his dick, felt it more than you knew. He felt everything tenfold, his infinity working overtime on all of his senses. His cursed energy never dropping. Felt your cunt pulsating around him, heard every wet slap his balls made against your puffy clit. Felt how you clenched up when he spoke to you, and wondered if you were always like that. His skin was set on fire—every part that touched you, burned.

“Shouldn’t even be getting off to this, y’know? Supposed to be my turn.” Each word enunciated by a rough thrust into you, your hushed moans and pants spurring him on. He was convinced you were his everything. You were just so tight and so warm. He wasn’t able to hold back when he pumped you full, his seed deep inside. He moaned out your name as he felt your cunt spasming around his dick. Sucking him in, milking his cock dry. His fingers slipping from your lips—tightly gripping your neck, his other brushing your hip.

He hadn’t bothered pulling out. Why would he? It wasn’t like he’d planned on letting you leave in the first place.

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tarohugs · 2 days ago

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after you find out they cheated (nct dream)

►ot7 x reader

► angst!! some (very minute) fluff, cliff hangers..

►read part 1 here!

►a/n part 2 as requested!! although this was def not what some wanted i think this turn off events is much better. please enjoy and lmk if u do

MARK

After the dispatch rumors, Mark’s name trended on social media for the remainder of the month. Seeing his face constantly had upset you tremendously to the point where you had to mute his name and every nickname given to the boy.

You two had not talked since he admitted to you over text he had cheated. He made many attempts to come over and make amends but to no avail, you paid no remorse to his actions. Truthfully, Mark was the love of your life and you dearly wanted to give him a chance considering he was trying his best to set forth with your relationship, but something about you couldn’t let him off so easily.

Throughout the course of your relationship with Mark, he had always said you “were the one” and you shared many intimate moments together. Now, as you watch him through your doorbell camera making his final attempt at reconciling, you decide it is time to finally communicate your true feelings.

He had approached your front door with flowers and a box of your favorite chocolates along with other of your most beloved items you enjoyed. His eyes swelled with tears as he began to stutter words when you opened the front door.

“Y-y/n,” Mark faltered in shock that you opened the door before he even had the chance to knock. “I have a lot to explain, just please listen-”

You laughed, surprised he thought he even had a chance, “Mark, you know what you did was wrong and nothing can change that. Look, I didn’t answer to hear you out, I answered to tell you I’m over you and to stop bothering me.” Your eyes watered as you made eye contact with the boy that was once your lover.

“You know it’s just Dispatch,” he asserted, “None of that was the truth, you know this. Please, just listen to me, I can explain everything to you even if you don’t want to hear it. Don’t just throw away years of us for something so stupid.”

You gasped, shocked that he would claim this was stupid, “There’s nothing to explain to me, you fucked up and this is over. None of the shit I’ve seen about you this month was stupid. I’m not dumb, Mark, don’t treat me like this. You don’t deserve a second chance.”

Mark tried to speak again but you immediately shut him down with the palm of your hand signaling him to stop. Maybe you would give him a chance another day but this wasn’t the time. You never accepted the gifts from him as you shut the door in his face.

As months went on after your final encounter with Mark, he made no other attempts to reunite with you, accepting you were ready to move on to someone better. No texts, no knocking on your door, no phonecalls, no contact at all. Your life with Mark was over for good.

RENJUN

When Renjun had admitted to you he cheated, you didn’t believe his words at first. He had to be joking, I mean who was he to cheat anyways? He was always loyal to you and never failed to ensure you were the number one thing in his life. What could possibly bring him to cheat on you?

“Renjun, what are you talking about?” you questioned, trying to come up with some explanation for his infidelity.

He couldn’t look you in the eyes as he confessed, “You know Yeji? My new coworker? We were at a holiday party and I was drunk and you know how the rest played out.”

You couldn’t believe his words. Renjun was always the type to inform you of every event in his life. When he had told you about his annual holiday work parties, he always invited you, this year was the first you had heard nothing. As you came to the realization why, you finally connected the dots.

Even though Renjun excused himself by offering that he was drunk, this wasn’t a drunken mistake. Renjun was intentional with his actions. If he had intended not to invite you in the first place, his objective was clear he was trying to get in Yeji’s pants.

Not a single bone in your body felt remorse for the boy as you came to comprehend his efforts to cheat on you. “Get out,” you stated strictly, offering no emotion for Renjun to crack.

“Y/n, just give me a chance. I’ll make it up to you,” he began to plead, clutching his fingers together to create a dramatic effect. Nothing could make you forgive him.

“Renjun, you knew what you did. You’re better than this and I deserve better than whatever is going on with you,” you attempted to excuse his infidelity. Renjun had always been truthful with you and although his activities were clear, you had wanted to give him a chance despite your brain telling you not to.

Renjun simply nodded your head at your statement, beginning to get out of your once shared bed and gather his belongings. He didn’t speak a word as he stuffed his suitcase full other than, “I’ll get the rest of my things later.” He didn’t though, after that night he had left for good.

He never texted you to gather his possessions or make amends. You went on for weeks of no contact and eventually trashed his uncollected belongings due to the high level of emotion they caused you. Not wanting to make the first text, you waited and waited for him to make a move.

Eventually your waiting had done you justice has you finally received a message from your ex-boyfriend.

renjun: y/n

renjun: let’s talk

JENO

After many failed attempts of trying to make Jeno offer some sort of apology for his actions, he eventually started ghosting you as a whole. You couldn’t believe he could once be so loving and switch so easily to being the toxic ex-boyfriend he would shame before.

The I love you’s turned into Leave me alone’s as you constantly tried to confront him. During the course of your relationship, you two had moved in together and when he cheated on you he made no attempt to move out - simply inviting other girls over without a care in the world.

Luckily, you two had separate rooms but this didn’t change the fact you could still hear the banging of his bedframe against the wall from one of his many one night stands. One night you had gotten so agitated by his thoughtless actions and confronted him about what was going on.

“Jeno,” you barged into his room, interrupting whatever fuck he had going on. “I’ve had enough of this.”

He pushed the half-naked girl off of him, slowly making his way to throw on a shirt, telling the girl to leave. She scoffed at you limiting her time with Jeno but quickly put on her scattered clothes, leaving your shared apartment. “Y/n, what the fuck is your problem,” he expressed angrily, clearly upset that you would interrupt such an intimate moment.

“Look Jeno, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but I’ve had enough of it. Either you stop with this or you leave. You were the one that fucked up. Figure out your life,” you finally stood your ground. Jeno had always been dominant in your relationship, and after your “break-up” this prevailed.

He constantly made you feel bad about yourself, blaming you for “not being good enough” as the reason he had to cheat on you. Yeah, this hurt like hell. However, you were desperate to make Jeno love you again, even if he had acted so wrongly.

Jeno rolled his eyes at your scolding, “If you want me out y/n, so be it. Just know I won’t come back.” He shut the door in your face as you listened to him slam drawers and punch the wall in anger.

You ran back to your room and shut the door behind you, sliding down it as tears began to blind your eyes. What had happened to Jeno?

The next morning you woke up with no trace of Jeno to be found. He offered no explanation for what had changed him so tremendously but you figured you would find out when you received a knock on the door from Jaemin, Jeno’s best friend.

You answered the door reluctantly, scared Jaemin would make a comment on your puffy eyes and dishelved features. “Jaemin, what’s wrong?” you questioned, taking in his appearance. He seemed to be in the same situation as you, noticing his freshly awoken demeanor.

“Y/n, we need to talk. It’s about Jeno,” he sighed, stepping into your apartment.

HAECHAN

When Haechan saw the look on your face after you discovered him cheating, endless apologies left his mouth. He had never seen you so upset and angry with him, he admitted he deserved your backlash.

Even though he was quick to beg for your forgiveness, you never offered it to him, opting to move on instead. You were petty and getting back together with Haechan would not be the power move.

Although you had made it clear you were over Haechan, you never made an official attempt at breaking up with him. Instead, you had simply ghosted him as you didn’t want to make any contact with your so-called ex-boyfriend. This, instead, led you to have even more difficulties moving on as you felt remorse hooking up with other men due to some sort of tie still being connected to the boy.

Months went by and all the efforts you made to sleep with random strangers were ruined as you felt a constant cloud of guilt hanging over you. You tried to get over him by getting blackout drunk at random parties, knowing sober you would make no effort to move on. You were unsuccessful most nights but one night you were finally convinced it was your time.

Unfortunately, the guy that you landed with in bed was only victorious due to the similar features he shared with Haechan. His hair, his voice, his eyes - everything reminded you of him. Yeah, you had technically not gotten over him, but it was a start!

You were gracious enough to recognize this was a lead in the right direction as you had finally slept with another guy since your relationship with Haechan “ended.” Though, as you began to sober up as you awoke from your one night stand, you couldn’t help but notice the man in your bed appeared too close to Haechan.

As you took a closer look, your suspicions were confirmed. You were back to square one.

JAEMIN

Following the numerous days you had left your shared apartment with Jaemin, he began to grow concerned for your being and where you were staying. You had opted to reside in your best friend's house as she was the only one kind enough to offer you a place to stay.

Jaemin knew you lacked options to inhabit for the time being and was quick to conclude your location. No longer than two days of you staying there, Jaemin had made his way into her apartment with a bouquet of roses, reciting the speech of apologies for you to hear.

“Y/n,” he sighed, moving closer to you when you opened the front door, “I know you want nothing to do with me, but I have a lot of explaining to do. I’m so sorry for getting upset at you, you did nothing wrong. Please forgive me.”

You laughed in his face. Did he really think you would forgive him so easily? “Jaemin, I can’t believe you right now. You owe me a lot more than this,” you asserted.

He knew you would be reluctant to accept his expression of regret but he knew he could convince you no matter what it would take. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” he breathed, handing you the flowers, “please give me another chance. I’ll show you the world.”

It’s crazy to think the way his final sentence could be perceived so differently. Once you had viewed the words as a way of him expressing his love, now it was simply his manipulating attempt to win you over.

Although you were upset with Jaemin for his actions, you couldn’t hate him. You had loved him for months on end and it would be difficult to get over such emotions in such a short time period. You allowed his manipulation to work on you as you offered him a second chance.

You two continued your relationship for months, rebuilding the connection you once had, this time with more caution. As you began to fall in love again, you couldn’t help but wonder who the girl he had cheated on you with had been. This prompted you to begin searching his phone for clues on who the mistress could possibly be.

When you arrive upon your best friend's name in his recent text messages, you ponder what the two would be conversing. As you scroll through their texts and see the endless meetups and shared intimate texts, the story finally clicked into place.

CHENLE

After Eric had shown you the texts he shared with Chenle, he was quick to console you over your ex-boyfriend. You had scheduled a meetup with Chenle immediately after and broke up with him, offering no time for an explanation from him. Eric and Yuna had been good friends of yours for years, you knew everything they told you was the truth with no sugarcoating.

As time went on, you and Eric’s relationship began to prosper into something more, sharing many endless night together but never making it further than a few stolen kisses. A couple weeks after your break up with Chenle, Eric had attempted to ask you on a date but you were quick to deny him stating that it was too early for him to make a move.

“Y/n, I don’t understand. Were those drunken nights nothing to you?” Eric questioned, angered you could deny him so easily.

You shook your head, upset that he would be so ignorant to ignore your emotions. “You know I just got out of a relationship, Eric, those nights meant something I’m just not ready for commitment yet.” Truthfully you never felt much for him when you were dating Chenle, but due to his chivalrous acts of exposing your cheating boyfriend, you had gained some attachment to the boy.

Eric accepted your explanation but still attempted to win you over multiple nights in a row. Eventually, you fell into his trap and accepted going on a date with him. As you delved into a new relationship with Eric, you couldn’t help but feel as though something was off.

Yuna wasn’t very supportive of your relationship after a couple weeks of being with him. She noticed a change in your attitude and offered no reasoning of why she further began to distance yourself from you two. The three of you were inseparable for years so you figured she was just beginning to adjust to being a third wheel.

Though something about Yuna’s lack of support for your relationship with Eric struck a nerve inside you, you couldn’t help but feel there was an underlying message behind her actions. When you received a message from the girl, you were in for a ride.

yuna!!!: don’t hate me but eric lied about chenle

JISUNG

Accidentally live streaming is one thing, having a girl speaking in the background is another. Netizens were quick to spread rumours about who the mysterious voice was in Jisung’s accidental live stream. You were also curious as to know what Jisung was truly doing in that moment of vulnerability, but when you sent him various concerned and aggravated messages, you realized none of your texts were delivered to his phone. Jisung had blocked you.

Being an idol means strict punishment from companies - and under the circumstances Jisung had fucked up, he was in for trouble. Of course his managers were aware Jisung was dating you, so they were quick to assume the mystery girl was you. Due to this, they were punished Jisung by banning all contact he had with you. This led you to having no reasoning for what was going on that day.

You attempted to contact his members but they made no effort to offer you any explanation either, most likely scared they, too, would get in trouble. If you weren’t terrified of the company, you would reach out to his managers yourself, but you had heard of the things they did to idols and you didn’t want to risk any chance of communication you had with Jisung.

After months of no contact with the boy, you finally began to accept he wouldn’t be returning back to your life any time soon; however, when you received a letter in the mail from Park Jisung, a sliver of hope ran through your veins that this chapter of worrying would finally come to an end.

As you opened and read the handwritten letter he had graciously sent, your eyes began to shed tears. In his heartfelt letter, he sent numerous apologies and explained the girl in the video had been one of his cousins, he was simply hanging out with family and didn’t tell you because he wanted to surprise you with a gift she had intended on giving you.

Although you were reluctant to believe such a fallacy, you knew Jisung better than anyone else, he had to be telling the truth. The only problem was, that there was no way to contact Jisung other than via the mail. Even though you had found out the truth, what was the cost?

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