#vortexes and velvets

[cactfold]

Have I come out as a Kite yumeshipper on here yet

[julesonjupiter]

is anyone in this fandom anymore

[opal6561]

Calling All Object Show Fans!

Vortexes & Voyages by Atlas is a show you need to catch up on. I've even auditioned to voice act for a few characters!

If you're interested, join the MothSpot Discord server for updates on this returning show:

[corallapis]

#bit of a horrible lindworm thing going on. let me shed one more skin ill get it right this time. just one more. ill reach my core i promise. #<-guy that's never going to be normal (@seedsofdoom)

also forced regeneration in the hopes you just won't be mentally ill anymore as a thing in gallifreyan healthcare + the master burning thru 12 lives by the time the doctor's on his 3rd

[sparklingblu]

A Christmas Carol

Ft. Sakura, Yunjin and Kazuha (and a slither of Irene)

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

This is my christmas fic. Not really jolly but well..

The first snow of December fell lazily, like the sky itself had decided to procrastinate. Arbor's edge, a town that always felt too small and too big at the same time, was cloaked in a thin blanket of white. The streetlamps casted ghastly glows on the street jostling with cheerful people but to you, it felt more like a reminder that the holiday season was here, whether you wanted it or not.

You sat in the corner booth of a diner you were too lazy to memorize the name, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone lukewarm. The spoon scraped the bottom of the cup as you stir it mindlessly, having nothing better to do with your hands. Christmas music droned softly through the speakers - some old crooner crooning about snow and mistletoes. You hated mistletoes. Maybe you hated the way it made you remember her.

"Pie?" the waitress asked, her voice chipier in a way that made your teeth ache. Her name tag read Heather, and there was a spring of plastic holly pinned to her apron. Her smile was the kind that stretched too wide, like she's worried her friendliness wouldn't show.

You shook your head. "Just the coffee"

She hestiated for a second then jingled off back to the counter, her fake earrings chiming faintly. The lines on your face seemed to be etched deeper in the black surface of the coffee, swirling like a vortex from your stirs.

Outside, the street was alive with people bundled in scarves and parkas, carrying their holiday groceries and laughing at things you couldn't hear. The light strung along the buildings blinked in unison, a rhythm you found unnervingly cheerful. You sighed and turned your attention back to the window where frost patterns crept across the glass like a map to nowhere.

The coffee had gone cold, but you kept sipping it, more out of habit than need. It's a silent rebellion against the idea that you should leave and go home, where an old friend called emptiness awaited. You knew the routine too well: the dead silence of the apartment, the hum of the fridges compensating for the lack of conversation.

Somewhere behind the counter, Heather laughed like a blissful hyena at someone's joke. Mixed with the clinks of dishes, it's enough to make you feel more like a ghost than a person.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:14 PM. Too early to call it a night but too late to do anything useful. The snow outside was starting to pick up, accumulating in thick layers that turns sidewalks into slick ribbons of slush. People were retreating into their homes, the streets emptying except for the occasional cars that passed by, their headlights cutting through the dark.

The bell above the diner's door jingled but you barely glanced up. Another customer. Someone you probably didn't know. Someone passing through. But the change their presence brought is unmistakable. You felt a shift in the air, like the pressure had dropped. The way it does before a storm.

"Pretty cold, huh?" Heather's voice rang out, too bright for her own good. You caught a glimpse of the new arrival from the corner of your eyes: a woman in a red velvet dress with white fur trim along the neckline and the hem. Like someone who just returns from a Christmas themed costume party. It's a wonder how she's able to withstand the cold in such a short dress.

You didn't mean to stare but something about her caught you. Maybe it was the way she strides without a hint of jolly christmas spirit - unlike most people this time of the year. Or it's the primal instinct of a male to indulge in the presence of a female. Either way, your eyes were fixed.

She slid into the booth and sat perfectly still, like she belonged here. She must know you had been staring because she returns your gaze with an intensity no less than yours. And you were breathtaken.

There could be two reasons for this. Actually, three.

The other party is monstrously ugly.

The other party is otherworldly beautiful.

You have gotten so drunk that you have started hallucinating.

Considering coffee was the only thing you had had the whole day, the second option is valid for this matter. Her face is angelic in a way angels could never be. From her dark irises to the curve of her chin, everything screams God's favorite. Maybe someone upstairs have decided to brought a blessing to your miserable holiday.

"Ethan Collaway" she said, voice soft but unyielding.

Your heart dropped. You had never met her. You were sure of it.

"Do I know you?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

The woman tilts her head slightly, as if she's amused by your question. "Not yet"

You blinked, trying to make sense of her words. She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms like she's disappointed by your confusion.

"Not yet?" you repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means" she smiled faintly. "that we are about to get very well acquainted. But there's no need to rush. Finish your coffee first"

You glanced down at the cup, now completely cold. "I think I'm done"

She raised an eyebrow, her expression hovering between pity and amusement. "Suit yourself. But you will regret wasting the small comforts later. You always do"

You shifted uneasily at her words. "Okay" you said. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"I know more than your name, Ethan" she leans forward now, resting her elbows on the table. Her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment everything seemed to fade away - the hum of conversation, the clink of dishes, even Heather's festive laughter faded away, leaving only you and her in isolation.

"I know the weigh you carry" she continued, voice impossibly steady. "I know you sit in that apartment of yours, staring at walls that have nothing to say. Trying to fill the void in your heart with alcohol when you know there's only one person who can do the job. And I know you yearn for a second chance. An opportunity to set things right again" she pauses, breathe in. "But it's too late, isn't it? People regrets only when things are broken and can't be repaired. And when you hear laughter, like the kind outside this window" - she gestured towards the frost covered glass - "you tell yourself it's just noise. But deep down, you wonder what it feels like to laugh like that again. To feel loved.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "Listen. I don't know what game you're trying to play but-"

"No games" she interrupted. "Just the truth. And here's another: tonight is the first step. A choice, really. Stay as you are - alone and bitter - or take a chance on something different"

Your laugh came out shriller than you intended, the kind of defensiveness that only comes when someone hits a nerve. "Different? You speak like you're the Ghost of Christmas Past or something"

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Close. But I prefer Irene"

Before you can respond, the bell above the diner chimed again. You turned instinctively, expecting to see a customer. Instead, the room seemed to shift again, the air growing colder despite the warmth of the heater. When you looked back at the woman, she weren't there anymore.

She was standing beside you now, so close that her voice seemed to pierce right into your ears.

"Pay attention, Ethan" she warned, voice commanding. "The clock is ticking"

And just like that, the lights flickered, and everything went dark.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The diner completely dissolved into blackness so complete it felt like falling into a void. For a moment, the only sound you could hear is the faint hum of your own pulse, racing so fast as if to catch up with reality.

Then a light appeared - small at first but quickly growing into a warm glow that engulfed everything. You blinked, trying to shield your eyes. But the action is not needed. Because this light didn't sting. It was different - soft and familiar.

When your vision cleared, you found yourself in an apartment. The smell of stale air filled your nose, mixed with the faint, phantom trace of something like jasmine. Or lavender. Something entirely hers.

This was your apartment, unmistakably. But it's a stark contrast to the mess it was now. The walls were bright with fresh paint. Not a trace of cobwebs or dust. The stacks of books were stacked neatly on a table. Everything was so neat. So in order. So her.

"It's funny" the woman, now known as Irene, mused behind you. "How this place had looked habitable. Like an actual home"

Reluctantly, you moved to a familiar spot by the couch - that spot you'd always leave your shoes no matter how much she grumbled about it. You looked up and there it was: The past you and Sakura.

She was standing at the kitchen counter, her hair falling in loose strands around her shoulders, a soft grin on her lips. She wore one of your oversized sweaters, sleeves too long for her hands but she didn't seem to mind it. She was holding a mug of something - probably tea - and she was laughing. At you.

"No, no, Ethan" she was saying in the familiar voice you had missed so much it hit you square in the chest when you heard it again. "You don't just pour the milk first. That's sacrilege. It's tea making 101"

You were standing across from her, arms crossed in mock defiant. "It tastes the same either way. You are just being picky"

She gasped, feigning outrage. "Picky? That's rich coming from a guy who needs his peanut butter spread to the edge on every sandwich"

You grinned then, leaning against the counter. "Details matter"

"And yet, you still don't understand tea", she teased, sipping from her mug. The light in her eyes shone brighter when she smiles - its warmth never failing to pull you in, no matter how bad your day was.

"See how she spoke so softly" Irene said behind the present you. "Even your stubbornness seemed smaller when she spoke"

The scene shifted like a film cutting to the next reel. Now, it was the couch - your couch, where the cushions were sunken just slightly on her sides. She was curled up against you, a book opened in her lap - probably Edgar Allan Poe - that neither of you were reading. Her fingers traced invisible patterns on your forearm, and your head rested lightly against hers.

"I think this is my favorite spot" she muttered, her fingers pausing their journey across your skin.

"Here?" you asked, shifting slightly to look at her.

"Here. There. Anywhere. With you" she answered, her eyes meeting yours like a silent dare for you to argue.

You didn't. Instead, you leaned in, pressing your forehead lightly against hers. A small gesture, but it mattered the world to you.

"Do you ever think about the future" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, your hand brushing her cheek. "The future as in....?"

"As in us" she said, pulling back just enough to search your face. "Where we'll go. What we'll be"

"I think" you answered carefully, slowly. "that whenever we end up, I'll be fine as long as it's with you"

A laugh bubbled out of her, her cheeks tinted rosy with a blush. "That's too smooth. Did you practice that in the mirror?"

"No" you said, smiling despite yourself. "Now I'm glad I didn't screw it up"

She kissed you then - not hurried or desperate, but softly, like she was trying to memorize the shape of your lips against her. It's the kind of kiss that lingered forever long after it ceased.

The memory faded then, just as quickly as it had come. But your mind continued to play out the scene.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Fragment 1

"Mhmm, babe. Ugh, don't stop" Sakura's slender frame writhed beneath you as your cock entered and re-entered her wet slit in a steady rhythm. The old couch sunk and creak with each thrust you made, adding to the symphony of her beautiful moans. Unlike the soft, tender girl she mostly was, Sakura was vocal at sex - never failing to express her gratitude when your huge cock stretched her out. The neighbors next doors must be accustomed to the sound by now. You doubt these walls are thick enough to silence her pleas not to stop. You couldn't care less. Not now.

"Fuck. You are stretching me out so good. Don't stop babe. Oh My God" Sakura cried out as you gave her a particularly hard thrust, your tip kissing her cunt. And more curses and moans followed as you continued to hammer her cunt relentlessly. "Fuck. Fuck. Don't stop" she begs, her nails digging into your back. "Fuck me harder babe. Stretch my tight pussy with your huge cock"

See. This is what you loved about her. She's an angel, really but when you two got up close and personal, that angel is banished, fallen from grace. Instead, a demon possessed her. The kind that can't get enough of your huge cock stirring up her insides over and over. Always begging for more. Never satisfied. No matter how much you breed her.

Her walls clenched around you, milking your shaft as you took her over and over. You were as desperate as her for this. Because the feeling of her warm wet hole twitching around you was like nothing else. And she would say the same way about how good you filled her up. She already did, actually.

"You are so fucking tight, Sakura" you grunted as Sakura's pussy continued to squeeze you like a vice. "I'm going to ruin this little cunt. You are gonna be so full when I'm done with you"

"Yes, yea. Fuck me harder" Sakura screamed, her perky tits bouncing in your face. Unable to resist the sight, you lean down, putting one of her stiff nipples into your mouth. A jolt resonated through her body as you bite down gently, kneading the soft flesh between your teeth. "Make me your dirty little slut"

Who would think the girl who said nothing but sweet words to you would be begging to be your slut? But it's no longer a surprise, rrally. You have learned enough about Sakura's versatility. Forever your angel. Occasionally your slut.

"Fuck. You are going to make me cum" Sakura cried between each breath you took away with your brutal thrusts. Sweat had accumulated on her skin from the relentless pounding she took, dripping in clear streaks. Her eyes, dilated and hazy, did a better job than her words to speak about the onslaught of pleasure she's under.

Sakura's pussy is no easy hole to stretch but your hips kept bucking, as though driven by a supernatural force. You didn't care about how sore you must be the next morning nor how she wouldn't be able to walk for days after you were done. All you care about was this: the collision between your pelvises each time you make contact . The action itself more romantic to you than any tender gesture. This is connection- you two becoming one.

"i'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cummingggg" Sakura repeated the words like a mantra as she creamed on your cock, her back curving gracefully as her legs trembled. The way her walls pulsated around you as her juice gushed out was enough to send you over the edge. Soon, you were following her in the flight of bliss, pumping spurt after spurt of your warm load into her welcoming cunt.

It took a few more slow thrusts before you finally extracted your shaft out of Sakura's now spent hole. Your cum dripped out of her in a white streak as soon as the stuffing is removed. It stained the couch. Just like countless other times.

You studied Sakura's face, which now wore a peaceful, dormant mask. Her chest rised and fell steadily with her breath and her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Still, she doesn't fail to give you that warm smile that looked out of place in her current state. "You came a lot" she panted, then "I love you"

You didn't know if it's possible to replace lust with love right after sex but in that moment, you seemed to. "I love you too, Sakura. Always"

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

You blinked, coming back to your senses and turned to Irene, your throat tight. "Why are you showing me this?"

Irene's expression was unreadable. "Because she gave you something too good for you. Something you don't know how to hold. And you have been letting it slip through your fingers ever since"

You clenched your fists, the pain in your chest unbearble. "What do you want me to do? Go back? Fix it? It's too late. She's gone"

"Gone" she agreed, her voice soft. "But not forgotten. Maybe that's the problem"

Once again, the world blurred away into a swirl of white and green. When it settled again, you are standing on a path, flanked on both sides by tall, snow-dusted pines. The air was crisp, just the right amount of cold to be cozy. Snow fell steadily, softening the edges around everything - the lmapposts, the branches, the footprints trailing along the path.

And then you saw them.

You and Sakura.

She was walking slightly ahead, bundled in a red scarf and a cream coat that rebelled against the snowflakes. Her breath misted in the air as she turned to you - her younger self - her cheeks pink from the cold.

"Ethan, you are walking like a tortoise" she called, wearing that same warm smile. "It's not that slippery"

"Maybe I just don't want to catch up" younger you replied, voice light though his hands were fidgeting in the coat pockets.

Sakura rolled her eyes but she slowed down just enough to fall into steps beside you. The way she glanced at you then - curious expectant - was so small a gesture but it carried a familiarity that you could feel even now, watching from the sidelines.

"You've been so quiet all night" she nudged him with her elbow. "Something's wrong?"

The younger you hesitated, breath hitching. He stopped walking, snow crunching under his boots as he turned to face her.

"Okay" he answered, exhaling a cloud of white. "I have something to tell you. And it's probably the stupidest thing ever. But please bear with me for a moment....alright?"

Sakura blinked, surprised but her smile didn't falter. "Okay....?" she answered, drawing out each syllable carefully.

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a small, crumpled spring of mistletoe. He held it awkwardly in his hands, trying to keep them from trembling as he offered the mistletoe to Sakura.

"This" he began, swallowing hard. "is how I planned to say this. But I'm gonna do it anyway" You exhaled, meeting her gaze. "I love you, Sakura"

Everything was still for a moment. The world silent except for the steady rhythm of falling snowflakes. Then Sakura's eyes widened, breath hitching.

"Look. I know this is stupid. I totally get it if you don't-"

"No" Skaura interrupted. Then she smiled. She smiled? "You are an idiot"

"What?" the younger you blinked, puzzled.

"You are an idiot" she repeated, her smile growing wider. "You do realize you are supposed to hold that mistletoe above my head, right?"

"So...does it mean-"

He was unable to finish his question because he was instantly silenced by Sakura's lips that muffled his next words. The kiss was gentle at first but it quickly deepened into something fervorous - like their whole lives had been leading up to this moment and they were finally claiming what's rightfully theirs.

Your heart felt like it's being pierced through and through but you didn't tear your gaze away. You can still feel the cold bite of the air, the softness of her lips, the phantom warmth that lingered long after.

"Can't you see what you were destined for?" Irene asked but you can't formulate an answer, your throat tight with emotions. "You gave your heart to her that night. And she returned it with hers. For a while, at least"

You turned away from the scene, your voice thick. "And then I fucked everything up"

Irene didn't reply, only watching as the younger you and Sakura pulled apart, bursting out in laughter.

"You made a promise to her that night" Irene finally said. "One you let yourself forget"

The words lingered in the frozen air as the memory began to blur, snow swirling around you in a sudden, dizzying storm. Soon, everything is enveloped by a torrent of white.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

When your eyes came back into focus, you found yourself back in your apartment. Your breath caught in your throar. It was the old spit again - the couch - but this time, it was alive with a different kind of atmosphere. The heater hummed faintly, filling the silence and the warm light of a bedside lamp illuminated the small, familiar place. It's nothing unfamiliar.

Except that it wasn't Sakura's voice or presence that filled the room.

On the couch, sprawled out with heavy limbs is none other than yourself. The past you. Your shirt was half undone, and a woman who wasn't Sakura lied beside you, her sleek black dress painting an image of a vixen in the dim light. She leaned into you, her lips brushing against your jaw as you tilted your head back, your smile faint but unmistakable.

The present you stepped closer, stomach twisting in horror at the piece of memory you had tried to bury for so long. No. Not this.

"Please..." you begged, already knowing what's about to unfold. "Take me somewhere else"

But Irene stood firm behind you, her gaze unyielding. "This is what you must see"

The woman reached for a glass of wine on the table, tilting it ever so slightly as she swirled it with practiced ease. The way the liquid slosh around was almost hypnotic. "You are so tense" she commented as she runs her palm across your bare chest. "Sakura doesn't take care of you like this, does she?"

The past you flinched, sheathing your smile but you didn't pull away. "It's complicated" you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

"Is it?" the woman replied, her tone sharp. "Or are you too scared to admit I'm better than her?"

She leaned in, so close that her breath tickled your neck. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?" She blew a puff of hot air into your ears, the sensation unexpected but not unwelcomed. "You are never satisfied...."

You glanced at her, putting on a smile to hide your internal conflict. "It's not that simple"

"Isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head so that her hair fell over your shoulder in a pool of midnight silk. "You deserve someone better, Ethan. Someone who knows exactly what you need..."

Your gaze dropped to your laps. "That wouldn't be fair. She's....she's good to me"

The woman's lips curved into sly smile as she set down the glass back on the table. "Good isn't always enough, is it?" her voice dropped to a whisper, words brushing against your ear. "Don't you want more, Ethan? Don't you want me?"

"Don't..." you swallowed hard, resolve wavering as she shifted closer, her legs brushing against yours.

"Tell me" A kiss on your neck, leaving a crimson mark of her lipstick. "Who's better at this?" Another to your jaw. "Riding you. Blowing you. Being your good little....slut?" The last one was a soft brush to your ears that left you drunk in blissful sensations. More. You needed more.

"I can't..." the past you began, voice barely audible.

"Shhh, it's okay" she brought a finger to your lips, silencing you. "It's ok, Ethan. She doesn't have to know"

The present you clenched your fist, gritting your teeth. "Stop this. I fucked up, alright? I don't need to see it again"

"You traded your morals for momentary pleasure. And in doing so, you killed what you had with her"

You looked away, no longer able to comprehend the rewind of your mistakes. You have seen enough. Enough to make you feel like putting a bullet right through your head. But the human's mind worked in mysterious ways. Because it always fails to erase the memories people want to forget the most.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Fragment 2

Her name was Yunjin. You remembered now. No, that's a lie. You have always remembered. She was a new hire in your company and things started off innocently enough. But to argue, most affairs usually do.

If confidence have a living embodiment, it would be Yunjin. She was sharp angles and quick wit, wearing ambition like a second skin. It's all evident in the way her heels clicked with purpose as she moved through the office.

It all began with a project, one where you and her were on the same team. Despite the endless nights of meetings and paperwork, Yunjin never seemed to falter, always keeping her cool. You admired that about her. And it should have stopped there. Pure innocent admiration.

Her communication skills were no less remarkable. She was easy to talk to, quick to joke, know exactly how to lighten the mood when the pressure becomes too much. Maybe that's what made you finally crumble.

On that fateful evening, you found yourself alone in the conference room after most of the office had emptied out. You were nursing a cup of tea, papers and stationary strewn across the table.

As if on cue, Yunjin entered the moment you lifted the hem of the cup to your lips like she wanted to ensure you couldn't interrupt her greetings.

"You look like you are about to collapse" she commented, leaning back in a chair close to yours with a smirk. She was in her usual office attire - white top and black overcoat paired with a pencil skirt of the same color so that when she crossed her thighs, her pale skin inevitably stood out.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence" you replied, setting the cup back down on the table.

She laughed, a low throaty sound. "Ethan. You are the reason this project just didn't crush and burn, you know?"

You let out an awkward chuckle, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. "It was a team effort"

"Sure" she said, leaning in - her top hanging just loosely enough to reveal a hint of clevage and you swalllow at the sight. It was wrong. But you are only human afterall. "But not everyone could've done what you did"

She inched even more closer and you told yourself that the hand she had come to place on your arm was nothing more than a gesture of companionship. But you couldn't deny the way it made something inside you stir. It's not love. Far from it. But it's equally intoxicating.

You cleared your throat, trying to find your footing. "You are giving me too much credit. It's a team effort"

"Humble, too. I like that" You shivered at the feel of her other hand that had come to rest on your leg. She's doing nothing more than simply placing her smooth palms on the fabric of your trousers. Yet, you can already felt your mamba growing rigid - her touch electric. A few more minutes of this and your boxers wouldn't be able to hide your erection.

You tried to focus on anything else - the clock on the wall, the stack of papers on your desk - but it was impossible to ignore the way she leaned forward, the curve of her collarbone catching the light.

"You know" she said, her tone playful. "You don't give yourself enough credit. You take care of everyone else but who take care of you?"

Sakura. That's who. But at that moment, you are at a lost for words. You tried to say her name out loud but the deep vortex of Yunjin's irises had pulled you in and every rational thought you had had been thrown out of the window.

You didn't know how it happened. When it happened. Everything passed by in a whirlwind of need and lust. The moment you came back to your senses, Yunjin was sprawled out on the long wooden table of the conference room. Everything on it has been shoved down to the floor. By you or her, you couldn't remember. You were looming right above her and you could only wish the table is strong enough to support both of your weights.

Your whole body was bare save for the unbuttoned shirt that hanged loosely on your frame. Yunjin's no different. Her overcoat had been casted away and her top was gone, revealing her perky tits. Your eyes wondered from the bent of her throat, down the planes of of her bare chest, all the way to her toned midriff, finally coming to rest on the nirvana between her legs, barred only by flimsy panties.

You felt your cock throbbing already - a sign of desperateness. All that occupied your mind was how Yunjin would feel around you when you finally penetrated her. She wouldn't fit around you like a glove instantly like Sakura does. But you didn't doubt you can mold this new hole to the shape of your cock. You have all the required qualities.

"Are you just gonna watch?" Yunjin reminded, shifting her body just a tad bit slightly to get comfortable on the hard surface. She didn't need to told you twice, your body is already aching enough for hers.

She let out the faintest of moans when you spread open her thighs, your eyes glinting with a predatory hunger - the kind only Yunjin can satisfy.

"You're mine now" The words of a mad man, fueled by lust. "And I'm gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight"

Yunjin moaned, arching her back as you ground your cock against her clothed pussy. You could already feel the moistness of her juice seeping through the fabric and the dark spot on her panties grew even bigger when you gave your tip a couple of rub on it.

"Words mean nothing" Yunjin replied, crossing her arms behind your neck as you leaned in even closer. "Prove it. Show me how well you can stretch out my tight little pussy"

There, it would have been easy to blame it all on Yunjin, that she was the one who initiated the act and made you think of nothing but about pounding her to oblivion. But that wouldn't be fair because there was still a silver of semblance left in you even then. It's microscopic and easily clouded by lust. But right at that moment you were about to cross the boundary of no return, a tiny voice remined you of her - of Sakura. It told you how much she put her trust in you. How she expected you to do the same thing. That you were betraying her trust by doing what you were going to do next. You should have stopped then. You could have.

But you couldn't.

With a grunt, you tore Yunjin's panties away, baring her dripping cunt to your hungry gaze. There was no time for foreplay. Foreplay is for slow romantic sex, which this isn't.

You slammed your cock into her tight heat with one brutal thrust and her walls opened up willingly. There's no doubt this bitch had taken poundings before. Not a chance she's a virgin with a hole this used. But still, somehow someway, it retained its tightness - so tight it almost seemed natural.

"Fuck you are so tight" you groaned, pulling back and slamming back in, earning a jolt through her body. "I'm going to fuck your brains out. Until your hole become so loose it needs a cock to stuff it shut"

Yunjin screamed, her nails digging into your back as you pounded into her over and over. The table creaked beneath you, threatening to give way under the force of your thrusts.

"Yes, yes! Fuck me harder" she cried, wrapping her legs around your waist. "Ruin me with your big fat cock. Make me forget my own name"

You obliged, slamming into her pussy with wild abandon. The room filled with the sounds of skin against skin and the wet squelch of her cunt as you fucked her hard and fast. But it's not all about the way she's milking your shaft with her walls. It's also the vision - the sight before you. Yunjin can and will get anything she want. There's no doubt. The way she hold herself - so calm and composed is enough to make others drip with envy. But right now, under the onslaught of your beastly thrust that rapidly violated her hole, moaning and groaning words of submission, she is no longer the confident woman. Instead, it's a desperate whore that craved your cock whose pussy is being claimed.

"Fuck. You are probably the biggest cock I have ever take" Yunjin praised, though it's hard to say with her rolled-up eyes. "You are gonna have to exclude me from the meeting tomorrow. I don't think I can -"

Yunjin was instantly silenced as all ten fingers of yours closed around her throat, depriving her of oxygen. But she deserved it. With the way she acted like your cock's the best thing in the world.

"What were you saying?" you asked. Yunjin could only make incoherent sounds as her mouth stayed agape like a fish on land. This wouldn't be painful to her. You know that much. Actually, it will turn on this slut even more.

Sakura could never. You thought. Despite her taste for rough sex, Sakura couldn't go this extreme. One time, you slapped her face in the heat of the moment and that girl actually got all teary.

No. Why were you comparing? Why were you even thinking about her?

"Tell me bitch" You asked again. No answer. Just more ragged breaths. As if to compensate for her silence, Yunjin's walls clenched around you even more, trying to answer with their tightness that she, indeed, was enjoying this. Yunjin stayed true to her words: "Words mean nothing". She's trying to prove herself through action.

Just when you thought Yunjin was going to pass out from the lack of air, her body tensed up as she creamed herself on your cock. The climax was unexpected as she wasn't given any chance to warn you. But you welcomed it gladly with more bucks of your hips as you prolong her bliss as long as possible.

Finally, Yunjin came down from her high and you released your hold on her neck, leaving a faint red mark that told the story of your dominance.

"I'm not done yet. You know that, right?" Your reminder wasn't needed. Yunjin had recovered in seconds, now getting on all fours as she leveled her face with your cock.

"Let me clean you up" she said before diving down on your cock. Soon, you found out her pussy isn't the only hole she can utilize to full potential. The warmth that enveloped your length brought you a different kind of pleasure. You tilt your head back, exhaling as you relish in the feeling of her tongue tracing every inch. How many heads had she given? You have no idea. But anyone could guess the number's easily a double digit if they were in your shoes.

She slurped on the cock like it's the tastiest thing in the world. Maybe it's the taste of her own juice on your shaft. Or maybe, she's just a cock depraved whore. Either way, you got the same treatment.

She didn't take you all the way - keeping half of you in her mouth while her hands stroked what her mouth couldn't reach. And there was no combination more lethal as each pair of stroke and lick send a shockwave through your core that have your toes curling.

"Mhmm" Yunjin licked her lips as she released you from her mouth. She looked up at you with dazed eyes as her hand keeps pumping your cock, spreading her drool from base to shaft. "Look how much you are twitching. You're gonna cum?"

She's wasting her words on a question you both knew the answer to. But you couldn't deny it was extremely hot. Who doesn't like a pretty girl worshipping their cocks?

Your simple nod was enough to let her proceed, as she took you back into the heat of her mouth. This time, she didn't make use of her hands. Instead, she impaled herself on your cock - taking it all the way down her throat. A loud gag escaped as it breached her gag reflex until her nose was pressed against your pelvis.

"Fuck" you cursed. She was bent down all the way in this position, her back curved and ass raised. And you didn't miss the chance to grab a feel of her buttocks, earning a moan that resonated through your mamba. A string of glag glag glag bounced around the room as Yunjin continued to fuck her throat on your cock over and over. A puddle of her drool has formed on the table. You made a mental note to clean it up. There's not much reasonable excuses for a pool of drool.

Sakura could never. There's the thought again. Don't be mistaken. Sakura blows your cock very well. To be honest, she loves it as much as you do. Especially, when you filled her mouth with your cum. But her throat wasn't meant for brutal use like Yunjin's was.

Does it matter? No. Stop thinking about Sakura.

The familiar knot unraveled in your stomach. You could no longer hold back as you pumped spurts after spurts of your thick load down Yunjin's throat. And she took it very welll, keeping your cock stuffed down her throat as she held it there like a good girl.

She finally released your cock with a loud pop, strings of saliva still connecting it to her mouth. "Thanks for the big load" Yunjin said while she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You really needed that, huh?"

Do you? Now no longer clouded by the mist of lust, doubts started to fill the gaps where the past passion had been. Wrong. This is all wrong. What have you done? How are you gonna face Sakura again?

This is a one time thing. Yes. A mistake made by unmonitored desires. It can't be undone. But it can be stopped. No one have to know. Sakura doesn't have to know. You will forget it over a couple shots. You wouldl be better next time.

But you weren't.

And in the end, you only had yourself to blame.

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You grounded yourself back to reality. No use crying over spilled milk. You have lived with regret your whole life. What use is it to worsen the pain?

You were still in the apartment, though now it was empty, the furniture gone, the walls stripped bare.

Irene stood a few feet away, silent as ever, watching you with that same unflinching gaze.

You staggered back, running a hand through your hair. "You didn't need to show me that" you said. "I know what I did"

Irene tilted her head slightly, a gesture bordering on pity. "Knowing is not the same as understanding" she said, her voice a distant echo.

You shook your head, clenching your fists to the side. "There's nothing to understand. I regret it, ok? Isn't that enough?"

"Is it?" Irene asked, stepping closer. "Or do you regret being caught more than the act itself? Do you regret the pain you caused her or do you regret the pain it left in you?"

Her words hit too close to home and you turned away, staring at the faded imprint of a picture frame that once hung on the wall - a reminder of what this place had once been. You could still hear the echo of Sakura's laughter that had resonated in this room.

"This is what you traded for a moment of weakness" Irene's voice appeared once more. "An emptiness that echoes in your heart, in your life. And you know very well it's your own fault. Yet, you let it spiral"

You swallowed hard, trying to find your next words. With difficulty, you managed to speak through your tight vocal cords. "It doesn't matter" you said, voice trembling. "I can't change it. I can't undo what I did"

"No" Irene agreed. "But you can confront it. You can stop running from the truth, no matter how ugly it is"

You turned back to her, searching for something in her otherworldly features - absolution, maybe, an answer to all of this. But all you found was her cold, unyielding gaze.

"What now?" you asked quietly.

Irene extended a hand, and the apartment faded around you, replaced by the faint flicker of something new.

"Now" she said. "we see the consequences of your actions"

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The world crumbled and rebuilt around you in the form of a late autumn evening. The air was crisp but heavy, carrying the scent of leaves and the distant promise of winter. A stark contrast to the snow-draped beauty of the Christmas night when you first confessed to Sakura.

Now, autumn loomed like an unwelcome guest. The trees lining the path were skeleteal, their branches gnarled and reaching out to the gray sky like twisted hands. The ground was a mess of fallen golden leaves.

Sakura stood across the past you, her arms crossed against the chill, though it was obvious it wasn't the cold that's making her shiver. Her scarf - a pastel pink you had bought her for Christmas long ago - coiled around her neck elegantly.

"Say it" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Say it Ethan"

"Kkura, I-"

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped, her sharp voice cutting through the still autumn evening. The brittle leaves crunched as she shifted her weight. "Just...don't. Please"

She looked at you for a fleeting moment, and for a heartbeat, she resembled the Sakura from that snowy christmas - the one whom you had poured your heart out to, the one who had said 'yes'. But now, the light in her eyes was a gone, replaced by a storm of pain and anger.

"Let me hear it from you" she whispered, her voice on the edge of breaking. "Don't make me piece it together from hints and whispers. Please"

You dropped your gaze, deeming yourself no longer worthy to hold hers. The autumn wind picks up and the leaves swirl as if to mock your silence.

"It was a mistake" you muttered, voice barely audible.

"A mistake?" she repeated, her laugh bitter and wounded. "You don't acidentally cheat on someone Ethan. You don't just trip and fall into someone's bed"

You were once again remined of the pine-lined path, her standing there with snowflakes in her hair, her laughter so carefree like she's the happiest person on earth. Now, that warmth was nothing but lost, extinguished by you.

"It didn't mean anything" you pleaded, voice desperate. "I swear it didn't mean anything ,Kkura"

She shook her head, the motion quick, like she was trying to expel you from her memory. "Do you even understand what you have done? What you have taken from me?"

"I-"

"No. Let me tell you" she interrupted, her tone gaining strength as her eyes glistened. "You have taken every moment I trusted you, every second I thought was safe with you, and you have crushed them Ethan. What did I do wrong? What part of me wasn't enough?"

"Stop" you whispered, voice trembling. "Just stop"

"No" she said firmly, leaves crunching beneath her boots as she steps closer. "You don't get to ask me for anything after this. Not now. Not ever"

You looked at her then, really looked. And the pain in her face tore through your heart like a thousand daggers.

"Sakura, please" you begged, scrambling for scraps. "I regret all of it, ok? I regret everything. Please, I-"

She let out a hollow laugh, one that seemed to make the dying branches overhead shattered. "Funny how regret comes too late"

Sakura took a step back, her shoulders stiff, her hands trembling as she wrapped the scarf tighter around her neck. She hesitated for a moment, before looking at you straight in the eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Ethan" she said coldly, the words laced with brutal finality. "I hope it was worth it"

And then she walked away, her form growing smaller in the dying twilight until she had been reduced to nothing but a distant dream. The rustle of the wind reflected the hollow of your own regret.

The present you watched, unable to cry, unable to make a sound. Because you knew it was your very own actions which have lead to this. Do criminals cry over the unspeakable deeds they have commited?

"There" Irene's voice appeared once more. "Winter held promise. Autumn held loss. And you let it all fall away"

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You didn't even notice the shift in scenery this time - your mind too exhausted with emotions. What Irene wanted to show you, you didn't care anymore. You had seen enough. Seeing more will bring nothing but pain.

But you stared at the new scene before you like a lifeless ghost.

It was your apartment, again. You wanted to burn the place down at this point. Maybe the pain will crumbled to ashes that way. Anything to escape the ever nagging regret.

It was Christmas time - the fist Christmas without Sakura. The scent of her baked cookies and the hum of hers to Last Christmas was nowhere to be found, though the song played on lazily from an unattended television nearby. The sound of traffic beyond the windows seem more melodic.

The you of that very moment? On the bed, tangled in sheets but there's nothign cozy about that. You looked like a corpse, still and unmoving - lost in thought. Your bare body does nothing to aid cancel out the vision.

But you weren't alone. No. Though you actually were, deep down, your physical self weren't. The woman lying next to you is unfamiliar in ways that only someone you're totally ignorant of would be. Her name escaped you, though it had been exchanged over shots at the bar you didn't even like. She was asleep, her bare shoulder peaking out the tangle of sheets.

You searched her face for a few moments, trying to find something firm in those beautiful features but only finding emptiness. You sat up, swinging your numb legs last night had taken a toll on and ran your fingers through your nest of hair. The room smelled faintly of her perfume - too strong for your taste. Nothing like the clean, subtle one Sakura always wore.

Sakura.

You pressed your palms to your face, trying to ground yourself - make peace with reality and escaped the past - but the pain has d rooted deep inside, growing deeper each day. And your worst enemy had become yourself.

"Does it feel better?" Irene asked, studying the confusion flashing across your eyes. "To indulge in the pleasure of the flesh - a momentary escape from reality. But it never fills the void, does it? It only digs it deeper"

You didn't answer. Not because you have no words but because you are too tired. Too tired with yourself.

"Look, Ethan. This is your present. A hollow bed. A hollow life"

Just then, the girl in your bed stirred and shifted and you caught a clear view of her face, though curtained by her silky locks. It's not Yunjin, no. You had parted ways long ago. This one will soon follow the same fate. Your head pounded and so did your heart. There, you are reminded again.

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Fragment 3

The thing about one-night stands is they are supposed to last for a night and then forgotten. But that title wouldn't suit Kazuha because this was the third night you found yourself with this beauty. Maybe, this is a new addiction apart from the countless shots you had downed in the bar. Or maybe, it's the way she sucked your cock so well on your very own bed.

"Mmph...does it...feel...good...." Kazuha asked through slurps and licks as she feasts on your cock - tongue swirling around your slit before poking your tip to the inner wall of her cheeks, making it bulge. Her face there - ruined so perfectly with mascara running down her eyes and drool spilling from her lips only served to earns a grunt from you. Not to mention her bare body, ass raised to show off her thick cheeks.

"Mhmm...I think I'm doing good" Kazuha deciphered the answer herself as she released your cock from her warm hole. "Look at all this precum. You like my pretty mouth on your cock that bad, huh?"

The answer was unnecessary and Kazuha proceed to plant kisses along your throbbing shaft before coming back up to collect the precum from your leaking slit, all the while maintaning eye contact.

"Can't wait to taste your thick load" she muttered dreamily as she swallowed you again. The pleasure that flooded your brain was phenomenal and you had to try not to buck your hips. Kazuha had already demanded to be the one in charge. And you didn't want to left cockblocked.

Kazuha seemed to sense your desperateness because she took more than half of your shaft into her mouth, cheeks hollowing as she sucked the life out of you.

"Kazuha...fuck. Don't stop" you mumbled, your body in absolute bliss. And she didn't plan to. Because she liked choking on your cock as much as you loved fucking her pretty little mouth.

She went deep, lodging your meat into her throat. She held it there, eyes unblinking as she watched your distorted face of a victim of lust. The tightness and the warmth was like nothing, squeezing your shaft in all the right ways. Kazuha was born to be a cocksucker. No doubt.

She finally drew back, gliding her lips up across your meat until it came off with a pop, a string of drool still clinging to your slit.

"Now are you gonna fuck my face or what?" she asked, and that instantly became your favorite question in this hollow life.

"Gladly" you answered as you held her hair in a makeshift pony tail, lowering it gently until your tip has disappeaered into her moist lips. Her eyes gleamed, a silent challenge. And you are not the one to back down from challenege.

You immediately starts dunking her head on your cock again and again and again, obscene gags escaping her throat as your tip speared into her oral hole. A couple strands of her raven locks ame undone, falling and sticking with drool to her face.

"You like it, hmm? You like me using your throat like a fleshlight, you cocksucking bitch" you asked as Kazuha can only respond in more gags and chokes. Her eyes water, the tears mixed with the mascara flowing in tiny rivers across her cheeks - an absolute vision of a slut. Did she wear it on purpose so that it paint her when you fuck her face?

Her throat is brusied by now, no matter how strong of a throat of steel she possesed, no girl came out of this kind of pounding unscathed. But she didn't seem to care because she took it like a champ as you use her mouth like your very own sextoy. Afterall, this is what she asked for.

You let her go for a moment, pulling her face off your cock in one swift pull. She gasped, drool spilling in waterfalls as she huffed like a bitch in heat.

"You really didn't hold back, huh." she asked, voice raw from the brutal thrusts. "I bet you are addicted to my throat. Wouldn't be surprised if you can no longer cum from your hands alone"

"You talked too much for a cock drunk whore" you complimented her as you tighten the grip on her hair, making her scalp burn. "Now, suck me off until I feed you that load you so desperately crave"

"Mhmm, with pleasure" No more words were needed after that as Kazuha dived back down on your cock, devouring it like the cock hungry beast she is. It's messy and sloppy. She no longer choked on your cock but the way she's slobbering all over the upper half of your length was more than enough to make you levitate.

Her hands cockscrewed what her mouth couldn't reach while she bobbed her head up and down as she fucked her face on your cock. If her face was messy then, it was even messier now - a filthy canvas of drool and tears and mascara. The picture of a pretty woman so degraded finally made you break.

Kazuha moaned around your cock as you erupted in her mouth, sending shots after shots of your hot thick load down her throat. And she didn't let up, sucking you through your bliss with undiminishing fervour.

After what felt like an endless ride of bliss, she finally pulled you out of her mouth but not before giving your spent rod a couple licks.

"Didn't I do good, daddy?" she asked, the name sending a shiver down your spine.

But as soon as the bliss is over, the regret came. Sakura. You never knew how much power she held over you. How badly you needed her. Kazuha's blowjob was mind numbing but not enough to numb the ever-growing pain in your heart. But if sex could make you forget it for just a moment, you will gladly took it.

Kazuha wriggled her ass in a suggestive rhythm, oblivious to your inner thoughts. "Daddy, can you fuck my ass next?"

Anything to block out the pain.

Really, anything would be ok.

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You blinked, and suddenly, you were back to the present - the diner. It was still the same place, same scent of coffee and grease lingering in the air but the weight in your heart felt heavier, like it might crush you entirely.

Irene was back in her initia position across you in her booth, studying you with those cold eyes tht betray no feelings.

"You've seen it" she said, shifting in her seat and her christmas-themed dress didn't look so awkward to you anymore. "What you've lost. What you've become"

You tighten your fists on the table. "I know okay? I fucked up really bad. And I'm suffering the consequences. Happy?"

She raised any eyebrow. "Do you? Because knowing is not the same as doing"

You looked away, your gaze landing on the window. The streets were deprived of life now and the snow fell as relentlessly as ever, enveloping the world in white. You wished you could see the beauty in it once more.

"What am I supposed to do?" you asked, your voice low. "I can't just undo everything"

"No" Irene agreed, leaning forward. "But you can decide what you will do next"

Your jaw tightened. "And what am I supposed to do? She's gone. She hates me. There'a no coming back from that"

Irene'a gaze softened just slighty. "Sakura's wounds might not be yours to heal, Ethan. Some damage can't be undone. But your life - your choices - they are all yours. You can keep running from them, hiding youself in regret and pain or you can face them"

Somewhere distant, Heather's hyena laugh erupted again though this time, you envied her. When was the last time you can laugh like that?

"And what does that even look like?" you asked, throat tightened.

Irene gestured to the diner around her. "That's not for me to tell you. But you have already knew the answer, don't you? You always have"

You stared at her, a realization sinking deep into your heart. "You are saying I should go for her"

Irene tilted her head. "I'm saying you need to stop running from yourself. Whether that means going to Sakura or not....it's up to you. But if you don't, you will stay here" She gestured vaguely, encompassing more than just the diner. "A hollowed out version of yourself. Is this what you want?"

You studied your reflection in the murky surface of the cold cup of coffee. You had seemed to age in minutes. Was it the weight of revisiting the memories you had locked up for so long?

"No" you whispered. "This ia not what I want"

Irene leaned back, gaze unwavering. "Then decide, Ethan. You can't rewrite the past, but you can write the next chapter"

For a long moment, you were silent, staring out of the window at the dark, snowy Christmas night.

When you looked up, the ghost was gone.

The diner had grown quiet, save for the ocassional clinking of utensils. The clock indicated 11 sharp. Time had flown in a blink.

Just as you decided to leave, the bell on the dier doll rang again, welcoming a new arrival. You didn't want to look up. Enough hocus pocus for one night. But you did anyway. And you are not sure if you should be glad or regret that you did.

"Sakura?"

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Happy Holdiays Everyone.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Lose my Mind

Summary: ���The way your eyes get darker when you get aroused, is making me lose my mind.”

Song: SWIM · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST - F1

The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, pressing against you both as you navigated the throng outside the Mann's Chinese Theatre.

Flashbulbs popped like distant fireworks, momentarily blinding, and the excited chatter of reporters and fans alike created a chaotic symphony. You clung to Charles' arm, the tailored fabric of his suit a reassuring anchor in the storm.

He was devastatingly handsome tonight. The dark suit sculpted to his lean frame, a crisp white shirt peeking from beneath, the way his hair was styled just so... It was all conspiring to make your heart pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

This was the premiere of Gladiator, a film he'd been anticipating for years, and you were thrilled to share this moment with him. But beneath the shared excitement, a different kind of thrill thrummed within you, a raw, undeniable desire that threatened to consume you whole.

You'd always found Charles attractive, of course. That was a given. But seeing him amidst this swirling vortex of Hollywood glamour, bathed in the adoring light of the paparazzi, somehow amplified everything.

He wasn’t just your boyfriend; he was a star, a magnet, and you, lucky you, were the one holding his hand.

He turned to you, his smile warm and genuine, cutting through the noise. “Alright, you holding up okay?”

“Perfect,” you managed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to avoid getting trampled.”

He chuckled, his hand tightening on yours. “Don’t worry, I won’t let that happen.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You look incredible tonight, by the way. That dress is… wow.”

The simple compliment sent a wave of heat washing over you. You’d chosen the crimson silk gown specifically because you knew he liked it.

It clung to your curves in all the right places, a subtle declaration of your own desire. “Thank you,” you murmured, suddenly feeling acutely aware of the weight of his gaze.

Inside the theatre, the atmosphere was only marginally less intense. You were ushered to your seats, a pair of plush velvet chairs near the middle of the auditorium.

Charles greeted a few acquaintances, his charm effortless as he exchanged pleasantries.

You watched him, your eyes tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. You couldn’t help it. He was captivating.

As the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled, you tried to focus on the film. But your attention kept drifting back to Charles.

You could feel his presence beside you, the subtle shift of his weight as he moved, the faint scent of his cologne. It was a constant, tantalizing distraction.

You glanced at him again, this time catching him staring back at you. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken. You looked away quickly, your cheeks burning.

The film was epic, a sweeping tale of betrayal, courage, and redemption. The action sequences were brutal, the emotional moments raw and powerful.

But even as you were drawn into the story, you were acutely aware of Charles’ hand resting on your thigh, a casual yet deliberate gesture that sent shivers down your spine.

The tension between you two was building, a silent, electric current that crackled in the air. You knew he felt it too.

The evidence was in the way he kept glancing at you, the way his hand subtly tightened on your leg, the way his breath hitched almost imperceptibly when your eyes met.

During a particularly intense scene, you felt his fingers begin to gently massage your thigh. It was a small, innocent touch, but it sent a jolt of pure sensation through you.

You sucked in a breath, your body responding instantly, instinctively.

He must have felt it, because he leaned in close again, his voice a low murmur that only you could hear. “Enjoying the movie?”

You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure. “Yes,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s… intense.”

“Intense,” he echoed, his eyes fixed on yours. “That’s one word for it.” His gaze lingered on your lips, and you felt your own parting slightly in anticipation.

After the movie ended, the applause was deafening. People rose to their feet, cheering and clapping, their faces flushed with excitement. You and Charles joined in, but your attention remained focused on each other.

As you made your way out of the theatre, he kept his arm around your waist, guiding you through the crowd. The press was waiting outside, eager to capture the reactions of the stars.

Charles stopped to answer a few questions, his smile still in place, his demeanor effortlessly charming.

You stood beside him, trying to look composed, but inside you were a mess of conflicting emotions. You wanted to be alone with him, to shed the pretense of the evening and give in to the desire that was consuming you. But you also knew that wasn't possible, not here, not now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you were able to escape the throng and slip into the waiting car. Charles closed the door behind you, shutting out the noise and the lights, creating a small, private sanctuary.

He turned to you, his expression serious. “You were very quiet during the movie,” he said, his voice low.

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. “I… I was enjoying it,” you stammered. “But I was also… distracted.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Distracted, huh? By what?”

You took a deep breath, deciding to be honest. “By you,” you admitted. “You looked… incredible tonight.”

His smile widened, and he reached out to gently cup your face in his hands. “And you looked absolutely breathtaking. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Me neither,” you confessed, your voice barely audible.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Do you know,” he whispered, “the way your eyes get darker when you get aroused, is making me lose my mind.”

Your breath hitched. He had noticed. He had seen past the façade, recognized the desire that you were trying so hard to conceal.

“Charles,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

He kissed you then, a slow, tender kiss that sent a wave of pure pleasure through you. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of desire, of a connection that ran deeper than words.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless. He looked at you, his eyes dark and intense. “What do you want to do?” he asked, his voice husky.

The possibilities swirled through your mind, a dizzying array of choices. You could go home with him, surrender to the desire that had been building all night. You could prolong the anticipation, savor the tension, and see where the night took you.

You looked into his eyes, searching for an answer. You saw desire there, yes, but also something else, something deeper. Respect. Understanding. A willingness to let you choose.

”I…” you started, unsure of what to say. You needed to think, to process everything that had happened, to decide what you truly wanted.

The limousine pulled up to your apartment building. Charles looked at you expectantly. The moment of truth had arrived.

You took a deep breath, a small smile playing on your lips. “Let’s go upstairs,” you said, your voice filled with a newfound confidence. “And we can talk.”

The elevator ride to your apartment was agonizingly slow, each second stretching out like a taut wire. You could feel the heat radiating from Charles' body as he stood behind you, his hands resting lightly on your hips. His breath was warm against your neck, sending delicious little tingles down your spine.

"I've missed this," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate through every inch of you.

As the elevator doors finally slid open, you led him down the hallway, your heels clicking against the tiles. The anticipation grew with every step, until you could feel it as a palpable force, a heady cocktail of desire and nerves.

Once inside your apartment, you turned to face him, your heart hammering in your chest. "You know what I've been thinking about?" you asked, your voice a little breathless.

"I might have an idea," he said with a smirk, his eyes dancing with mischief.

You stepped closer, pressing your body against his. "I want you to make me feel alive," you whispered, your voice a soft caress against his cheek.

His smile grew wider, his eyes darkening. "Is that all?"

"No," you said, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips. "I want you to make me forget everything else. Just for tonight."

He didn't need further prompting. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, his mouth descending to claim yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a kiss that spoke of two years of pent-up passion, of late-night fantasies and stolen moments.

As his tongue slipped between your parted lips, you felt your knees go weak. His hands began to explore, gliding over your curves with a confidence that was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

You could feel his desire, hard and insistent against your thigh, and a pulse of need bloomed between your legs.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, and he took the opportunity to trail kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin. "Take off your dress," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.

You complied, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His eyes raked over you, taking in the sight of your lace lingerie and the way your body reacted to his touch.

His gaze was like a physical caress, making you feel exposed and vulnerable, yet somehow more powerful than you had ever felt before.

You reached for the buttons of his tuxedo, your fingers fumbling with the tiny teeth. He stepped back, allowing you to admire the way the material parted, revealing his broad chest and the flat plane of his stomach.

He shrugged off the jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and then helped you with the rest, until he was standing before you in nothing but his boxer briefs.

You stepped closer again, running your hands over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the thud of his heart beneath your palms. His hands found the clasp of your bra, and with a deft twist, it fell away, leaving your breasts bare to his hungry gaze.

He bent down to kiss one, then the other, his tongue swirling around your nipples until they were tight and aching.

You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. His hands moved to your hips, sliding the fabric of your underwear down until it joined your discarded clothing.

Now you were both naked, standing in the dimly lit apartment, your bodies pressed together as if trying to become one.

He picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you to the bedroom. The journey was short but seemed to last an eternity, every step sending a new wave of sensation crashing through you.

He laid you down on the bed, the softness of the comforter a stark contrast to the urgent need that pulsed between you.

The months without sex had been a torturous dance of self-control and frustration, dictated by the relentless pace of his Formula 1 career.

The endless travel, the training, the pressure to perform had kept him away from you, leaving only stolen glances and passionate whispers over the phone to sustain the flame of your desire.

Now, with his racing suit a memory and the scent of his cologne filling the room, you were acutely aware of every inch of skin that had been denied for so long. His kisses grew more urgent, his hands more insistent, and you couldn’t help but arch into him, desperate to feel the weight of him above you.

He slid his hand down your stomach, teasing the dampness between your thighs, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper. His touch was like a brand, marking you as his once again, and you felt your body responding, eager and willing.

As he positioned himself between your legs, you felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. The months of abstinence had made you both ravenous for each other, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

With a gentle nudge, he entered you, filling the emptiness that had haunted you for too long.

You gasped, your nails digging into his back as he began to move, slowly at first, as if reacquainting himself with the rhythm that was so familiar yet so long lost.

Each stroke was like a promise, a reminder of the connection that had been denied by the unforgiving calendar of F1. Your bodies melded together, moving as one, the friction creating a delicious heat that threatened to consume you both.

You met his gaze, the intensity of his eyes reflecting the depth of your need. "I love you," you murmured, the words a whispered benediction that seemed to unlock something within him.

He responded with a deep, guttural groan, his movements becoming more forceful, his hips driving into you with a passion that was almost violent in its intensity.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the desperate sounds of pleasure that you couldn’t hold back.

The orgasm built within you, a crescendo of sensation that started in your core and radiated outward, making your toes curl and your vision swim. When it crashed over you, it was like nothing you had ever experienced before, a wave of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

As you lay there, panting and spent, his body still joined with yours, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. It was a release of emotion that had been dammed up for too long, a testament to the power of this moment.

He kissed it away, his lips tender against your skin. "I love you too," he whispered. "And I promise, it won't be another few months before I make you feel like this again."

In that moment, the world outside your bedroom ceased to exist.

The only thing that mattered was the love and passion that bound you together, the promise of a future filled with moments just like this one. . . . .

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

hi hope you are doing okay this is my first time requesting sorry if i do something wrong if its okay with you i would like verosika,loona and velvet with an s/o that relapsed on an adicction sorry for bad English

One Step Forward...

(CW: this headcanon involves poor exploration of drug abuse and addiction.)

Verosika

Verosika knew addiction.

She'd never admit as much, but she knew what it was to be addicted. She knew that thirst. The one that burned in your chest, aching in your gut.

And when you told her you were fighting your own, well fuck yeah! She was all for it.

Of course she wasn't gonna ignore her own... desires, and funnily enough, she was a pleasant distraction towards your abstainment.

But, well, things weren't perfect on the home front.

Between her own addiction and a hate boner for a certain Imp Ex of hers, well, let's say there were more thena few fights between you.

And it'd be after a particularly harsh fight that you'd both walk off, heading to your respective spaces in your penthouse, the two of you needing space.

Itd be a few hours later, the girl walking into your space only to freeze.

She found you laid back on a beanbag, a warm smile crossing your face as you stared out the window.

Verosika would ask what the Hell you were doing, you telling her you were relaxing.

She'd barely hold back a snarl as she sighed.

She'd ask what was wrong with you... only to pause, seeing the substances on the table.

She'd ask if you really did that.

You simply turning to her, and with a mellowed expression, telling her she got to have a drink, why shouldn't you... indulge.

Verosika couldn't very well argue that point, even after rehab she was still drinking, so instead she just huffed, storming off.

Oddly enough, after you started using again, things mellowed out.

You fought less. You were more intimate. Eager and ready to roll with it.

Things looked good.

For a while.

Then you started needing regular fixes. Your 'controlled hits' became 'desperate regular hits or else you'd lose your shit'.

You and her quickly devolved into a myriad of fights, both from you and her, every fight devolving into her blaming your addiction, you throwing her own addiction into her face every chance you got.

It'd come to ahead, one night, the both of you fully indulging.

You high as a kite while Verosika drank like a fish, the both of you laughing, giggling, making out, enjoying the night together.

Of course, it'd quickly turn nasty, you and the girl breaking into a fight, the fight quickly becoming physical, even Vortex taking a step back from the encounter, letting the two of you sort it out yourselves.

And you'd lay back, faces bruised, scratched up, your eye swollen shut, both of you bruised as you lay back on an expensive couch, staring out at the city, the Hellish sun starting to rise as you leaned against each other.

Staring out at the city you'd sigh.

"We need help..."

You'd say softly, leaning against the woman.

Verosika would snort, softly nodding her head.

"Yeah..."

After several minutes you'd extend your hand, Veroiska, after a moment, extending her own, the two of you holding each other's hand as you sat there.

It wouldn't be perfect, but nothing in hell was.

If you were lucky you could get through this.

But this was Hell, neither of you held your breath, but you wouldn't give up...

Not yet.

Loona

When you met you held such a cool brooding persona. Even still, you clearly was holding something back.

You were a perpetually coin flip of cool, calm and composed, to agitated and short tempered. Honestly, it was kind of a turn on.

Not to mention it helped validate her own violent mood swings.

It'd be months of spending time together, the two of you growing closer and closer.

It was by no means a simple love affair, but the two of you grew closer before making it official.

And while initially she'd found your moodswings charming, once she started spending time with you outside of work it became kind of a buzz kill.

It'd be after a bad fight, like, you'd had plenty of fights but this was bad. Like, almost got physical kinda fight.

That being when you finally revealed you were currently in detox, trying to get off of some pretty bad shit.

She wasn't really the best at like 'squishy-feely-things', but she would try to support you the best she could. Mostly by just not being a bitch when she could help it.

You'd make some good progress, one day at a time and such.

It'd be after a particularly stressful day. It just seemed like everything was against you, not that you made it hard, lashing out at just about everything and everyone, you and Loona having it out before you'd storm out of the house.

You'd disappear for a few days, Loona genuinely concerned, more so every day you were missing.

Eventually you'd return. Walking in softly, sitting down besides her, rubbing your neck.

You'd apologise, telling her you needed to... fix things, promising to never speak to her like that again.

And much to her surprised you really did mellow out, things calming down massively, you always in a good mood.

Then found you with the needle.

You'd been extra careful not to do it when Loona was around, wanting to keep it under wraps, but she'd find out.

Of course she would.

She was pissed to say the least, asking how you could do this! How could you go back after all the progress you'd made.

You'd snap at her, growling out that you hadn't made any progress!

You'd compose yourself, apologising for speaking to her like that, but you just... you couldn't help it.

You fought and fought and fought, and in that fight you'd taken your anger and issues out on her.

You weren't proud of going back to drugs. It was the last thing you possibly wanted, but... it happened, and you'd been better for it.

Loona didn't like it one bit. Telling you as much, telling you you were only 'better' because you were high all the time and didn't have to suffer reality with the rest of them.

Thing would be icy, Loona telling you she didn't like you always drugged up, you were an entirely different person and she didn't like it.

She'd tell you she wanted the old you back, the one who tried. Who wanted to be better and suffered through every day with her.

You'd end up sat at the table, sitting in silence.

Loona getting up, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Velvette

She'd tell you she loved you. But the real you... the one not higher then a kite. The one in the real world.

And well, it'd be up to you how you handled it.

Dope, drugs, fashion and sex appeal.

All of these were Velvette's expertise.

Now, she didn't actively push drugs, not that she needed too, she sold so much just passively she gave Valentino a run for his money.

And when she heard you were going clean, she... well, she wasn't against it, she knew how drugs could fuck somebody up.

She'd watch you resist, doing your best to fight temptation, the overlord able to see the internal struggle every day.

And trust me, it wasn't easy.

Being with Velvette meant you spent plenty of time with Valentino, and that man practically lived off drugs, the tall moth demon eagerly pushing them on you like candy on Halloween.

Velvette would have to step in, ensuring you were off limits as you did your very best to stay true.

It wouldn't last long.

A year, maybe two at most.

It's Hell, drugs were more common then clean drinking water.

Literally, you could buy coke easier then you could get clean water.

And it'd be at one of the VEEs legendary parties that she'd find you caught up in the middle of a group.

Now you were always something of a social butterfly, and get a few drinks in you, and you could single handedly hold a parties attention with just that, silver tongue.

But this... this was different.

You were wired. It only took her looking you in the eyes for it to become clear, the girl feeling, well, off.

On one hand she wasn't all too perturbed by you using.

Sure, she'd rather you didn't, drugs weren't something she really promoted for herself or those under her, but you were a grown up and could decide for yourself.

But on the other hand, she'd witnessed just how hard you tried to resist.

Seeing that fire in your eyes as you rejected Valentino, gritting your teeth and composing yourself.

Not just to keep yourself clear headed, but to not fall under Valentino's spell.

But seeing you like this, it... it left her feeling off.

But it'd be in those early morning hours, you sat in the living room, still on that high, unable to sleep as you searched the room for the hundredth time.

Like, honestly, you were quite interesting on a high.

Charismatic, energetic, and well, you certainly ran her ragged in bed~

Finding you, it was clear what happened.

Velvette quickly lost any fondness for you using, but she wouldn't demand you stop, even if she'd bring up your relapse, the whole thing leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

So while she wouldn't demand 'better' from you, she'd be disappointed in seeing you slip back into a lifestyle you tried so hard to resist.

Given your lifestyle, being not only a sinner but in a relationship with an Overlord, so it's something of a 50/50 on whether or not your drug use would become an issue.

If it did Velvette would tell you off, sure to make it painfully clear that if you didn't pull your finger out, she'd be forced to either put you in your place, or cut you off.

If your relapse did become an issue, Velvette certainly wouldn't hesitate to tell you as much, demanding you pull your head out of your arse and get your addiction under control.

Not an easy demand for the woman to make, the Overlord knew how hard you tried before, but she truly felt it was necessary.

She couldn't tolerate you becoming some hazy minded junkie.

Couldn't afford a weak link in the VEEs, even if you weren't technically a 'V', if you were under the drugs spell it'd reflect on her poorly.

And while she cared for you, that wasn't something she could tolerate.

So it'd likely devolve into a simple ultimatum.

Keep your addiction in line or she'd make you go cold turkey once again.

Hey Y'all, got another one for y'all, I just wanna prefix this by apologising if my portrayal of addiction and drug abuse was offensive. I'm very limited in my addiction knowledge, so I really just did what I could with what I had.

I did the best I could, and with all that said, I really do hope you all enjoyed the headcanon.

[rottenpumpkin13]

reeve puts on his wizard outfit from advent way eariler what does everyone think of it

*Reeve walks into the executive boardroom in full wizard regalia*

Tseng: Director… You know I respect cultural expression, but what in Gaia's name compelled you to wear that?

Reeve: You want the truth, Tseng? Fine! I'm DONE pretending. Every day I sit here in a strangulation tie and formal slacks, listening to power-point presentations about mako reactors while pretending I don't want to punt Heidegger into traffic! This—*gestures wildly at the robes*—this is the real me! I am whimsical! I do taxes in this outfit!

Tseng: …

Reeve: So what if I'm wearing robes made of velvet?! So what if I fantasize about tying the president to two chocobos and sending them off in opposite directions?! I CONFESS! I programmed the combat sim to let you suplex the president into the sun! I drew crude male anatomy on the walls of the parking garage! I go out and feed the poor while encouraging them to hate Shinra!

Tseng: …

*Reeve reaches inside his billowing sleeves and yanks out a raggedy Cait Sith like a magician pulling a rabbit from a trauma vortex*

Reeve: And I live vicariously through this mechanical cat! I give it life! This cat shoplifts for me. This cat yells at middle managers. This cat is the real me!

Tseng: Oh dear god.

Reeve: And I'm DONE suppressin' me accent just so yer daft company types can understand me better! If ye cannae handle me tellin' ye ta shove yer quarterly projections up yer pipeline, then that's a you problem, innit!?

Tseng: I'm going to go lie down in the middle of traffic.

[marsi-is-depressed]

Fainting spell

Summary:

11th doctor x time lord wife reader, y/n has known the doctor since childhood and have been married for centuries, during her husbands speech to Akhaten, y/n goes unconscious due to the amount of energy. This fic feautures amy and rory instead of clara.

Eleventh Doctor x Time Lord Wife!Reader | Set during "The Rings of Akhaten"

The stars of Akhaten gleamed like shards of memory, suspended in the velvet canopy of space. The wind carried songs of the past—notes strung together by sacrifice and belief—and somewhere, at the heart of it all, stood a man with an ancient soul and wild eyes.

The Doctor.

And not far behind him, wrapped in soft cerulean robes that shimmered faintly with stardust, stood you—his wife, his oldest companion. Y/N, the Time Lady who had once raced him through the copper hills of Gallifrey, who had flown beside him when the sky burned red with war, and who had married him beneath the twin moons of Castallan IV in a ceremony only the stars could understand.

The bond you shared was unshakable. A union of minds, hearts, timelines. Centuries together, through regeneration and ruin. And still, even after all this time, he looked at you like you were new.

But today… today felt different.

You stood near the back of the amphitheatre as the Doctor stepped forward, his long coat trailing like the cloak of a hero worn from battle. Beside you, Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, sensing the swell of something great and terrible rising from the ancient god that slept at the center of this system.

The Old God. The parasite that fed on stories, on devotion. On souls.

And the Doctor… he was about to give it everything.

You knew what he was doing before the words left his mouth. You could feel the energy in the air shift. Something stirred in your chest, something raw and tangled in golden timelines. A thrum of the vortex itself.

"He’s going to offer it his memories," you whispered, staggering slightly.

Amy reached out, steadying you with a worried frown. "Y/N?"

You blinked, feeling the weight of time pressing down on your bones. It wasn’t just his memories. It was yours, too. Bound together in time, in soul, you were a mirror to his past—and when he offered himself, when he opened up his heart and mind to feed the Old God…

You felt it.

“Come on, then! Take it! Take it all, baby!”

The words rang out, furious and defiant, echoing off the ancient stones.

You gasped.

It felt like the air had been ripped from your lungs, like someone had cracked your chest open and poured molten starlight into your veins. Memories flashed through your mind too fast to hold—your wedding, Gallifrey's fall, your husband's laughter, the birth of time itself—rushing through you with a force no mortal could endure.

Your knees gave out.

Amy lunged forward with Rory right behind her. Together, they caught you before your head could hit the stone. Your eyes rolled back, lips parted in a silent cry.

“Y/N!” Amy shouted, gently cradling your head.

“She’s burning up,” Rory muttered, feeling your pulse racing like a warp drive at full throttle. “What’s happening to her?”

“She’s—she’s connected to him,” Amy realized. “He’s giving everything to that thing—and she’s feeling all of it!”

Back at the altar, the Doctor had no idea.

“I’ve seen whole worlds end. I’ve watched universes burn like paper. And I carried them all with me. Every moment…”

His voice cracked.

“Every second…”

Your fingers twitched weakly in Amy’s grip. You whispered something, barely audible.

“Stop… he has to stop… it’ll take too much…”

“I remember it all.”

A wave of psychic energy blasted through the amphitheater, knocking dust and debris into the air. Amy shielded your body with her own, Rory leaning in close to keep you from convulsing.

Then silence.

A soft, hollow silence.

The Doctor stood trembling, sweat on his brow, eyes wide and glassy.

“Did it work?” Amy called out, voice breaking.

The Doctor turned slowly.

And then he saw you.

Limp.

Unmoving.

Cradled in Amy’s arms like a fallen star.

His hearts stopped.

“No—no, no, no, no…” His feet moved before his mind caught up, tearing across the stone steps, leaping over ancient carvings. His hands found your face before he’d even dropped to his knees.

“Y/N,” he breathed, “no, please…”

You weren’t unconscious—you were deeper than that. Lost in the echoes. You had shared his burden for centuries, linked by time and love, but this…

This had broken through even your formidable walls.

“Wake up,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Come back. Don’t you dare leave me.”

Amy looked away, tears in her eyes. Rory’s jaw tightened.

“I felt her break,” the Doctor said, his voice shaking. “The second I gave it to Akhaten… she took the hit, too. I didn’t think—I should’ve—”

“She’ll be okay, right?” Amy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

The Doctor didn’t reply.

He just took your hand.

Held it against his twin hearts.

And did what he always did when he thought he might lose you: he told a story.

“Do you remember the Temple of Stillwinds?” he whispered. “You were so cross with me. Said I was flirting with the High Priestess just to get the last key. You hit me with a vase, and I regenerated two hours later. Thought I was being dramatic, but I really liked that face.”

A flicker of breath passed your lips.

He smiled faintly.

“We built a treehouse in the upper boughs of the Singing Forest, just to hear the lullabies at night. You said that was the closest thing to peace you’d ever felt. Even the TARDIS liked it. She still hums the tune sometimes when she thinks I’m not listening.”

Amy and Rory exchanged a glance, feeling the weight of his grief hang in the air like mist.

“Come back to me, Y/N,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “Please. I don’t know how to be without you. I’ve forgotten so much—but I could never forget you. You’re the reason I kept going. You’re my constant.”

And then—

You stirred.

It was faint. A twitch in your fingers, a flicker of golden light beneath your skin. Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

“…Doctor?”

He let out a shaky laugh that cracked halfway through.

“I’m here. I’m right here.”

You tried to sit up, and he helped you, one arm supporting your back, the other cradling your hand as if afraid you might vanish again.

“I felt everything,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “All of it. You gave too much…”

“I had to,” he murmured. “It was the only way to save the girl. To save the world.”

“You should’ve let me share it properly,” you chastised gently. “Next time, don’t block me out.”

“You nearly died.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

“I’m a Time Lord, love. It takes a lot more than an angry god and a few million memories to take me down.”

He chuckled softly.

“Still… don’t scare me like that.”

Amy cleared her throat, stepping back as Rory helped her. “We’ll, uh… give you two a moment.”

As they left, the Doctor pulled you fully into his arms, burying his face in your hair.

The two of you sat like that for a long while, wrapped in silence, surrounded by the ashes of belief and the weight of eternity. It didn’t matter how long you’d lived, how many times you’d been broken and rebuilt. In that moment, the only truth was love.

“I never want to see you fall like that again,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

You turned your face toward his, brushing your nose against his. “Then don’t give yourself away without me next time.”

He nodded, lips ghosting over your brow.

“Deal.”

A pause.

Then he smiled.

“I did a pretty good job back there though, didn’t I? With the whole shouting at the god thing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You scared the entire system into submission.”

He grinned. “Just another Tuesday, then.”

And together, beneath the light of a dying god and a reborn star, the Doctor and his wife rose slowly, hand in hand, two eternal souls forged in time, memory, and love.

Even gods could not consume them.

The air in the amphitheater had grown quiet. The songs had faded, the Old God silenced, and the golden glow of the Akhaten system was soft again—calm after the storm. The Doctor helped you to your feet, his arm firm around your waist as he kept you close.

“Let’s get you back to the TARDIS,” he said gently, still watching you with that same wide-eyed worry he always had when you were hurt. “You need rest. Proper rest. Time Lord or not, you were almost—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in softly, your voice rasping with fatigue.

He nodded, lips pressing together.

Amy and Rory followed behind silently, casting glances at you every few steps, still shaken by how close you’d come to falling into the void for good.

But you were alive.

You were always strong—but this had pushed you to the edge.

Back aboard the TARDIS, the Doctor led you to the console room, settling you gently on the jump seat. The TARDIS dimmed the lights instinctively, the soft hum of her engines lowering to a lullaby as if she too understood the fragility of this moment.

He knelt before you, hands on your knees, eyes scanning you for anything—anything at all—that seemed wrong.

“Pulse?” he murmured, tapping two fingers to your wrist.

“Still there,” you mumbled.

“Eyes?”

“Both present and accounted for.”

“Memory?”

You blinked slowly. “You once shaved your eyebrows off in your fourth incarnation just to see if it improved aerodynamics in high-speed chases.”

He smirked. “Yep. You’re all there.”

But as he started to stand, you swayed.

The jump seat seemed to tilt sideways and lurch beneath you. Your vision shimmered with threads of gold, fractured memories flying past your consciousness in a rush—visions not just of Akhaten, but of Gallifrey, of the Death Zone, of Earth’s future. Too much.

Too fast.

And then—

Darkness again.

This time, the fall was gentler, but no less frightening.

The Doctor caught you mid-collapse, sliding to the floor with you cradled in his arms. “No, no, no, come on—Y/N…”

Amy shouted from the corridor, “Doctor? Did something happen?”

“Stay there!” he called back, urgency threading through his voice.

He lowered your head into his lap, brushing your hair from your forehead as golden pulses of memory visibly flickered beneath your skin. The threads of time itself were swirling too fast inside you.

You were unraveling under the weight of it.

He laid both hands on your temples and closed his eyes.

“Shhh. Slow down, love. You don’t have to carry it all at once. Breathe with me. Anchor with me…”

His voice was soft, gentle, the rhythm of it syncing with your own scattered thoughts. Gradually, the storm in your mind began to settle. You weren't alone in the timeline—you never had been.

You had him.

When your eyes fluttered open, the Doctor was still beside you, seated on the floor of the console room with your head resting against his chest. His hearts beat steadily beneath your cheek.

“…Doctor?” you whispered.

His head jerked down in relief. “Y/N. Oh, thank Rassilon.”

You looked up at him, your body still trembling slightly from the overload. “I didn’t mean to scare you again.”

“You’re lucky I don’t regenerate from sheer stress,” he said, stroking your cheek. “What happened?”

You blinked, swallowing hard. “The memories… they came too fast. Not from now—but from before. I think Akhaten’s energy pulled something loose. Maybe your speech... the force of it knocked the vaults open.”

He nodded. “We’ve lived too long. Sometimes the mind forgets how to sort it all.”

You touched your temple gently. “I saw Gallifrey. I saw us as children. I saw you wearing your Academy robes backwards just to make a statement.”

He chuckled. “I was a statement.”

“And… I saw Akhaten. Again.” Your voice trembled slightly. “But not from my eyes.”

He paused.

You sat up slowly, still held in his arms. “I saw you. Standing there. Alone. All that pain in your voice… and then I saw you cry.”

The Doctor inhaled sharply.

“You never cry,” you said gently, fingers trailing up to his face. “But you did then.”

He looked away.

“I wanted to go to you,” you continued, reaching to cradle his face and guide his eyes back to yours. “The moment I saw that first tear, I tried to reach for you. But the energy hit me too fast, and I couldn’t…”

Your thumb brushed along his cheekbone. “You gave so much. Too much.”

He swallowed thickly. “It was the only way.”

“You never should have had to stand there alone.”

“I wasn’t,” he whispered, his hands tightening around yours. “You were there. Even if you fell, even if you couldn't reach me—you were still there. And somehow, that made it bearable.”

You leaned forward slowly, gently pressing your forehead against his. “We’ve carried the weight of time for so long. But you don’t always have to be the one to bleed first.”

He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into your embrace.

“You saw me cry,” he whispered, almost ashamed.

“I did,” you said softly. “And it broke my heart. Not because you cried—but because you tried to hide it. From me.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

“Doctor,” you breathed, taking his face in your hands, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen you do. You gave every part of yourself to protect a little girl, to protect a planet. That isn’t weakness. That’s who you are.”

A long pause stretched between you.

Then you gently tilted his head so you could press a kiss to his forehead.

He shivered at the contact.

Your hands moved slowly across his face—fingers ghosting over his brow, tracing his jaw, thumb brushing his lips. Each movement was soft, grounding.

“I remember our first century together,” you murmured, “when you still hadn’t stopped grieving for Gallifrey. You used to wake up screaming, saying you didn’t deserve peace.”

“I still don’t,” he murmured.

“You do. And you always did.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes now, and this time, it was you who let them fall freely.

“You are the most extraordinary being in this universe, Doctor. Not because of the battles you’ve won or the legends they sing—but because of your heart. And I’ve loved it across every incarnation. Every wound. Every tear.”

He looked at you as if seeing you for the first time.

And for the thousandth time all at once.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling you fully into his arms again.

You curled into him, resting your head beneath his chin, your arms around his waist. His fingers wove into your hair, and yours into the lapels of his coat.

Time bent gently around you.

Even the TARDIS was still.

Hours passed like moments.

Amy poked her head in once, saw the two of you curled together on the floor, and silently backed away with Rory in tow, offering you peace.

In the quiet afterward, you pulled back slightly to look into his eyes again.

“No more giving everything unless we both agree on it,” you said firmly.

He gave a wry grin. “Agreed.”

“And next time you cry, don’t hide it. I want to be the one who holds you.”

He nodded slowly. “You always were.”

You smiled faintly, then rested your forehead against his again.

“And next time I fall over from a memory overload, you are not allowed to blame yourself.”

He snorted. “Can’t make that promise. But I’ll try.”

You cupped his cheek again, gazing into his eyes. “We’ve lived through the worst things time has to offer. But we’re still here.”

“We’re still here,” he echoed.

And in the center of that console room, surrounded by the stars and the song of a healed system, the two of you held each other—not just as lovers or Time Lords, but as the only two people who could ever truly understand what it meant to live forever.

And still choose love.

[xhellnhighheelsx]

11/River prompts, hmm? How about… “You still manage to surprise me.”

River Song has been called a great many things in her life- reckless, impulsive, imprudent, uninhibited. But the truth is, River Song is nothing if not an avid planner.

Meticulous and fiercely prepared, she leaves nothing to chance. Why bother? With all of history at her fingertips, why shouldn’t she treat every undertaking like an open book test? She made a habit of research, of peeking back or taking a cheeky look ahead. She routinely strolls through a bustling street at breakfast only to dig up its ancient remains by dinner.

Similarly, if she wants to organize a date with her husband, she diligently plans when and where to leave her love notes and invitations. If she fancies a romp with Pretty Boy, she need only look as far as impersonating the nearest ancient queen or galactic empress. That face really did have a habit of endearing himself with the aristocracy of any era. When she misses her floppy haired Sweetie, a museum is always her best bet. With a nostalgic streak a mile wide, there's no keeping that man from waltzing through glass covered exhibits, reminiscing about all the ways he’s molded history.

And on days like today, when she goes looking for trouble just for the hell of it, when the secrets locked in an impenetrable bank vault have tickled her fancy, River always, always does her research on the people who built it.

Tapping in the twenty-seven digit numerical sequence, River bypasses any and all security codes with a three thousand year old fail safe password that was programmed by the client who commissioned the place. Juliana Primean, lovely woman, great at golf, had a terrible habit of using her grandchildren’s birthdays as passwords.

A green light grants her entry, the door hissing as it pressurizes, preparing to open. An easy smile twitches River’s lips, because its almost too easy.

The door yields, swinging wide to reveal nothing but bare walls and stale air. 

Well, she did say almost too easy.

It isn’t often someone beats her to the punch. Being fashionably late typically suits her just fine. The static in the air tells her she is most definitely late, even if only by a few seconds. Singed neutrinos reek of time travel, and River allows the buzz of it to draw her deeper into the empty vault.

Her heels click across ancient metal, echoing for naught but dust as she comes to a stop at the center of the room. There’s a note, intentionally placed and thoughtfully written, that reads, “Dinner?”

Space-time coordinates in script that could only belong to her husband make for a tempting summons. No sooner has a smirk curled the corners of her red lips than quick fingers are tapping at her vortex manipulator.

Matter shatters and rebuilds around her, smoke and vapor and the sudden smell of something divine.

“If I knew you delivered irreplaceable artifacts, I wouldn’t have bothered breaking in,” River coos in that honey velvet voice she saves just for him.

She hasn’t turned around to greet him yet, but she hears the grin in his voice clear as day as he says, “Yes, you would have.”

When she turns to face that cheeky husband of hers, a small gasp falls from her lips, breath momentarily stolen. There's a table set for two beside a giant wall of glass. Around her is intentionally dim lights and sound-proof walls, and her mind races with all the ways she could put it to good use.

Shame its primary function is a viewing platform. She doesn't have to wonder what for. Beyond the glass is a blazing Protostar, all oranges and purples and electric greens as matter and chemicals condense and swirl. It's the earliest stage of stellar evolution, only lasting about 500 millennia, a blink of an eye in the turn of the universe.

And maybe it's the way his tweed contrasts with stardust or the giddy way he rocks back on his heels, awaiting her approval, but River finds herself pulled toward him, the irrevocable fusion of hydrogen and helium and sharp edges and soft curves.

“This is a wonderful surprise,” she purrs, all joy and baited breath even as her eyes narrow in suspicion. “What's the catch?”

"Nothing!" he sputters and flails in protest, nearly upending a bottle of champagne. "I’m allowed to spoil my wife.”

River hums, studying him. Spoil her he does, often and with enthusiasm. He swings by in a top hat and tails and whisks her away to dance on ice rings and to see nights filled with stars and to watch planets be born. But he’s never taken a page from her playbook, never left her a carefully crafted and impeccably timed invitation before.

River chances a glance over her shoulder, making certain there isn't a carnivorous swarm or hostile planetary takeover on the horizon. Finding only starlight, she turns skeptical eyes back on her husband. “How’d you know I’d rob that vault?”

“Hah,” he barks out a laugh, his left arm leaning against the back of a chair, all self-assured swagger as he pins her in place with a crooked smile. “Two things are always bound to end up in uncrackable vaults. The rarest and most beautiful and impossible thing in the universe-“ he pulls out a chair for her in invitation, buzzing with secrets as he adds- “and the Primean family fortune.”

He’s on fine form today, and doesn't he just know it. The curl in his cheek is insufferably smug and devilishly handsome, and she’d be a damn fool if she didn’t allow herself to be pulled into the gravity of him.

Swaying into his personal space, River catalogs the way his gaze drops to her mouth the way a compass finds true north. Her skin hums from the undivided attention, the delight in her voice a betrayal of her contrary words. “Many ambitious thieves have had a go at breaking into that vault."

“But only you could pull it off,” he whispers, all seduction and sly smirks.

It's her turn to be captivated by his mouth, by the lips of the man who beat her to the punch, who emptied the impenetrable room of all but a handwritten note. “Look whose talking.”

Her husband merely shrugs, knowing full well she’s a sucker for mischief as he explains, “I cheated.”

“Dirty talk already, my love?” Green eyes dancing in that way she knows drives him to distraction, River slips past him, taking her seat before temptation demands she go straight for dessert.

"Behave," he half-heartedly scolds her. The answering hum she gives is warm and low, the rumble of something wicked on her tongue when he blurts, "I want to show you something."

Pity, she much prefers it when he makes her eyes flutter shut. River bites her bottom lip to keep from telling him so.  Her gaze shifts to the view beyond the glass, to a black vacuum that swirls with glittering matter and shrapnel from the nearest nebula. She inhales deep, the rich aroma of fine cuisine from some far off time and place delighting her senses.

Bless him, he's gone through such trouble.

"It's gorgeous, Sweetie."

"Hm?" the Doctor looks up from where he'd been digging through his top pocket, eyes glancing to her and then the Protostar. "Oh, yes, I thought you'd like it." Half his arm still buried in his coat, he steps around to face her, nearly tripping over his own feet as he wrestles a small jewelry box from its hiding place. "But this is what I wanted to show you."

Pale fingers crack open the box, holding it out to her. River's breath catches in her throat. "Is this.." she exhales, all wonder and reverence as her eyes drink in one of the lesser known but highly coveted treasures rumored to be stashed within the Primean fortune.

"The Eye of Infinity," he tells her, giddy and full of the very magic that makes the universe turn. "It’s a micro galaxy encased in a Neuron Pearl inside a necklace made of pure Lonsdaleite diamonds." It's complicated and rare and physics defying, and it has nothing on the grin splitting her husband's cheeks as he says, "May I?"

"By all means," she breathes, but the Doctor is already brushing her hair aside, draping it around her neck before the air has left her lungs. Long fingers set to work, diligent in their task. It still thrills her, the way his fingertips brush against the back of her neck, the way his breath ghosts over the shell of her ear.

She wonders how long he’s been planning this. Unlike her, the Doctor is typically a creature of whimsy. No sneak previews, just barreling in and hoping for the best, his standard method of operation. But, with this, River can feel the precision, the planning, the perfection that went into this night.

As his hands fall away from their task, his knuckles trail across her shoulders and down her biceps before gently turning her toward the glass. In the reflection, she sees herself, fresh from a heist and still dressed for the occasion. Behind her, the most impossible man in the universe is grinning like the cat who ate the canary. A flush creeps over her skin at the sight of it, at the feel of the Doctor's breath on the side of her neck as he leans in to get a closer look.

Across her chest rests the most beautiful necklace she’s ever seen, and River’s voice drops an octave, ripe for misbehavior as she sighs out, “Oh, I am so keeping this.”

“I was hoping you might.”

She catches his smirk in the reflection, her interest peaked. “Not like you to encourage grand larceny. Quick, take me to bed before my husband comes back.”

He chuckles at her wicked tongue. “It’s not stealing. It’s a gift, from its owner.”

River’s incredulous brow arches as she turn to look at him properly. “Since when were you the sole heir to the Primean fortune?”

“Since I won it in a game of golf," he offers flippantly, tapping the tip of her nose. He dances away from her then, a flourish to his gangly arms as he removes the lid that's been keeping their dinner warm. "And not the whole fortune. Just the bits I thought you’d like.”

“When you said you cheated…”

“At the golf, definitely.” his coat swishes, hair falling into his eyes as he mimes swinging a golf club.

"I didn’t know you played," River offers, eyes locked on him, because she really isn't hungry anymore. Well, not for what's on the menu, anyway.

"I’m full of surprises," he grins.

Their eyes meet, the gold in his refracting the distant starlight. It's far more entrancing than nebula clouds or priceless heirlooms could ever dream to be.

Her own eyes must be filled to the brim with love and delight and desire. It must be written on her face, her appetite for something besides dinner, because that husband of her flushes crimson, entirely too pleased with himself as River confesses, "Yes, you are."

[julesonjupiter]

to be cringe is to be free don’t let me on the internet etc etc. vortexes and velvets come home

assortment of drawings and doodles and perhaps scribbles…..

[pupsmailbox]

SURREALISM ID PACK

NAMES︰ abigail. abyss. abyssa. achey. adam. adelaide. adeline. agatha. agnes. albert. alexander. alfred. alice. amelia. angel. annabelle. apparition. arch. archie. arthur. atticus. augustus. beatrice. beetle. benedict. benjamin. birdee. bliss. bubbles. bug. bugby. buggy. bunny. cain. calvin. cardee. catherine. cecilia. celeste. chaos. charlotte. chev. chevrotain. chimera. clara. clementine. cloudi. cloudy. compass. crow. dahlia. daisy. daphne. daze. decay. deja. delusion. dorothy. doubt. dove. dream. dreamy. drift. echo. eleanor. elizabeth. emily. enigma. erebos. erebus. ernest. error. eve. evelyn. exite. eyes. fading. fady. faid. faint. fawnly. felicity. felix. fish. fisshu. flaw. flower. forky. foxy. frog. froge. froggy. frost. frosty. ghost. ghosty. gideon. gin. ginnungagap. glitch. glitchy. graham. gray. grey. hare. harriet. hattie. haunt. haven. hazel. heartbeat. heartbreak. henry. hoarfrost. hollow. howl. hugo. icey. illusielle. illusion. imogen. infinesse. infinitie. ink. iris. ivy. jane. juliet. juno. jupiter. kai. key. khali. khaos. khora. kit. larkling. lichen. lichy. lilith. lily. liminal. link. locket. love. lucy. lulu. luminal. luna. mabel. margaret. mars. matilda. matrix. meadow. meddy. mercury. mirage. mirror. misty. mo. mold. moon. moss. mossy. moth. mothy. mug. murmur. mush. mushy. mysterie. nada. nameless. nemo. neptune. night. nightmare. nihil. nobody. noir. noire. noiresse. noirette. nostal. nostalgesse. nostalgette. nothing. nox. null. nyx. oblivionne. obscuritie. obsidian. oceana. ocina. ocula. odditie. oddling. olive. oliver. olivia. ombra. orion. pale. penelope. phantom. phoebe. phone. pin. pluto. poppy. portal. post. pulse. pup. rain. rainy. rippel. ripple. rose. salem. saturn. scythe. scythette. serene. shadow. shivver. shroom. shrum. silver. sky. smile. snak. snake. snek. snowy. socket. sombra. sophie. sparrow. spook. spookie. spooks. spooky. spoon. spotty. sprite. stacy. static. stitch. storm. stormy. stream. sugar. sunny. teeth. telle. theodore. thread. thunder. thunderly. ticket. tide. tooth. tripp. twilight. unknown. vac. vacancy. vacuify. vazio. vega. velvet. venus. victoria. vinyl. vivian. void. vortex. walter. worry. wraith. wren. yearn. zero. zeta.

PRONOUNS︰ ?/?. ?t/?t. [redacted]/[redacted]. _/_. abandon/abandon. ap/ap. backroom/backroom. being/being. bizarre/bizarre. blank/blank. blur/blur. clock/clock. cloud/cloud. cold/cold. creature/creature. creep/creep. dark/dark. daze/daze. deja/vu. deranged/deranged. dim/dim. dream/dream. echo/echo. eerie/eerie. em/empty. empty/empt. empty/empty. end/end. entity/entity. error/error. eye/eye. familiar/familiar. film/film. flower/flower. fog/fog. forget/forget. fru/fru. ghost/ghost. glitch/glitch. h?/h?m. hollow/hollow. hx/hxm. hy/hym. illusion/illusion. ina/ina. infinite/infinite. ink/ink. jpeg/jpeg. key/key. lim/lim. lim/liminal. liminal/liminal. lost/lost. lurk/lurk. mist/mist. moss/moss. mush/mush. mush/shroom. mystery/mystery. night/night. no/exit. no/non. noir/noir. nos/nos. nostal/nostalgia. nostalgia/nostalgia. not/nothing. nothing/nothing. nox/nox. null/null. obsidian/obsidian. odd/odd. one/one. penumbra/penumbra. phantom/phantom. pitch/pitch. pop/pop. rem/ember. scythe/scythe. sh?/h?r. sha/shadow. shade/shade. shadow/shadow. shrooms/shroom. shx/hxr. shy/hyr. silhouette/silhouette. space/space. spiral/spiral. stat/stat. stat/static/static. static/static. stone/stone. strange/strange. surreal/surreal. tele/vision. th?y/th?m. that/thatthing. thing/thing. thon/thon. thxy/thxm. thy/thym. tooth/tooth. tv/tv. twilight/twilight. un/canny. uncanny/uncanny. vae/vaer. vast/vast. venta/venta. voi/voi. voi/void. void/void. vor/tex. watcher/watcher. weird/weird. where?/where?. winde/winde. x/x. yellow/yellow. ⚫. ⚫️. ❓. ❔. 🌀. 🌑. 🌚. 🌫️. 🏚️. 👁️. 💭. 🕳️. 🗝️. 🚪.

SIMILAR LISTS I HAVE︰ 1 2 3 4 ⭐

[farewellneverlandmylove]

⌕The Unbroken Branch 1.2

genre -- Hunger Games AU pairing -- poly! yunho x mingi x fem!reader warnings -- murder, metal health, injuries, mentions of food and weigth...

!!!!!!!!!disclaimer this ff was written with me and my friend's ideas put into gemini. We edited the chapters and changed some of the writing style by hand. We wrote it for ourselves but seeing that it turned out well we thought we might share! (we don't get any credit) Thank you Gemini for keeping us delulu -d&n deviders

The Victor's Price: Part 1

In the unforgiving realm of Panem, where life hangs by a thread and fate is drawn from a glass bowl, a quiet healer from District 7 is thrust into the 73rd Hunger Games. Burdened by an old injury and a deep-seated anxiety, she faces overwhelming odds, dismissed by many as weak. Yet, beneath her quiet demeanor lies a sharp mind, honed by observation and a forbidden knowledge of the natural world.

As the Games unfold, she navigates a brutal arena not with brute strength, but with a cunning born of desperation. Watched by a former victor with a golden reputation and another scarred by his own arena demons, she must make impossible choices, embracing the darkness required for survival. But even if she wins, what is the true cost of victory? And can a heart survive the very acts it commits to live?

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2: _The Capitols Embrace_

The closer the train drew to the Capitol, the more unsettling the world outside became. The muted greens and browns of the districts gave way to a riot of unnatural colors. Trees were sculpted into impossible shapes, buildings gleamed with metallic sheens and kaleidoscopic glass, and manicured lawns stretched out like emerald carpets. It was a landscape meticulously designed to flaunt wealth and power, a stark and jarring contrast to the desperate, functional world Y/n knew.

Her stomach churned with a mixture of fear and a strange, morbid curiosity. The quiet conversation with Yunho the night before had provided a brief, fragile solace, but it couldn't erase the terrifying reality of her situation.

She felt her limp more acutely now, the vulnerability of her body screaming in the face of this perfectly engineered, heartless city.

The train began to slow, its smooth glide gradually giving way to a gentle rumble. Then, with a final, soft hiss of air brakes, it came to a complete stop.

The silence that followed was brief, immediately shattered by a cacophony that assaulted Y/n's ears: a roar of cheers, the blare of trumpets, and the deafening flash of cameras.

"Welcome to the Capitol," Johanna's voice drawled from the doorway of Y/n's compartment, her tone flat, devoid of emotion. "Try not to look like a freshly caught rabbit. They eat that up."

Y/n felt a surge of nausea. She forced herself to stand, her ankle protesting, and followed Johanna, Anthony, and Yunho out of the compartment and down the opulent corridor. As they approached the exit, the noise intensified, pressing in on her, making her head pound.

Stepping off the train was like being plunged into a dazzling, suffocating vortex. The platform was a swirling mass of sound and color.

Capitol citizens, dressed in outlandish fashion that defied logic – feathers, glowing fabrics, gravity-defying hairstyles – surged against the velvet ropes. Their faces were painted, adorned with glittering jewels, their eyes wide with a hungry, insatiable curiosity. They shrieked and waved, holding up signs with the names of tributes, though Y/n doubted any bore her own.

A wave of claustrophobia washed over her. She stumbled slightly, her limp more pronounced in the sudden onslaught of attention. Her social anxiety, usually a quiet hum, now screamed in her ears. She felt exposed, vulnerable, like an insect under a magnifying glass. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she instinctively pulled her shoulders inward, trying to make herself smaller.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Yunho subtly shift closer to her, his presence a quiet anchor in the chaos. He didn't touch her, but his proximity was a silent, protective gesture amidst the overwhelming noise.

She also caught a glimpse of other tributes, some looking defiant, others utterly terrified. She recognized a few faces from the past few days' brief glimpses of the replay of the reaping in the train, and amongst them, for the first time, she saw Mingi.

He was standing with another male mentor, Haymitch from District 12. Mingi looked pale, his eyes distant, clearly struggling with the sensory overload, his posture rigid. Even from a distance, Y/n could sense the deep-seated trauma clinging to him.

Their Capitol escort, Effie Trinket’s District 7 equivalent, a woman named Luminara, shrieked a greeting to the crowd, her voice a piercing falsetto. She herded them towards a waiting vehicle, sleek, silent, humming with quiet power.

The journey through the Capitol's streets was a dizzying blur. Towers of impossible height scraped the sky, their surfaces reflecting the sunlight in blinding flashes. Bridges arced elegantly over impossible chasms, and streets were paved with shimmering, iridescent materials. It was a city that defied gravity, logic, and common sense.

They arrived at the Tribute Center, a colossal edifice that dwarfed everything around it. It was less a building and more a monument to the Games, a cold, marble-clad fortress.

Inside, the opulence continued, but with a sterile, institutional feel. They were led to the District 7 floor, a private haven of luxury apartments.

Her own apartment was vast, featuring panoramic views of the city, a bedroom larger than her entire home in District 7, and a bathroom that felt more like a spa.

Yet, surrounded by such excess, Y/n felt a profound sense of emptiness. This wasn't comfort; it was a gilded cage.

The Capitol wasn't trying to make them comfortable; they were trying to soften them, to disarm them, before throwing them into the brutal reality of the arena.

As she stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the impossible city, the exhaustion of the journey finally settled deep into her bones.

She was here. In the Capitol. The next few days would decide whether she lived or died. The Games were no longer a distant threat; they were a terrifying, imminent reality.

We aren't sure. Do you guys want a Taglist? We will probably have just as many chapters in part 2 and 3.

[sreabhadh]

So. I slipped and fell. And now I have a nearly 2k word long Vortex fic to release into the wild. And yes, I do mean Vortex, not TexAid- this predates Vortex's death. (Don't worry, I'm getting there, I have plans). (There as in Vortex's death. I hope it turns out as juicy as I want it to and is as juicy to others as it is to me.

Mandatory Vortex trigger warning. I would say standard TexAid warning but First Aid isn't in this one.

Blood, gore, death, violence, language, Shockwave. I am scared enough of Shockwave to consider him his own trigger warning lol.

Hope you guys like it!

**********************************************************

Vortex’s vision was filling up with red. Figuratively. They were going to pay. Vortex had figured it all out, and they were going to pay. Vortex checked the time, grinding his teeth with a furious snarl. It’s not enough. Not enough for the bastards that did this. Not enough to make them bleed until their pristine white lab coats are the brightest shade of red. Not enough to make them drown in their own precious fluids, with as many holes and cuts on their bodies as Vortex’s little brother had bandages on his body. A stab of the knife for every stab of the needle, a twist of the knife for every bruise, a slice for every inch of cloth wrapped around him. They brought Swindle to the edge of death then made him dance. Vortex was going to make them beg for such a merciful treatment, and then he would make sure they never came back.

His fingers ran over each of his weapons in each of their hidden pockets and sheaths, memorizing them physically, where each one was and how many he had of each. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to have any of them. Vortex had gotten quite skilled at hiding them though, and his stockpiles had grown substantially over the years. They were going to be quite useful tonight. Tonight there was a meeting of the higher ups, to discuss the recent influx of monsters on the Western plains. Vortex hadn’t received an invitation, but he was writing his own. He’d have to write it after he was already inside, which wasn’t how invitations worked, but he needed blood to write this invitation, and he wasn’t going to use his, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to use Swindler’s. It was fine. He’d just write the invitation so it would be inviting them to hell, instead of inviting himself to the party. They had gotten lax. They’d trained their attack dog, set him loose on monsters, promoted him, given him treats and trinkets, forgetting more and more every day to worry about how his teeth would feel piercing their flesh. Vortex could act like a good boy, walk right in on their party, and unleash hell. And boy was it going to be a hell of a party.

Vortex’s vision filled with red. Literally. It was such a beautiful color. Made a real splash on the decor. Literally. The screaming had already started, though Vortex had only just begun. His first target, the one most responsible for what had been done to Swindle and the others, lay on the table choking on his own velvet-colored fluids as they eagerly ate up the horde of white sheets and notes of paper lining the table edges. Vortex’s remaining party poppers, the other inhabitants of the room had scattered, clambering over one another to get to the door. Which wasn’t working, silly thing. Them and their fancy automatic doors made of fancy metal to keep them safe. Never did work correctly when there were psychopathic murders on the loose and killing everyone in the room. How inconvenient. For them. Vortex grinned like a mad man, hopping up on the table with the glee of a 5 year old on their birthday. Like a normal 5 year old that is- Vortex couldn’t remember any birthday parties at that or any other age. He sniggered, then lost himself in a howl of truly demonic laughter. It wasn’t his birthday, but it was never too late to make up for lost time.

“WELCOME TO MY PARTY YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT!” Vortex crowed from his new table for standing on and giving ominous speeches of vengeance (now in deep cherry red, no tablecloth required to provide a pop of color).

One person was still sitting at the table, probably in shock. Vortex ignored them. He could kill them after their panic set in enough to make them scream in terror. Failing that he could just make them scream in agony.

Many in the room turned from their fleeing positions to regard him with horror. Others ignored him, banging and slamming on the door, calling for help. Ha. Idiots.

“I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY WHAT I’VE PREPARED, THOUGH NONE OF YOU CAN STAY FOR VERY LONG-”

Vortex gave the line a moment to sink in their panic-filled heads before continuing.

“AS YOU’LL ALL BE RECEIVING A PERSONAL ONE-WAY INVITATION TO A VERY SPECIAL PLACE!”

“YOU MAY HAVE HEARD OF IT! IT’S MUCH BETTER THAN HERE REALLY, YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE IT!”

“Bloody hell!” someone exclaimed. Vortex shot them in the head. The air exploded with a new chorus of shrieks and screams as vibrant as the colors that had exploded from the skull he shot. The monster-slaying caliber weapon might have been a bit overkill and then some on a human head. Some of the shrapnel embedded itself in other people’s bodies and skulls. It was perfect. The screams were delicious.

“EXACTLY! HELL! CONGRATS YOU FIGURED IT OUT! YOU ALL GET A ONE WAY TICKET TO HELL, FREE OF CHARGE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO EVERYONE, IT’S THE LAST THING YOU’LL CELEBRATE!”

That last line hadn’t come out quite how Vortex wanted, but the lab coats and neck ties were still quaking in terror, so it was doing its job regardless.

Vortex lifted the now-dead corpse on the table by the collar of its tie. This is what they would all get for hurting his family. For hurting Swindle. He wanted to yell that part more ferociously than he had anything else, but he couldn’t. He had been conditioned into not showing any weakness and not giving the enemy anything to work with. He wasn’t going to give them that. They could die not knowing exactly what they had died for, but Vortex would know. That’s what mattered.

Vortex stabbed the corpse a few dozen times for good measure. He’d been distracted enough not to notice when exactly the man had expired, but he wasn’t breathing, and never would, which Vortex took as a good thing. Disappointing that he had gone so quickly, the bastard deserved worse than that, but at least he was gone. He’d never hurt Swindle or anyone else ever again. Now for the others. Cowering and cringing before him like, well, he didn’t have anything pathetic enough to compare them to. These were the people responsible for so many deaths and so much suffering and they couldn’t handle a little blood? A single combatant? There were more than enough of them to have at least tried fighting him, but no one seemed inclined.

Or not. Vortex whipped around at the sound of a scraping chair, ready to defend himself and fell his attacking victim. To put them down like they fucking deserved. The person with the chair wasn’t attacking though. They merely had a hand on the back of it, and their face was turned away from Vortex. The hell was that about? It was the person who had stayed sitting earlier, the one in shock. What were they doing? Were they still in shock? They didn’t look like they were in shock, though Vortex couldn’t tell without being able to see their face.

Alarm bells rang in Vortex’s mind, and he instantly shifted from gleeful murder spree mode to careful predator mode. He couldn’t be sure what this person thought they had up their sleeve or what they were doing, but it wasn’t going to get in the way of his vengeance. Or his fun.

Languidly, they brought a hand up to their face, then cast it aside like a used cigarette. The mask they discarded crashed noisily against the wall and down to the floor, electronic pieces sparking and fizzing as they continued to display the holographic image of a normal person’s face. Vortex felt his heart begin to race. There was only one person on base ever rumored or seen to wear a mask. He hadn’t realized there was a holographic aspect to the mask. He’d never heard of that, but he did know of one person who supposedly wore a mask.

The figure turned, and Vortex felt a wave of terror roll over him. One eye. No face. One eye, glowing with quiet confidence and casual malice. How many people had seen Shockwave’s face and lived to tell the tale? It’s him. Vortex’s knees buckled, almost sending him spilling off the table like a fumbled glass of milk. A number of the other occupants in the room passed out.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit FUCK. It was him. He was real. He was real and staring Vortex right in the face. Unblinking with his singular nonhuman eye. It- he, Shockwave- tilted his head. A question. A challenge. That much Vortex could read in the monster’s cold humanoid figure. Vortex no longer felt like a careful predator or a gleeful 5 year old.

He felt very small, and very tiny. As insignificant and meaningless as a dented piece of equipment that had finally stopped serving its purpose. A crippled rat strung up and helpless to the slaughter. Vortex snarled, though his heart wasn’t in it. He lifted his monster-slaying gun by instinct with the battle-hardened limbs and muscles trained to work long after Vortex’s mind had taken a leave of absence. He fired. And fired again, then again, and again, releasing a halestorm of fire. Surely that would work. Surely it had to. Surely. He’d never make fun of anyone for using an overpowered gun instead of a good knife ever again. Sometimes guns were overpowered for a reason.

Sometimes being overpowered wasn’t enough. The gun overheated, safety fail clicking on, rendering it useless. The gun slipped from Vortex’s fingers, then clattered hollowly to the table. Vortex wanted to run. Wanted to hide. Find the darkest, quietest, most remote corner of existence and curl up inside it and whimper like a kicked pup. Fear. Vortex had not felt that emotion, truly felt it, been consumed by it in a very long time. He had banished it, cut it out with his bare hands and removed it forever. No longer. Vortex was afraid. More so than he had ever been in his entire life. More than every terrifying moment and memory of his life combined. He had enough to fill a stadium with, but they wilted in comparison to this. This thing. The monster. Shockwave.

Shockwave stood, unmoved, unconcerned. He, it had not a scrap of clothing left, but Shockwave had no need for human decency. Shockwave was not human. His metallic “skin” fuzzed a moment, then was replaced with the holographic image of clothing. It was a bit blurry, but it didn’t matter. The wall, the ceiling and floor, that entire section of the room had been destroyed. Shockwave stood in the midst, completely unharmed. Completely unphased.

Vortex still wanted to run. Wanted to whimper and hide. But he was dead now anyway, so he gave his best snarl, which came out as a half-choked hiss, and lunged, aiming for that singular sinister eye with his good knife hand.

Shockwave caught him by the throat, and Vortex felt the hologram fizz uncomfortably against the skin beneath the vice grip of Shockwave’s cold metal fingers. Vortex’s body moved reflexively, mind working desperately, but his attempts were as fruitless as before. He could kick, punch, jab and twist as finely as the best trained wolf, which he was, but in Shockwave’s grasp he was but a mewling pup.

Shockwave slammed Vortex into the wall, and Vortex heard himself cry out. It was a far away sound, and his vision swam, the concussion from the blow already threatening to shut his brain down. Shockwave slammed him into the wall again, and Vortex groaned, unbeknownst to himself. His body rag-dolled limply in Shockwave’s grasp. Vortex was out like the light of a birthday candle on a lone velvet cupcake.

[rankine78]

Hello! It's me again.

Could you write Kafka hypnotizing reader, don't care about anything else.

okie, thanks in advance

Control.

The air aboard the Astral Express hummed with the familiar thrum of warp travel, but to Y/N, it felt thick, suffocating. She’d sought solitude in a rarely-used observation lounge, drawn by the hypnotic swirl of stars beyond the reinforced glass. Her thoughts were a tangled mess – anxieties about the next mission, the gnawing emptiness she couldn’t define. That’s when *she* appeared.

Kafka didn’t enter; she materialized, a shadow detaching itself from the deeper darkness near the viewport. Her crimson eyes, glowing faintly like dying embers, fixed on Y/N. A slow, knowing smile curved her lips, devoid of warmth, filled with predatory amusement.

"Troubled thoughts, little songbird?" Kafka’s voice was a velvet purr, resonating deep within Y/N’s bones, bypassing conscious thought. "The cosmos sings such a lonely melody tonight, doesn't it?"

Y/N stiffened, a primal fear coiling in her gut. "Kafka. What do you want?"

"Want?" Kafka chuckled, a low, chilling sound. She took a step closer, her high heels clicking softly on the metal floor, each step echoing in the sudden silence of Y/N’s mind. "I want to conduct. To find the perfect harmony hidden beneath the noise." Her gaze intensified. "And you, my dear Y/N… you’re out of tune."

Y/N tried to look away, to call for help, but her limbs felt leaden. Kafka’s eyes held her captive. They weren’t just looking *at* her; they were peeling her open, layer by layer. The swirling stars outside seemed to pulse in time with the Stellaron Hunter’s presence.

"Don't fight it," Kafka murmured, her voice dropping to a hypnotic whisper that slithered into Y/N’s ears. "Fighting only creates dissonance. Listen… listen to the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Slow… steady… sinking."

Against her will, Y/N’s focus narrowed to the frantic thumping in her chest. It *was* slowing, matching the languid cadence of Kafka’s words. The starfield beyond the glass began to blur, its pinpricks of light stretching into luminous trails.

"Good," Kafka breathed, now standing directly before her. She raised a gloved hand, not touching, but tracing the air inches from Y/N’s temple. A faint, violet light emanated from her fingertips, carrying the scent of ozone and something ancient, metallic. "Feel the weight lifting? The useless worries, the petty fears… they’re just static. Let them fade."

Y/N felt a terrifying sense of detachment. Her anxieties *did* seem distant, trivial. A profound lethargy washed over her, warm and inviting. Her knees buckled, but she didn't fall. Kafka’s unseen will held her upright.

"Your mind is such a fascinating instrument," Kafka continued, her voice the only anchor in Y/N’s dissolving reality. "So full of potential, yet so… cluttered. Let me help you find your true resonance. The one *I* choose for you." Her crimson eyes flared brighter. "Look deeper, Y/N. Into my eyes. See the symphony I weave."

It wasn't a request. It was a command etched directly onto her soul. Y/N’s gaze locked onto Kafka’s. The swirling crimson wasn't just color; it was a vortex. Patterns formed – spirals that tightened, fractals that repeated into infinity, each iteration pulling Y/N further down. Whispers echoed in the patterns, not Kafka’s voice, but her own thoughts, twisted and amplified.

Useless… Alone… Afraid… Needing… Obeying…

"Yesss," Kafka hissed, a serpentine sound of satisfaction. "There it is. The raw note beneath the chaos. Fear. Such a powerful motivator. But also… emptiness. A void waiting to be filled." She leaned impossibly close, her breath ghosting over Y/N’s ear, cold despite its proximity. "I can fill it, little songbird. I can give you purpose. Peace. All you need to do… is surrender."

The violet light intensified, pouring from Kafka’s hand into Y/N’s mind. It wasn't painful; it was a chilling invasion, a glacial flood seeping into every crevice of her consciousness. Memories flickered – laughter with the Express crew, moments of determination – but they felt alien, like scenes from someone else's life. Kafka’s presence was the only constant, the only *real* thing.

"Surrender your doubt," Kafka commanded, the words vibrating through Y/N’s skull. "Surrender your will. Surrender your self. They are burdens you no longer need to carry. Give them… to me."

Resistance was ash on the wind. The last fragile threads of Y/N’s autonomy snapped. A whimper escaped her lips, a final, pathetic sound before silence swallowed her. Her body went utterly slack, held only by Kafka’s invisible strings. Her eyes, once reflecting the starlight, now held only a dull, vacant sheen, mirroring the hypnotic patterns still swirling in Kafka’s gaze.

Kafka smiled, a genuine expression of dark delight. She gently cupped Y/N’s cheek, her thumb stroking the slack skin. The touch was possessive, intimate in its utter violation. "Beautiful," she murmured. "A perfect instrument, silenced and ready to be tuned."

She leaned in again, her lips brushing Y/N’s ear. "Now, listen closely, my dear. Your first note. Forget the Astral Express. Forget your past. Your loyalty… your devotion… belongs only to me. Kafka. Say it."

Y/N’s lips moved, soundless at first, then a hoarse, emotionless whisper. "...Kafka."

"Good girl." Kafka’s smile widened. "You are mine. Utterly. Completely. My will is your symphony. My desires are your purpose. Feel the peace in that? The beautiful simplicity?"

Inside the hollowed-out shell of her mind, Y/N felt… nothing. No peace, no terror. Just an echoing void where her self used to be. And within that void, only Kafka’s voice resonated, clear and absolute, the only sound in the silent universe.

Kafka stepped back, admiring her handiwork. Y/N stood like a perfect doll, awaiting instruction. The vibrant, sometimes stubborn Trailblazer was gone, replaced by a vessel of exquisite emptiness. Kafka traced a finger down Y/N’s arm, sending a phantom shiver through the unresponsive body.

"The others will miss you, of course," Kafka mused, her tone light, conversational. "March 7th will cry. Dan Heng will brood. Himeko will search. It will be… tragically beautiful." Her crimson eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. "But they won't find *you*. They'll find my masterpiece. My obedient shadow."

She turned towards the swirling stars, her figure silhouetted against the cosmos. "Come, my little songbird. We have work to do. The Stellaron’s grand design requires… harmony." She didn't look back, simply extending a hand. "Follow."

Without hesitation, without a flicker of independent thought, Y/N moved. Her steps were smooth, unnaturally precise, falling into perfect sync with Kafka’s own. She followed the Stellaron Hunter away from the observation deck, away from the Astral Express, away from everything she had ever been.

Behind them, the observation lounge was empty save for the swirling stars. The only trace of Y/N was a single tear, frozen on her vacant cheek, reflecting the cold, indifferent light of the cosmos – the final, silent elegy for the soul that had been meticulously, lovingly erased. The symphony of shattered will had reached its crescendo, leaving only the haunting, eternal note of obedience in its wake. The conductor had found her perfect instrument, and the darkness resonated with her satisfaction.

[lured-into-wonderland]

In the stillness of a dust-laden village, a lone figure strode purposefully along the banks of a murky river. Regulus Corneas, a young man marked by his quiet demeanor and unremarkable existence, had always felt an unspoken bond with the flowing water. It mirrored his own life—ever shifting yet unwavering in its course. He walked with a measured pace, his gaze fixed on the ground, searching for something elusive.

Then, it appeared before him. A small black box, cradled in the reeds and partially submerged, as if the river had chosen to present it to him. His heart raced as he reached for it, the cold metal sending a shiver coursing through him. It was heavier than he expected, a tangible weight that hinted at hidden secrets and ominous promises. The lock was corroded, but not beyond his capabilities. With a determined effort, he pried it open, revealing a deep crimson velvet lining.

The darkness inside the box seemed to throb with a sinister energy, reaching out to ensnare his thoughts. He found himself entranced, unable to tear his gaze away as the shadows thickened, swirling into a vortex of desire and power. His mind clouded, the seductive whispers grew louder, drowning out the soft sounds of the river. In that swirling void, he glimpsed his innermost yearnings, his hidden ambitions twisted into a grotesque yet captivating vision.

The darkness grew stronger, latching onto him like a parasitic vine, wrapping around his very soul. It sank into his heart, cold and heavy, weighing him down with a burden that felt eerily familiar. The world around him began to shift and distort, as if viewed through a lens of greed. The simple cottages of his village took on the grandeur of palaces, the faces of his fellow villagers morphed into masks of envy and despair, and the very earth beneath his feet transformed into a treasure trove of gold and jewels waiting to be claimed. His eyes glittered with a hunger that had never been there before, a hunger that grew by the second.

With a flick of his wrist, the first cottage crumbled into dust. The screams of its inhabitants were lost in the cacophony of his own laughter, a sound that echoed through the village like a peal of thunder. His power grew with every step, his movements sending ripples of destruction through the once-peaceful landscape. Trees withered, animals fled, and the river itself recoiled from his touch, the water turning a sickly green as it boiled away from his grasp. The very air was thick with greed, a palpable presence that suffocated the life from everything it touched.

He felt his body stretch and contort, the fabric of his being rewriting itself to match the greed in his heart. His eyes burned with an unnatural gold, his skin paled a perfect milk white, and he felt his body, perfecting itself, as if the air around him was wrapping him up t protect him from the world. He had become something more than human, something monstrous and terrible, and he reveled in the power that surged through him. With each pulse of his newfound strength, the village was torn apart, the buildings reduced to rubble and the people to nothing more than blood stains on the ground.

He moved forward, his eyes searching for the one person who had ever brought him warmth amidst the coldness of his existence. Nunnally, his fiancee, had to be here somewhere. Her gentle laughter and soft whispers had been his anchor, the one thing that had kept him tethered to the world of the living. He had to find her, to show her the power that was now his, to share in his newfound greatness. The village was a blur of destruction as he strode through it, the cobblestone streets cracking beneath his heavy boots. The screams of the villagers grew distant, their pain a mere afterthought to the symphony of greed that played in his mind.

It was a lovely day when it all started. The sun rays cascades down from the blue sky; making the world vibrant and full of life. The air was filled with the scent of the blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. A gentle breeze rustled through the trees (as well as her fair hair) causing the leaves to swing in some mesmerizing dance. The sun’s warmth was kissing the skin of people, installing in everyone and in everything some odd happiness.

People of the village were laughing, children were singing, birds were chirping, the day was filled with peace, and nothing had foreshadowed the disaster that was soon to come. Perhaps if they could have had a look into a heart of that one particular man, they would have noticed the darkness that was to cloud the-now-bright sky. Perhaps then they would be terrified and not full of love and hope.

Nunnally straightened herself turning her face towards the river. If she was to guess, Regulus would be found somewhere there. It was the river that was always calling him like his distance f u t u r e. She loved him. She admired him, but there was also some kind of uneasiness that he was sometimes bringing into her heart. Nunnally knew Regulus was made for a different life. This village, its simple life and people, who had just a little more than they needed to survive… No! She didn’t think it was something that Regulus could be happy with. She loved him, and she knew there was a different path that awaited him. But oftentimes, when she looked at him, at his dreaming eyes, when she was listening to his impatient words; when she was caressing his soft hair, she couldn’t dismiss the feeling that the greatness that was awaiting him would be also something that would ultimately tear them apart. As she wasn't made for the greatness. HE WAS.

Nunnally loved him. With every look of her blue eyes, with every smile of her rose lips, with every gesture of her small hands. She loved him and yet she feared she wouldn’t be e n o u g h for him. Cause she enjoyed what she had. Even if her dresses were simple, and she would never be a true lady with expensive dresses and jewelry. She would never sleep on the silk sheets, eat from the golden plates, and have maids to attend to her every wish. She sometimes wondered how life like that must have felt, but she too much loved the freedom, the wind, the sun, and…him: Regulus Corneas.

She kept looking towards the river for some time, and then laughed to her thoughts, which were showing her fiancé’s smiling face.

-- ( “He doesn’t smile often enough…” ) -- she had that worrying thought before shaking her head, letting her fair hair falling down her shoulders like some mystic cascade of gold and silver. Her light steps carried her inside the house.

Perhaps Reggie would enjoy a slice of a freshly baked bread?

But Nunnally didn’t even manage to start when it happened. A thunder. A lightening. Screams of pain and despair. The darkness that was consuming the-once-peaceful place.

“Regulus!” – she screamed as she run out of the house; her eyes once again turned towards the river, now clouded with fear and unspoken worry. It all seemed to be coming from the river… And he was there! She…she needed to go there. She needed to find him…! There was no life for her without him…

“Nunnally…!” – whoever was calling her couldn’t stop her. So, there she was: running, almost breaking through the crowd of the people she knew were trying to escape, getting as far from the river as they could. But she needed to get there.

“Regulus…!” – she cried as the tears were rolling down her cheeks; she needed…needed…needed… Finally, she was alone on the path that led to river. She didn’t see him. It was suddenly quiet. Almost no sounds around. How terryfying!

“Reggie…!” – her call broke the silence… .

..and then she saw him; so-known-silhouette walking the village path towards her. Nunnally raced towards him still not aware that he had changed – “Reggie…” – now her eyes were full but with tears of happiness… --

“We need to run…our path…the secret one in the woods…” – she was screaming hoping he’d hear her and start running himself. BUT HE DID NOT. Nunnally finally reached him, only to take a step back in a sudden fear. She was looking at Regulus, at her fiancé, she was sure of it! But it wasn’t him anymore. It wasn’t Regulus she knew. The golden eyes. That terrifying look in them. And that calmness and coldness. As if he didn’t see what was going on…or rather…

…enjoying it…!?

“Reggie…” – she whispered taking yet another step back. Then suddenly, she shook her head. It didn’t matter. It was Regulus; his true self was still somewhere inside him. It was the darkness that was now taking him. The greatness he was waiting for. But she’d save him. She quickly walked to him and took his arm.

“We need to run, Reggie…to the forest…we need to hide until…until it’s…all gone…”

“Regulus…!” – she screamed as he wasn’t reacting – “Regulus, it’s me…! Do d-do you recognize me…please…it’s me…Nunnally…your Nun…Nunnie” – the tears; the tears that were the sign of happiness just a moment ago, were pooling in her sad eyes now and soon were rolling down her cheeks like two unstoppable streams of sadness. And despair.

Something was telling her she should run away from him. But she couldn’t. Something made her stay.

“…Reggie…” – she whispered; her voice rasp; her hands reached towards him as if to caress his cheek…

“Reggie…! Stop…please stop…!”

“Stop!!!!” - she fell down on her knees.

“Stop!!!!”

@fallesto