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ha-rinrin · 3 months ago

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A Chance at Something Better

summary: Jinx's brings a little girl to your home, hoping to give her something better than what she had.

Pairing; Jinx x fem!reader ( they're married)

wordcount: 3.1k

Authors note: I saw on TikTok this one video saying that Jinx adopted a child, soo thats what I tried to do even if I have zero knowledge of whaat going on🤞🏻. If you want more married content just tell me and I'll do it, I kinda liked the idea of you and Jinx adopting a kid so, tell me if you want more of it.

masterlist

You’re in the dim glow of Jinx’s hideout, the familiar hum of metal and machinery filling the air. Her workbench is littered with tools, scraps, and half-assembled parts, each piece part of a weapon you’re carefully crafting for her—a small, sleek pistol that packs a powerful punch. The faint scent of gunpowder lingers in the room, and you can hear the quiet drip of water echoing from somewhere deep within the cavernous walls.

The two long braids and her purple eyes come into view before she does, Jinx’s shadow moving just a second ahead of her as she slips into the room. She grins, her smile sharp yet playful, watching you like she’s seen her favorite person in the world—because you know, deep down, that’s exactly what you are.

The moment Jinx steps into the room, a prickle of awareness slides down your spine. You sense another presence. Instinct kicks in before reason, and in one swift motion, you reach for a pistol on the workbench and whip around, aiming it directly at the darkened corner just beyond Jinx.

Jinx’s eyes widen as she realizes where your attention has landed, her mouth parting in surprise. “Whoa, whoa! Easy there, sharpshooter,” she says, her tone a mix of amusement and shock. She holds up her hands. “Drop the gun, okay? There’s… no need for that.”

You keep your stance firm, the pistol steady in your hand. “Why is it here?” you ask, eyes narrowed, keeping your gaze locked on the shadows in the corner.

From the darkness steps a small, timid figure, her steps cautious but curious. She’s barely up to Jinx’s hip, with wild blue hair that nearly mirrors the shade Jinx once had. The girl peers up at you, big eyes full of a mixture of awe and trepidation.

Jinx glances at her, then back at you, her expression shifting to one of guilty excitement. “She’s here,” Jinx corrects, her voice softening as she looks at the girl. “I know I was gonna… ease you into this, but, well…” She shrugs, her mischievous smile returning. “Surprise?”

You keep your gaze steady, the girl’s shy eyes darting between you and Jinx. The situation feels surreal, and though you’ve lowered the gun, the tension is far from gone.

“Jinx,” you say, voice firm, “can we talk… in private?” You emphasize the last word, giving her a look that says you’re serious.

Jinx’s grin wavers, a flash of nervousness crossing her face. She glances down at the girl, patting her shoulder gently. “Isha, stay here, alright? Just for a second.” Her voice is soothing, trying to keep the girl at ease as she leads you further back, just out of earshot.

Once you’re out of Isha’s line of sight, you cross your arms, keeping your voice low. “Jinx, we agreed… if anything this big was gonna happen, we’d talk about it first.”

Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, and she bites her lip, a little sheepish. “I know, I know. I just… I couldn’t leave her there. She looked so scared, y/n. Like she’d seen the worst of the Lanes in one day. I tried to picture leaving her, but… it felt too close to everything I went through.”

You sigh, the frustration melting into something softer as you watch her, seeing the hint of vulnerability she rarely lets anyone glimpse. “I understand that, Jinx. But bringing someone into our lives like this—it’s… it’s not just about a good heart, you know?”

She runs a hand through her braids, glancing down, trying to meet your eyes without completely meeting them. “Look, I know I rushed it. But she’s got nobody else. No one who understands. And if I’m honest… I thought maybe, with us, she could have a chance.” She glances up at you with a hopeful, almost pleading look

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you glance back toward Isha, then back at Jinx. “We make weapons, Jinx. Bombs. There’s nothing about our lives that screams ‘safe’ or ‘stable’ for a kid. Adding her into this… it’s not exactly ideal, you know?”

Jinx bites her lip, visibly torn but resolute. “I know what we do isn’t exactly kid-friendly, but it’s not like we’re blowing things up every single day. We’ll be careful. And… maybe she doesn’t have to see all that. We could keep that part separate. We’d figure out a way.”

You shake your head, though a small part of you understands where she’s coming from. “It’s not just about keeping her out of the crossfire. You know as well as I do that our lives are unpredictable. We’re not exactly… parental role models.”

Jinx crosses her arms, her brows drawn as she stares at the ground. “Maybe. But I think we could be. I mean, we’re not the monsters the world sees us as.” Her voice softens, barely above a whisper, “Isha deserves better than what I had. She deserves a chance. And we’ve got each other, y/n. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You let her words sink in, feeling the weight of her solve. The idea still feels overwhelming—foreign, even—but the determination in her eyes, that unbreakable hope, reminds you why you love her.

You take a deep breath, glancing from Jinx to the tools and parts scattered across the room. “Look, Jinx, we’re married, and yeah, we’ve talked about a family someday. But this?” You gesture around the hideout, with weapons and half-finished bombs lying out in the open. “This isn’t exactly what I’d call a safe space for a kid. It’s dangerous—everything about what we do is dangerous.”

Jinx’s gaze doesn’t waver, her fingers laced in yours. “I know it’s risky. But I also know we’re more than the things we make here. We’ve made a life together, y/n. Maybe it’s not perfect or normal, but it’s ours. And Isha… she could be part of that.”

You sigh, feeling her conviction but unable to shake your hesitation. “Jinx, we can’t just decide this overnight. It’s not just about us anymore.”

Her grip tightens slightly, her eyes softening. “She needs us, y/n. We can give her a place where she’s not alone, where she doesn’t have to be scared all the time. We’ve got each other… isn’t that enough to try?”

You look down at your wedding ring, feeling its weight more than usual. The decision ahead is heavy, and Jinx’s fingers tracing the edge of the ring only intensifies that feeling. She meets your gaze, her voice soft. “I know we didn’t plan this, but when I saw her, I couldn’t walk away. She’s like me… like us. And she needs someone.”

You exhale, still unsure. “I know, but we’re not exactly the perfect environment for a kid. We’re surrounded by weapons and bombs, Jinx. This life... it’s dangerous.”

Her touch lingers on your wedding ring as she looks up at you, her expression sincere. “I get that. But when I was a kid, I had Silco… and he was all I had, even if it wasn’t perfect. I thought maybe we could give her something real—something better than what I had.”

You rub your forehead, feeling the weight of it all. “It’s not just about helping her. It’s about how much it’ll change our lives. Are we ready for that?”

Jinx squeezes your hand, her voice steady. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to give her a chance.”

You watch as Jinx’s eyes glisten, the faint shimmer of tears threatening to fall. Her usual bravado is gone, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. You can see the weight of her words sinking in deeper than she lets on, the fear of repeating the past, of making the wrong choice.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently cup her face in your hands, your thumb brushing away the tear that escapes the corner of her eye. The action is tender, your touch grounding both of you in the midst of the storm.

"Hey," you say softly, your voice low but firm. "We don’t have to do this perfectly. But we need to know what we’re getting into, Jinx. It’s not just about the heart—it’s about everything that comes with it. The good, the bad… and the ugly."

Jinx sniffles, nodding as she leans into your touch. “I know. I just… I don’t want her to end up like me. Like I did back then.” She swallows, her voice trembling. “I just want to give her a shot at something better.”

You hold her gaze, your hands steady as you keep her close. “You’re not alone in this,” you say again, the words sounding stronger this time. “You won’t be doing it alone. And neither will she. We’ll figure it out together. No matter what.”

Jinx’s lip quivers, but she manages to hold your gaze. “I never thought I’d have a family. Hell, I didn’t even think I could be a part of one.” Her voice cracks, but she presses on. “But when I saw her, I saw that little version of me—someone who’s been left behind, someone who just needs a place to feel safe.”

You can’t help the tightness that forms in your chest as you listen. You know she’s right. It’s like a mirror to her past, the girl standing there alone, hoping for someone to care. You pull her into you, your embrace warm and solid. “We’ll make sure she has that. Safety. Love. A chance to be something more than what this place wants her to be.”

Jinx clings to you, a quiet sob escaping her. You can feel the depth of her emotions, the mixture of fear and hope swirling within her. She’s vulnerable right now, in a way you’ve rarely seen, and it makes everything feel more real.

"I don’t know if I can do this, but I’ll try," she murmurs against your chest, her voice muffled but full of determination. "I need you by my side. I need you to help me figure this out."

You hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair. "We’ll figure it out, Jinx. Together. I’m not going anywhere."

You hold her close, letting the silence wrap around you both, the weight of the conversation settling between your hearts. Jinx’s breaths come a little easier now, though you can still feel the trembling in her body. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, grounding herself in the safety of your presence.

After a moment, she pulls back slightly, enough to look up at you with those wide, purple eyes. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she asks, her voice a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

You gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere, Jinx. We’ll do this together. We’ve always figured things out, even when it’s been tough.”

She nods, her lips quivering into a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I don’t want to fail her. I don’t want to mess this up." Her voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "I just… I don’t know how to be a mom."

You lean in, brushing your forehead against hers, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both. "And you don’t have to know how to be one right now," you reassure her. "But you’ve got a lot of love to give. You’ve got that. And that’s a hell of a start."

She lets out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "I guess we’ll learn as we go, huh?" There’s a trace of her old mischief in her voice, a glimmer of that familiar spark.

"Yeah," you say, your hand gently cupping her face again, “we’ll learn. And we’ll do it together. One step at a time.”

Jinx leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. “I never thought this could be my life... but maybe... maybe it could be.” She looks up at you, a new kind of determination in her eyes. "I want to make sure she has a chance to be better than I was. We can give her that.”

You nod, the weight of the decision no longer feeling quite so heavy. "We will."

And for the first time, there’s a real sense of hope, something unfamiliar yet comforting, settling between you both. You kiss her forehead softly, reassuring her once more that you’re in this together—no matter what comes next.

You both stand in the silence, the hum of the hideout settling around you. The girl, Isha, is still standing a few feet away, her eyes fixed on you both, her small frame tense but not entirely withdrawn. She’s looking at Jinx one moment, then at you, almost like she’s waiting to see how you’ll react, unsure of how this new chapter will begin.

You take a cautious step toward her, the floor creaking lightly beneath your feet. Isha doesn’t move, her posture defensive, but there’s a hint of curiosity in the way her blue hair flutters slightly with every slight movement you make.

You crouch in front of her, your knees sinking just enough to meet her gaze without overwhelming her. “Hey there,” you say softly, trying to keep the tone light. “I’m not going to bite, promise.”

Isha’s eyes flicker to your face, her lips parting slightly as if weighing whether to trust you. It’s quiet for a moment, and then, after a long stretch of silence, she hesitantly reaches out, her small fingers brushing against yours.

You give her a small, encouraging smile and gently take her hand, your grip light, offering her the space she needs to pull away if she wants to. You feel the chill of her hand against your skin, the coldness of someone who’s been through too much too soon.

“You’re safe here,” you say, voice low and reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Behind you, Jinx shifts, her usual chaotic energy subdued for once, her gaze trained on the interaction. There’s a look in her eyes—part gratitude, part uncertainty—that makes you pause for a moment. She’s watching, almost as if she’s holding her breath, waiting for something.

She takes a small step closer, her voice quieter than usual. “Thanks,” she says, the words tumbling out before she can stop them, more to herself than to you. “For not running off.”

You glance over your shoulder at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes. “I told you I’m not going anywhere, Jinx.” Your voice is firm, steady, grounding. “We’ll figure this out. All three of us.”

Isha’s small hand tightens in yours, a soft, tentative pressure that feels like the first sign of trust she’s given. You smile, a little more genuine this time, and shift to stand beside her, giving Jinx a glance that holds a promise.

Jinx looks back at you, her expression softening, and for the first time, you see something almost like hope flicker in her eyes. She steps up beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance to Isha.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jinx echoes, her voice quieter now. She glances at Isha, her fingers nervously twitching but keeping steady. “We’ll make sure she has a chance.”

Isha, though still cautious, seems to soften just a little in response. Her gaze shifts from you to Jinx and back again, like she’s beginning to believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s found something worth trusting.

Jinx’s eyes flicker toward the workbench, her gaze catching the sleek pistol you’d been carefully crafting. The change in her demeanor is almost immediate, the air around her crackling with a familiar energy. Her lips curl into a mischievous grin, the kind that only she could pull off. The uncertainty from moments ago seems to evaporate, replaced by a spark of excitement.

“Well, well…” she mutters, stepping over to the workbench and running her fingers along the edges of the half-assembled weapon. “Looks like someone’s been busy.”

You watch her, her movements quick and sure as she inspects the weapon. “I was making it for you,” you say, your voice holding a touch of amusement. “Had to give it some personal touches.”

Her grin widens, and she picks up the gun with a careful but almost possessive gesture, weighing it in her hands. “I know, I know… You always make the best toys.” Her voice drops a little lower, a mischievous twinkle in her purple eyes. “But I could use something like this, especially if I’m gonna be a good role model.”

You raise an eyebrow, your hands resting on your hips. “Role model? Are you sure you know what that means?”

Jinx gives a playful shrug, flipping the gun in her hands and inspecting it. “Hey, maybe I don’t know everything about being a ‘good’ role model… but I’m pretty damn good at keeping people entertained.” She gives you a sly wink, her usual wild energy creeping back into her voice.

For a brief moment, the weight of the situation seems to lift as Jinx takes a shot at her old self. The chaos, the thrill—it’s all there, in her eyes, in her grin. But beneath it, there’s something different. A protective edge. She’s not just planning her next move—she’s trying to figure out how to be something else, something more.

You sigh, crossing your arms, and take in the sight of her, the wild spark still there but now tempered with something else. “Just don’t get too carried away, alright?”

Her eyes narrow in playful challenge. “Who, me? Never.”

You shake your head, but the corners of your mouth lift slightly, the tension between you easing as you watch Jinx’s usual self return, in all her unpredictable, fiery glory.

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you mutter, though it’s more affectionate than anything.

Jinx’s grin softens a bit as she looks over at you, the weapon still in hand, but her attention fully on you now. “Hey, thanks for sticking with me,” she says quietly, her voice softer than before, but the familiar edge is still there. “I know this... this is a lot. But I’ll do everything I can to make it work.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the moment, of the decision ahead. “I know you will, Jinx. Just don’t let this turn into another one of your schemes, alright?”

Jinx’s eyes sparkle as she steps closer, her lips curling into another grin. “No promises,” she teases, then lowers her voice to something more sincere. “But I’ll try.”

#jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #arcane jinx #jinx/you #jinx x fem!reader #jinx posting #jinx league of legends #jinx lol

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nemo-writes · 3 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; going back to the coven is anything but comforting. meanwhile, the pack finally face the truth, consumed by shame and grief as they finally grasp the depth of their betrayal—and what it’s cost them.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The trip home stretched endlessly, the hum of magic-infused machinery barely masking the heavy silence that filled the car. You sat in the back seat next to your Mother, her gaze remained fixed out the window, unyielding and distant, while Cath Palug purred softly in her lap, seemingly impervious to the tension.

Up front, König drove in complete silence, his focus locked on the road. His stillness was matched by Sybil, who had climbed into the back with you, pressing herself against your side. Her warmth and steady breaths anchored you.

The landscape shifted as the car veered off the main road, winding deeper into the countryside. The town near the coven came into view, a picture of quiet prosperity nestled among the trees. Its flourishing streets and bustling community reflected your Mother’s fierce protection and the coven’s watchful eye. People paused as the sleek black car passed, bowing deeply or offering respectful nods. Despite your Mother’s cold and exacting nature, her loyalty and strength ensured the people's safety and growth.

The car rolled through the wrought iron gates of the estate, the sprawling grounds of the coven’s domain stretching out before you. The old English-style mansion rose ahead, a commanding presence surrounded by lush gardens and shadowed paths. Across the grounds, women in training moved purposefully, their whispered conversations halting when they caught sight of the car. They too bowed deeply, their expressions a mix of admiration and caution. Others, bolder, whispered amongst themselves, their gazes darting away when you glanced toward them through the window.

As the car slowed to a stop, your other mother emerged from the grand entrance, her wheelchair gliding forward with its graceful, hand-like appendages navigating the uneven stones effortlessly. Horangi walked steadily behind her, his presence as sharp and watchful as ever. At her side, her sleek, pitch-black Borzoi, Barghest, padded with a measured elegance.

Your Mom’s face lit up at the sight of you, though her eyes quickly darted to Sybil’s slight limp and the exhaustion etched into your features. Concern softened her expression, and her lips parted to speak, but her gaze shifted to your Mother first. She extended a hand, and your Mother leaned down, placing a tender kiss on her lips.

“I missed you,” your Mom murmured softly, her hand lingering on your Mother’s cheek.

Your Mother, though ever composed and aloof, allowed the faintest softening of her features. “As did I,” she replied, her voice low and steady.

Their connection, brief but undeniable, reminded you of the rare moments when their love shone through the icy expectations that so often consumed your Mother.

Turning her attention back to you, your Mom’s warm expression returned, though concern shadowed her gaze. “You look dreadful,” she said gently, her tone laced with worry. Her eyes flicking down to Sybil. “Not just tired. Injured. Both of you.”

Barghest tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing as she approached Sybil. There was a moment of stillness, a silent assessment passing between the two dogs. Then, the larger Borzoi lowered her head, greeting Sybil like a mother would her pup. Sybil, though hesitant at first, leaned into the touch, her tail giving a faint, tentative wag.

Your Mother remained silent, her cool poise unshaken, though you caught the faintest flicker of tension in her jaw—a rare tell. Without a word, she turned sharply on her heel, her movements precise and deliberate as if to shield any hint of unease. Cath Palug, ever her shadow, padded gracefully beside her, the flick of her tail echoed the unspoken dismissal left behind.

Your Mom sighed, shaking her head gently. “Inside. Now,” she said, her tone firm but kind.

König stepped out of the car without a word, his quiet efficiency undisturbed as he moved to the trunk. “I’ll handle everything,” he said, his voice low and steady. It was both a reassurance and a dismissal, leaving no room for argument as he began gathering your things.

Too drained to muster much else, you nodded faintly and followed your Mom’s gesture toward the house. Her wheelchair, its enchanted appendages moving with fluid precision, moved alongside you, the faint whir of magic lacing the air. Sybil kept close, her steps tentative as she walked beside you.

The familiar halls of the mansion unfolded around you, the heavy drapes and intricate carvings exuding an air of both history and expectation. The scent of aged wood and faint herbs lingered, familiar and oppressive.

In the sunlit sitting room, your Mom gestured for you to sit. “Horangi,” she said, her voice firm, “fetch tea and something to eat. They’ve been through enough already.”

Horangi hesitated for the briefest moment, his lips pressed into a thin line, but he turned on his heel and disappeared toward the kitchen without a word.

As you sank into the plush chair she indicated, Sybil curled at your feet, her head resting on your ankle. Barghest lingered near the doorway, before settling herself a short distance away, her gaze never straying far.

Your Mom clicked her tongue softly, a mix of concern and affection coloring her voice. “Put your feet up, darling,” she instructed gently, and with a graceful flick of her wrist, an ottoman slid effortlessly into place in front of you, gliding as if carried on an invisible current. “You’ve had a long enough journey, and I’m not having you sit there like some tensed-up statue.”

You hesitated for a moment, but her expectant gaze left no room for argument. Sighing, you shifted slightly and rested your feet on the plush surface, instantly feeling a sense of relief from the aching tension in your legs, especially your ankle. Sybil lifted her head slightly, her gaze flicking to your Mom with quiet, watchful curiosity.

“Good,” your Mom said, her tone softening further as she leaned forward, her sharp eyes sweeping over you with maternal precision. Her hands moved deftly as she checked your ankle, her touch light yet methodical. When she saw the faint marks left behind by your injuries, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her expression quickly morphed into one of quiet pride.

“These have already begun to heal,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Quick thinking, and your technique was flawless. If nothing else, I can see you took my lessons to heart.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her obvious gloating. “I didn’t have much choice,” you replied lightly. “It was that or worse.”

“That,” she said with a knowing smile, “is exactly what I taught you. You’ve made me proud, my darling. Even your binding work on these wounds is excellent, though it’s high time they were changed.”

With practiced ease, she removed the bandages, inspecting each mark carefully before conjuring a soft glow around her hands. The warmth of her magic soothed the lingering aches as she worked. Fresh bandages appeared at her side, summoned with a flick of her fingers, and she replaced the old ones with an efficiency that spoke to years of experience.

Satisfied with her work, she turned her attention to Sybil, who watched the proceedings with quiet patience. “Now, let’s see about you,” she murmured, crouching slightly as she reached out toward her.

Sybil tilted her head, her large, intelligent eyes locking onto your Mom’s. After a moment’s hesitation, she allowed the inspection. “Remarkable resilience,” she remarked, her voice tinged with admiration. “She’s a true reflection of her master’s skill. But even she needs rest.”

Barghest lifted her head slightly at the remark, her ears flicking forward as if to assess Sybil once more before settling back down again.

With Sybil’s examination complete, your Mom nodded in satisfaction. “There we are. Now, no arguments—you’ll have tea and something to eat before I let you do anything else.”

As if on cue, Horangi returned, carrying a tray laden with steaming tea, biscuits, and small plates of fruit. His expression was as cool as he set it down on the low table before you. “Tea,” he announced curtly.

“Thank you, Horangi,” your Mom said warmly, her tone cutting through his frostiness like sunlight through mist. “We’ll manage from here.”

You poured yourself a cup, the warm aroma calming your frayed nerves as you leaned back into the chair. Sybil sniffed at the tray, her nose twitching curiously as you passed her a small piece of biscuit. When Horangi offered her another, she snorted, turning her head with a pointedly disdainful flick of her tail.

Your Mom chuckled softly, shaking her head. “She’s as particular as her mistress.”

With the tea and bandages sorted, your Mom clapped her hands, signaling the end of your brief respite. Her gaze softened as it rested on you, though the warmth didn’t mask the firmness in her tone. “That’s enough for now, darling. Go to your room. It’s been prepared and left untouched since the day you left.”

The words landed with an unmistakable weight, unspoken tension crackling faintly in the air between you. For a moment, you considered saying something, but the words died on your tongue. Instead, you gave a curt nod, rising to your feet as Sybil stretched and followed close at your side. Barghest didn't move from her place, but you could feel her watching the two of you go.

The door opened before you could reach it, and there stood König, his towering presence filling the doorway. His gaze immediately dropped to you, scanning your face for any sign of distress . Still, he said nothing, but his intent was clear as he stepped aside, waiting to escort you.

“König,” you started, exhaling sharply, “I don’t need—”

“Upstairs,” he interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “Your room.”

You frowned but knew better than to argue further. He didn’t push; he simply waited, his quiet resolve enough to make you give in with a sigh. His hand hovered near your lower back, not touching but close enough to guide you as you left the sitting room.

The climb up the grand staircase was heavier than it should have been. As you ascended, the apprentices of the coven—a mix of young women in training and those tending to the estate—moved about their tasks. Some bowed their heads respectfully, their gazes averted as they murmured greetings. Others, less acquainted with you, whispered amongst themselves, their curiosity poorly hidden.

“Is that her?” one murmured, her voice barely audible but sharp enough to reach your ears. “The young lady who ran away?”

“She is,” another replied, her tone hushed with a mix of awe and skepticism. “The heir.”

The words pricked at your composure, but you forced your expression to remain neutral, your stride steady. König, however, shot them a sharp glance over his shoulder, his narrowed eyes silencing the whispers instantly. His imposing presence alone was enough to scatter their murmurs, leaving only the faint shuffle of their footsteps.

“You didn't have to—” you started again, but König interrupted with a quiet, unyielding tone. “I do.”

When you reached your room, he stepped ahead of you, opening the door with a slow push. The air inside was still and heavy, thick with the weight of time passed. Everything was exactly as you’d left it—the furniture untouched, the books neatly stacked, and the faint scent of your perfume lingering as though it had waited for you to return.

Sybil padded inside first, hopping onto the bed and curling up in its center with an air of practiced ease, as if reclaiming her territory. You lingered in the doorway, your gaze sweeping the room. What should have been comforting instead felt stifling, the untouched state of the room more of a reminder than a reprieve.

König stepped aside to let you enter fully, his eyes following your every movement. “It’s the same,” he said softly, almost as though the words were for himself.

“It’s suffocating,” you admitted quietly, your fingers brushing against the edge of the desk. The room, with all its familiarity, felt like a cage—one you’d thought you’d escaped.

König frowned slightly but said nothing, his expression under his mask unreadable as always. After a moment, he reached down and gently picked up your bag from where he’d set it near the doorway, placing it on the bed beside Sybil.

“I’ll leave you to settle in,” he said finally, his tone softer than before. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on you as if searching for something, but then he gave a small nod. “I’ll be close if you need anything.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, his heavy steps retreating down the hall. You sighed, closing the door behind him, and leaned back against it. The stillness of the room pressed down on you, and though Sybil’s steady presence was a comfort, the weight of the past seemed to close in.

Crossing to the window, you pushed it open, letting the cool evening air sweep into the room. It helped—if only a little.

As you moved around the room, a soft knock came at the door. Sybil, ever vigilant, lifted her head from her paws, her ears perking. Before you could say anything, the door creaked open, revealing a young girl you didn’t recognize. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, her wide eyes hesitant as she stepped inside, balancing a neatly folded pile of clothes in her arms.

“These are for you,” she said softly, her voice carrying a nervous edge. “Lady Le Fay picked them out herself.”

Your gaze flicked to the clothes—exquisitely made, as always. Their elegance spoke of your Mother’s impeccable standards, her expectations woven into every stitch. You nodded, a simple acknowledgment, and reached for the garments, but the girl hesitated, her hands tightening on the fabric for just a moment before releasing it.

“I’ll help you,” she offered quickly, setting the pile down on the bed. She busied herself with smoothing the wrinkles, her nervous energy filling the room. As she worked, she glanced up at you, her expression uncertain. “I—I know it’s not my place, but… I wanted to say something.”

You arched a brow, motioning for her to continue as you picked up the blouse, the material cool against your fingertips.

“I think… what you did—leaving, I mean—was brave,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Her words hung in the air, heavy with risk. “I know most of the others don’t see it that way, but I do.”

Her admission caught you off guard. You paused, meeting her gaze, and she flushed under your scrutiny, her hands wringing nervously. “I just think that… if more of us thought like you, maybe this place wouldn’t feel so—” She hesitated, her words catching on the edge of something unspoken. “So oppressive.”

A bitter smile tugged at your lips, though you tried to suppress it. “Oppressive,” you repeated softly, the word tasting both foreign and familiar on your tongue.

The girl straightened, her expression shifting as if she regretted her honesty. “Not that I’m ungrateful,” she added quickly. “Our lives are good. Better than most. It’s just…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if the rest of the sentence was too dangerous to utter.

You turned toward her fully, folding the blouse carefully in your hands. “You’re not wrong,” you said after a beat. “But you’re also not ready to say it out loud. Not here.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought she might argue. Instead, she nodded, a faint look of understanding passing over her features. “Thank you,” she whispered, dipping her head respectfully. “I’ll leave you to finish.”

With that, she slipped out of the room, the door clicking softly behind her. You stared at the closed door for a moment, the tension in your chest knotting tighter. Sybil padded closer, her head nudging your leg.

“Brave,” you murmured to yourself as you began dressing, the word echoing in your mind. It wasn’t how you’d ever seen it. Foolish, reckless, selfish—all those had been easier to accept. But brave? It felt foreign, like a coat you weren’t sure how to wear.

As you fastened the final button, Sybil huffed softly. You knelt to scratch behind her ears, her steady gaze meeting yours as if she, too, approved of the sentiment. “Maybe,” you said quietly, “just maybe.”

. . .

The silence after Alejandro and Rudy’s revelations was suffocating, a tangible weight pressing down on the room. Laswell had gone upstairs to deal with Leah, leaving the pack to sit with the unbearable truth laid out before them.

At the centre of the table sat the nail, sealed in a small glass flask. It was a stark reminder of everything they had ignored, every warning they had missed. Alejandro and Rudy had placed it there when they began their explanation, a silent indictment of the pack’s failure to see what had been festering under their noses.

Price sat at the head of the table, his expression was unreadable, but the lines around his mouth and the set of his jaw betrayed his inner turmoil. He’d barely spoken during their explanation, his hand resting heavily on the table, fingers occasionally twitching as if itching to grip something—anything.

Gaz sat at the table, his face buried in his hands, silent tears slipping through his fingers. His knee, usually bouncing with nervous energy, was still for once, the tension in his body radiating a quiet devastation. The guilt tore through him like claws—how had they let it get this far? How had they hurt you so deeply, so irreparably?

Johnny, unable to bear it, had bolted from the room. His overgrown hair whipped behind him as he fled, his footsteps heavy and uneven. The door slammed somewhere in the distance, and they all knew he was headed back to the woods, a place he’d always gone to hide when the world became too much.

Price’s gaze moved to Ghost, who hadn’t uttered a word since the conversation began. “Simon,” he said, his voice firm but quieter.

Ghost didn’t move. His hands were still planted on the table, his head bowed, his broad shoulders tense. Price’s tone softened, though the weight of his words remained. “You’ve got to say something. Anything.”

Still, he said nothing, his mind an unrelenting whirlwind of fragmented memories, half-formed regrets, and the crushing realisation of what he’d done. He’d been the one who brought Leah into their lives. But worst of all, he’d hurt you. Attacked you and Sybil.

The reality had settled over him like a lead cloak, immobilising him.

Alejandro, standing by the wall with his arms crossed, scoffed. “What’s the point of talking? He knows what he did.” His sharp gaze cut to Price. “But don’t think for a second that any of you are off the hook. You all failed her.”

“Enough,” Price said sharply, his tone commanding. “We know. Don’t you think we bloody know?”

Alejandro smirked coldly, his gaze unwavering. “Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look like it.”

Rudy, standing nearby, placed a calming hand on Alejandro’s arm. “Ale, we’ve said what we came to say. Let them deal with it.”

“Fine,” he muttered, but his eyes burned with disdain as he looked at them.

Gaz swallowed hard, “But who… who did this? Who’s responsible?”

Alejandro shrugged, brow furrowed. “We don’t know exactly, yet at least. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing.”

Price exhaled heavily, his hand running over his face as if trying to push back the weight of the truth. “You’re saying this was all to isolate her?”

Rudy nodded solemnly. “That’s how these curses work. They isolate, divide, and weaken. She was the target from the start. You? You were just tools. Puppets.”

Alejandro crossed his arms, his gaze hard. “So don’t sit here wallowing in your own self-pity. Whatever guilt you’re feeling, it’s deserved. But the real question is, what are you going to do about it?”

Gaz let out a choked sound. “How… how do we fix this? How do we even begin to fix this?”

Price stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he walked to the window. His broad shoulders were rigid, as he stared out at the darkening horizon. “For now,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute, “we leave her alone. Like I said, we need to fix ourselves first, we have no right to even think about going after her.”

Alejandro and Rudy exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Rudy sighed, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “We’ll keep looking,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the broken pack. “Whoever’s responsible for this won’t get away with it. When we know, we’ll keep you posted.”

Alejandro gave a firm nod, his expression unyielding. “But don’t expect miracles from us,” he added sharply.

They turned toward the door, the weight of their words settling like ash in the room. Rudy paused briefly, glancing back at the pack with a flicker of hesitation. But before they could leave, Ghost finally spoke.

His voice was low, gravelly, like the sound of rocks grinding together. “Is she… okay?”

Alejandro stopped, his hand resting on the doorframe. Rudy looked at him, eyebrows furrowing, but Alejandro didn’t move.

“You should know the answer to that, shouldn’t you?” he said flatly. “You know her best.”

Ghost stayed silent, his head bowing ever so slightly. Deep down, he already knew. The part of him that loved you with every fiber of his being—despite feeling unworthy of it—knew that you were okay, wherever you were. But that knowledge didn’t ease the hollow ache inside him.

With that, the front door closed with a heavy thud, leaving the pack alone once again.

Price stood at the window, unmoving, the faint glow of his nth cigar's ember casting a dim light in the darkening room. His shoulders were tense, the weight of his failures settling heavily on him, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.

“Get it together,” he said, his words cutting through the silence like a knife. “We’ve all failed her. But if she’s still out there, we owe it to her to fix this.”

Ghost remained at the table, his eyes fixed on the cursed nail. The silence that followed was more damning than anything that had been said.

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goldsainz · 2 months ago

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# CS55 — FAREWELL, ROSSO CORSA !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ carlos’ journey at ferrari has come to an end, you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with the aftermath.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ ferrar!engineer!reader, angst, bittersweet ending.

003. NOTE !

✯ i listened to long live (taylor’s version) on repeat. also i’ve been dreading this moment, i wish i could explain better how bittersweet it feels. i know he will do great things, i just wish they could still be with ferrari. anywho, i am happy for lewis too, just let me mourn in peace. (also i couldn’t be asked to listen to the radios of the races so just bear with me).

word count : 2,3k

The Abu Dhabi night was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that settles after the end of something momentous. The paddock, which had been alive with cheers and fireworks just hours ago, was now dim and hushed. The last race of the season had ended, and with it, Carlos Sainz’s chapter at Ferrari.

You stood in the garage, the familiar hum of machinery winding down as the team dismantled the cars and packed away the remnants of a long season. The Ferrari red that had been your world for years felt heavier tonight, more poignant.

Carlos leaned against a workbench nearby, his race suit tied loosely around his waist, his hair still damp from the champagne. He looked at you, a quiet kind of sadness in his eyes. The moment you had both avoided all week loomed large now, inevitable in the space between you.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Carlos said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, your chest tightening at the sight of the sadness in his dark eyes. “And miss this? No chance.”

He chuckled, but it was humorless. “This doesn’t feel like a night worth staying for.”

“It is,” you insisted, stepping closer. “It’s the end of something big. That deserves a goodbye.”

Carlos swallowed, nodding slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing. “It’s strange,” he admitted, his Spanish accent heavier with emotion. “You dream of wearing this red suit as a kid, and when you finally do… it becomes your identity. Leaving feels like losing a part of myself.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his forearm. “You’re not losing anything, Carlos. You’re taking it with you—every moment, every lesson, every triumph. It will always be a part of you.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his brows knitting together as if trying to memorize every detail of your face. “And you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Will you be a part of me too?”

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. You’d been an engineer first, a loyal member of the Scuderia, but somewhere along the way, Carlos had become more than a driver to you. He had become a friend, a confidant, and—if you were brave enough to admit it—someone who held your heart.

“Always,” you said, the word escaping you before you could second-guess it. “You think I’ll stop yelling at you over the radio just because you’re on a different team?”

Carlos laughed, the sound warm and genuine, a reprieve from the melancholic undertone of the night. “I’d miss it if you did,” he replied, his hand covering yours.

The silence that followed was softer, less heavy, as if the shared weight of your memories had settled between you like a quiet truce.

And oh, there were so many memories.

Bahrain, 2021

The first race of the season, and Carlos’s first with Ferrari. The garage buzzed with nervous energy, the scent of burnt rubber and engine oil filling the air.

He had been confident, his signature smirk in place as he suited up, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. It was his debut for the Scuderia, a dream realized, and the pressure was immense.

“Relax,” you had told him. “It’s just another race. You know how to do this.”

Carlos had smiled at you, his eyes soft with gratitude. “It’s not just another race. It’s Ferrari.”

When the lights went out, the race unfolded like a storm. Carlos fought relentlessly, slicing through the midfield with calculated aggression. The radio crackled with updates, his determination palpable in every breathless “copy” that followed your instructions. His P8 finish may not have been headline-grabbing, but it felt monumental—proof that he belonged.

Back in the garage, his grin was wide as he found you amidst the chaos. “Not bad for the new guy, huh?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with pride and relief.

You shook your head, unable to suppress your smile. “Not bad at all,” you replied. The way his eyes softened, gratitude bleeding through the teasing, made you realize how much this moment meant—not just to him, but to you as well.

Silverstone, 2022

The radio crackled with your voice, barely containing your excitement. “P1, Carlos! P1! You did it!”

The cheers in the garage erupted as Carlos crossed the finish line. His first win with Ferrari. Your first win with him. It had been a chaotic race—strategy calls that could have gone wrong, moments of doubt as Perez loomed behind him. But Carlos had held on.

When he stepped out of the car, his face was radiant, a mix of disbelief and triumph. The crowd roared as he lifted the trophy, his grin infectious. Later, with the champagne haze lifting, he approached you with a glass in hand, his grin now softer, more reflective.

“We did this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Not just me. Us.”

You had laughed, your heart swelling with pride. “I just yelled in your ear. You did the hard part.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

And for the first time, amidst the noise and celebration, there was a quiet understanding between you—a closeness that went beyond the driver-engineer dynamic.

Singapore, 2023

It had been a flawless drive. Under the dazzling lights of Marina Bay, Carlos broke Red Bull’s streak, taking the win in one of the most challenging races of the year.

The garage had been electric with energy, the team shouting and cheering as he crossed the line. You couldn’t contain your grin as the radio crackled with his voice, elated and disbelieving. “We did it! Holy—thank you, team. Thank you!”

Later, in the cool night air, he had found you standing by the pit wall, gazing out at the now-quiet track.

“Celebrating alone?” he teased, stepping beside you.

“Just soaking it in,” you replied, turning to him. “That was… incredible.”

Carlos had leaned against the wall, his smile soft. “You’re the one who believed we could do it.”

“I always believe in you,” you said simply, and the way he looked at you then as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world, and it left your heart racing.

Australia, 2024

Carlos had insisted on racing, appendix surgery be damned. He was stubborn, determined, and entirely unwilling to sit on the sidelines.

“You’re insane,” you had told him in the days leading up to the race, your voice filled with equal parts frustration and admiration.

He had shrugged, his smile cheeky. “Maybe. But I’m not missing this.”

Carlos’s win in Melbourne was nothing short of miraculous. Just weeks after undergoing an emergency appendectomy, he returned to the grid, defying every expectation.

In the parc fermé, you rushed to him, barely holding back tears when he emerged from the car, sweat-soaked and visibly drained. You rushed to him, your relief spilling over in a trembling voice. “You just had surgery, Carlos!”

He laughed, though it was strained. “I told you I’d be fine.”

THat night, as the team celebrated, Carlos sat beside you, exhaustion evident in his features. “I couldn’t let you down,” he said simply.

“You never could,” you replied, your heart swelling with pride.

Baku, 2024

The crash had been brutal. Carlos crashed into the wall at high speed, and your heart stopped when the screens showed the wreckage. You barely breathed until you heard his voice over the radio, shaky but alive.

“I’m okay… Sorry, guys.”

When you found him in the medical center, sitting on the examination table, bruises blossoming on his arms. “You should see the other guy,” he’d joked weakly, but the exhaustion in his eyes betrayed him.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you’d said, your voice trembling.

Carlos had reached for your hand then, his grip surprisingly firm. “I’m okay,” he’d said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I promise.”

But later, long after the debriefs were done and the lights in the paddock dimmed, he found you sitting by his car, running your hands over the damaged bodywork. He sat down beside you, the silence heavy between you.

“You care too much,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

You looked at him, your chest tightening. “Someone has to.”

He didn’t respond, but the way he leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours, said everything he couldn’t.

The weight of the memories settled between you like the remnants of a storm. Carlos let out a soft sigh, dragging his hand through his hair as he leaned against the workbench, his eyes fixed on the car that had carried him through countless battles.

“I knew this would be hard,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

You stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, but still too far for the ache you felt. “Because it’s not just the car or the team,” you said gently. “It’s everything. Every moment that made this place more than just work. Every person who made it feel like home.”

Carlos’s gaze shifted to you, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much to bear. “You made it feel like home,” he said, the words tumbling out as though he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

Your breath caught, the honesty in his voice cutting through the layers of professionalism you’d both worn like armor for years. The memories, the laughter, the quiet moments shared in the garage or on long flights to the next race—they all rushed back, forming a mosaic of the bond you had built.

“Do you remember Las Vegas?” he asked suddenly, his lips curving into a faint smile.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. “How could I forget? The strategy went out the window, and you decided to play hero.”

Carlos grinned, the expression lighting up his face despite the sadness that lingered in his eyes. “We still got P3, didn’t we?”

“Because you ignored me on the radio and took that insane risk,” you shot back, though there was no malice in your tone. “I yelled at you for fifteen minutes straight after the race.”

“And then you brought me a coffee the next morning,” he countered, his grin softening into something more tender. “Said I’d need it if I was going to keep making you crazy.”

“I didn’t say I forgave you,” you teased, though your voice betrayed the fondness you felt.

He shook his head, his laughter fading into a comfortable silence. He looked back at the car, his expression thoughtful. “It’s funny,” he said after a moment. “The races, the wins, the crashes… they all sort of blur together… But moments like that? I’ll remember them forever.”

The words settled between you, heavy with meaning. You wanted to tell him that you felt the same, that the moments you shared with him—both big and small—had become a part of you in a way you couldn’t put into words. But the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak.

Carlos turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “When I’m gone, will you remember me?”

“Carlos,” you said, the weight of his question making your voice tremble. “You’re unforgettable.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a small, bittersweet smile. “You say that now,” he said softly. “But life moves on. New drivers, new challenges. It’s easy to forget.”

You shook your head, stepping closer until you were standing directly in front of him. “Not you,” you said firmly. “Not the way you made us believe, the way you made me believe. That’s not something you forget.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “You always believed in me,” he murmured. “Even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

“I still do,” you said, your voice breaking slightly.

Carlos reached out, his hand brushing against yours before curling around it. His grip was warm, steady, and so achingly familiar that it brought tears to your eyes.

“I wish I could stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wish you could too,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

For a moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the quiet stillness of the garage. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, a small, tender gesture that spoke volumes.

“I don’t really know what’s next,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “But I know one thing.”

“What’s that?” you asked, your own voice trembling.

“I’ll carry you with me,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “Wherever I go.”

Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his words leaving you speechless. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he understood everything you couldn’t say.

Carlos smiled then, a small, bittersweet curve of his lips. “Goodbye, mi ingeniera,” he said softly, the nickname laced with affection and finality.

“Goodbye, Carlitos,” you whispered, your heart breaking even as you smiled through the tears.

As he walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the paddock, you stood there, the hum of the empty garage your only companion. And though your time together had come to an end, you knew that the memories—the wins, the losses, the moments that had defined your journey—would stay with you, etched into your heart like a scarlet flame.

Carlos Sainz had left Ferrari, but he would never truly leave you.

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8lyme · 6 months ago

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Why do I have to lose you?

Logan Howlett x reader (gender unspecified)

Part 2

SUMMARY: You and Logan are being chased down by the military after a group of mutants attempted to set fire to the White House. The school instantly became a target. While trying to protect the school in a damaged X-jet, Logan decides your fate for you.

WARNINGS: Sad and a little graphic.

a/n: I am fr gonna do a pt 2 i just didnt want to make this super long like it will probably end up being also again pls give me a break i just gotta free this shit from the straight jacket it's in inside my brain

Within seconds of news footage airing, the whirring of chopper blades surrounded the school.

Since jet takeoff, Storm and Jean had jumped out to help on the ground. Both diverted most of the attacks away from the jet. You and Logan had flown over the masses of machinery that were crawling toward the school. Tanks and trucks filled with armoured soldiers and explosives gathered just outside the tree line. The explosives packed under the jet had long-since run out, hardly making a dent in the wall of troops.

The sensors in the X-jet are whirring, alarms flashing red and blaring. Almost as loud as tornado sirens. You're gripping at the controls, straining at keeping the jet level while a thruster sputters out. A lurch knocks the cabin as another sensor drums on. You pull on a lever to the side of the console in front of you as a hasty attempt to divert power back to the fizzling thruster.

"I think the jet took a hit," Logan calls out loudly over the screech of the alarms.

"No fucking shit!" You call back shakily, head pounding and heart hammering. The windshield is fogged from smoke damage and beginning to crack on the left side.

"You need to fly out of here!" Logan calls again, his voice near monotone.

"Again, no fucking shit!" You whip around to face him and use the opportunity to flip off the interior electricity. The cabin is only illuminated by the windshield, but you can't see Logan.

"We need to land" you say to the shadows of the bay. You glance around, still white-knuckling the controls before calling out "Logan?"

"Let me out" he responds, walking out from the base of the hangar. "Drop the hangar and let me jump out. I can get past the front line and set off the explosives in the trucks"

"Are you stupid? You'll plaster to the ground on impact" you tell him, turning back to the windshield in time to pull away from a stray rocket.

He comes behind you and grips onto your shoulder, forcing you to look his way again.

"Open the hanger and let me jump out" He says firmly. "And then get the hell out of here."

"I don't think you understand how physics works, Logan! I can't bring this jet more than fifteen hundred feet above the ground. You will literally splatter to the ground if you jump from that high."

His grip on your shoulder tightens, saying "I'll survive."

You pull away from him to face the console. "Have you survived a fall from this high before?" You ask over the roar of the thrusters.

"Will you listen to me?" He yells to you, taking your face in his hands. "You need to get out of here. I'll regenerate, you won't! My bones are indestructible -" And you cut him off.

"Your tendons aren't adamantium!" You yell to him, smacking his chest with the side of your hand for emphasis. "Your muscles aren't adamantium and your organs aren't adamantium! The second you jump out of this jet you will get shot out of the sky. How do you know you'll survive getting literally blown up?"

You try not to cry, sucking in a breath in an attempt to stop the stinging behind your eyes. His face is firm. He pulls the straps of your harness so you face him fully.

"You won't survive if this jet gets shot out of the fucking sky!" Logan shouts. "Open the hangar and get the hell out of here!"

"There is no reason for you to jump out of this jet, you self-sacrificial piece of shit!" You're trying to yell firmly, but your breath is shaky and your vision starts to blur. Suddenly, the spring of the chair unlocks and Logan clicks on the jet's autopilot and pushes your chair away from the console, locking it feet away from the controls.

"Logan!" You go to unlock the clasps of your harness as he pulls away from you. He must've crushed the buckles while you were fighting, because you can't unclasp yourself. Panicking, you whip around to try and face him while yanking at the harness as hard as you can.

He's walking toward the hangar while the door loudly begins to unlatch.

"Stop it!" you beg. "I am not going to scour these woods for your metal bones to put you back together and hope that you regenerate!" You begin to sob, pulling at your straps fruitlessly.

He marches back toward you, shouting "And I am not going to watch your empty casket go into the ground!" over the wind. You can see the hurt and panic on his face. He looks furious, but you know how terrified he feels. "I am not going to lose you."

The hangar is wide open now. Crackles of explosions sound off in the background.

"Why do I have to lose you?"

The furrow in his brow softens a little. He moves closer to bend and cup your cheek with his hand. You grip tightly onto his uniform as he kisses you, hoping in vain that you're strong enough to stop him.

Logan pulls away to the sound of the hangar beginning to close. He pries your fingers off him, turns away, and jogs to the lip of the closing door. You watch him leap out as the groan of the door comes to a stop.

Part 2 will be linked here!

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00valentina-writes00 · 25 days ago

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…so this isn’t arcane BUT ELLIE IS TAKING OVER MY DAMN MIND.

Quiet Tension

Summary: In the midst of a tense, decaying world, you and Ellie search for supplies, encountering both danger and unexpected closeness. Trapped in an old department store elevator, the two of you face a life-or-death situation with a clicker and escape only by a hair’s breadth. Afterward, the quiet moments that follow stir up a different kind of tension between you both. With the bond between you strengthening, the lines between friendship and something more blur as emotions surface.

Warnings: Adult themes, infected are ugly and gross, NSFW at the end

•|||——————————————————————|||•

The abandoned department store loomed like a ghost, its shattered windows and tangled vines standing as a reminder of what the world had been before it fell apart. You and Ellie had been scavenging for hours, and though the light was starting to fade, the store felt like it might be worth the risk. Neither of you said it aloud, but you were both too stubborn to turn back empty-handed.

Ellie pointed to a rusted elevator at the back of the store, the buttons barely visible under layers of grime. “Think it still works?” she asked, her voice light, masking the undercurrent of unease in her eyes.

You shrugged, shifting your pack on your shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”

The elevator groaned as you stepped inside, the air thick and stale. Ellie hit the button for the lower level, and the contraption jolted to life, the hum of machinery filling the silence. For a moment, it almost felt like a normal day—until it shuddered violently and stopped, the lights flickering out.

“Of course,” Ellie muttered, smacking the control panel. The shadows deepened around you, her flashlight casting strange shapes on the walls. She let out a sharp sigh and leaned against the wall. “Well, this sucks.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep the creeping panic at bay. “Should’ve taken the stairs.”

Ellie smirked, her freckled face illuminated by the dim beam of light. “Hindsight, huh? Love that for us.”

The teasing edge in her voice was familiar, comforting even, and you found yourself relaxing despite the situation. She pulled out her knife and pried at the panel, sparks flickering in the darkness. When nothing happened, she looked up at the ceiling. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way. Gimme a boost.”

You cupped your hands, lifting her toward the maintenance hatch. Her hands gripped the edge, muscles flexing as she hauled herself up. Even in moments like this, she carried a quiet confidence that you couldn’t help but admire.

“Come on,” she called down, extending her hand to you. The elevator creaked beneath you, and you didn’t hesitate, grabbing her arm as she pulled you up. For a moment, your faces were close, her green eyes meeting yours in the dim light. There was something unspoken between you, a tension that had been building for weeks but never breached. She offered you a small, reassuring smile, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the rusted ladder that led to the next floor.

“You first,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Just in case.”

You gave her a pointed look. “You’re lighter. You go first.”

Ellie rolled her eyes but climbed, her movements deliberate and cautious. The ladder groaned under her weight, the sound echoing through the shaft. When she reached the top, she turned and crouched, reaching for you again. As you climbed, the elevator cables snapped with a deafening screech, the empty car plummeting into the void below.

“Shit!” Ellie yelled, grabbing your arm and pulling you up with a strength that surprised you. You both collapsed onto the floor, your breaths coming in shallow gasps.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence broken only by the distant echo of the crash. Then Ellie let out a shaky laugh. “Well, that was fun.”

“Yeah,” you panted, staring at the hole where the elevator used to be. “Let’s not do that again.”

Ellie grinned, brushing the dust from her pants. “Agreed. Now let’s find something to make this worth it.”

The lower level was a maze of shelves and scattered debris, but your search paid off: canned food, first-aid supplies, even a pack of batteries. Ellie held up a dusty can of peaches, her grin widening. “Jackpot.”

You smirked, shoving bandages into your bag. “Don’t celebrate yet.”

Then you heard it: a faint clicking sound that made your blood run cold. You froze, meeting Ellie’s gaze. Her expression turned serious, her knife already in hand.

The clicker emerged from the shadows, its grotesque, fungus-covered head twitching as it sniffed the air. Ellie stepped in front of you, her shoulders tense. “Stay back,” she murmured.

You barely had time to react before the infected lunged. Ellie’s first shot rang out, but it wasn’t enough to stop it. The clicker slammed into you, its clawed hands reaching for your throat. You struggled against its weight, your knife just out of reach.

Ellie’s voice was sharp, panicked. “Hold on!”

Her second shot hit its mark, and the clicker went limp, collapsing onto you. She yanked its body off, her hands trembling as she helped you to your feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with worry.

You nodded, though your legs felt like jelly. “Thanks to you.”

Her lips quirked into a shaky smile. “Don’t get all mushy on me.”

Back at camp, the fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the cabin. You sat on your bunk, staring at the floor, the memory of the clicker’s snarling face still vivid in your mind. Sleep felt impossible.

Before you knew it, you were knocking on Ellie’s door. She opened it almost immediately, her expression softening when she saw you.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked, stepping aside to let you in.

You shook your head, feeling a little foolish. But she didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of her bed and patted the spot next to her. “Come on. I’m not gonna bite.”

You hesitated before sitting, the tension in your chest easing as you felt her shoulder brush against yours. For a while, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you comfortable, familiar. Her knee bumped against yours, and neither of you moved away.

“Today was… intense,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ellie turned her head to look at you, her green eyes searching your face. “Yeah. But we’re okay. You’re okay.”

There was something in her tone, a softness that made your heart ache. You glanced at her, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t exist. It was just the two of you, the space between you charged with an unspoken question.

Ellie’s hand brushed against yours, tentative at first. When you didn’t pull away, her fingers intertwined with yours, rough and warm. She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. “You scared the shit out of me today,” she murmured, her breath ghosting over your lips.

“Ellie—”

Before you could finish, her lips brushed against yours, so soft and fleeting you almost thought you imagined it. She pulled back, her eyes looking into yours.

“Relax,” she murmured, her other hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her touch lingered, her thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little. But then her expression softened, and she leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. Her breath was warm on your skin, and you could smell the faint hint of mint from the leaves she’d been chewing earlier.

“You know,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. About you. About... us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. But you didn’t need to say anything. Ellie’s lips brushed against yours again, so softly it almost felt like an accident. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, waiting for some sign that you wanted this as much as she did.

And you did. God, you did.

You leaned in this time, pressing your lips to hers with a hunger that surprised even yourself. Her response was immediate, her hands moving to cup your face as she deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about the way she kissed you—it was confident, possessive, like she was claiming every inch of you. Her tongue slid against yours, and you moaned softly, your hands grasping at the fabric of her shirt.

When she finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling in sync. Ellie’s eyes were dark, her pupils blown wide with desire. She didn’t say a word, just stood up and held out her hand. You took it without hesitation, letting her pull you to your feet.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head and tossing it aside. The cool air hit your skin, raising goosebumps, but Ellie’s touch chased them away. Her fingers traced the lines of your collarbone, your shoulders, your arms, like she was memorizing every part of you.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Then, with a quick glance down at her own clothes, she began to undress, her movements slow and deliberate. First came her jacket, then her shirt, revealing the lean muscles of her torso and the scars that told the story of her survival. Her cargo pants followed, kicked aside with a casualness that contrasted starkly with the way she watched you, her gaze burning with intensity.

When she stood before you completely bare, you couldn’t help but stare. Her body was a map of strength and endurance, every muscle defined by years of running, fighting, surviving. But there was also a softness to her, a vulnerability that made her all the more breathtaking.

Then she was on you, pushing you gently back onto the cot and straddling your hips. Her thighs pressed against yours, her weight settling comfortably over you. She leaned down, her lips finding yours again as her hand slipped between your bodies, her fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your underwear.

“Ellie,” you gasped, arching into her touch.

She smirked against your lips, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear and tugging them down. “Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her voice low and rough.

And then she was touching you, her fingers exploring you with a reverence that made your heart ache. Her thumb circled your clit, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you, before slipping lower, teasing your entrance. When she finally pushed inside, you cried out, your nails digging into her shoulders.

But Ellie didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. She moved with purpose, her hips grinding against yours as she worked you with her fingers. Her free hand tangled in your hair, pulling your mouth to hers in a desperate kiss.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” she groaned, her breath hot against your skin.

You could feel her own arousal pressed against your thigh, wet and insistent, and you rocked your hips against her, wanting to give her the same pleasure she was giving you.

Ellie must have sensed your intentions because she suddenly pulled back, her eyes locking with yours. “Not yet,” she said, her voice firm but filled with promise. “I want to make you come first.”

And she did, her fingers curling inside you just right as her thumb pressed against your clit. The pressure built quickly, relentlessly, until you were trembling beneath her, your nails clawing at her back as you came undone.

Ellie watched you with a look of awe, her lips parting slightly as she took in every twitch, every shudder of your body. “So fucking gorgeous,” she breathed, leaning down to kiss you again, softer this time.

#ellie willams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #ellie smut #lesbian smut #fluff #the last of us

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suzukiblu · 4 days ago

Text

Fourth 1k of the thank-you 5k I promised y'all behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon bites his lip and kind of wishes–kind of wishes Red Tornado wouldn’t leave, maybe? But . . . well, the cape smells as much like him as anything does–as much as metal and wires and machinery can smell like someone, anyway–and it’s, like . . . Red Tornado’s leaving it with him. And he gave it to him. So it’s like . . . so he has it. Because Red Tornado just . . . gave it to him.

He sniffles; scrubs the sleeve of his jacket across his face. Then he plays back the video again to figure out how to fold it up right and jumps around a bit to find the different ways the omega in it uses different things. He only used Suzie’s blanket as, like–a base or a lining, kinda, and Cissie’s towel wasn’t all that big and everything else was either clothes or scent blockers, so he’s not sure what to do with something this big. Like, he could just layer it over Suzie’s, but if he’s trying to fill up some space and really make a nest . . .

The best thing she makes with a blanket in the video–which, like, obviously that’s the closest they’re getting to a cape, in this situation–the best thing is her folding a fluffy leopard-print blanket into a big squishy-looking heart, which he just thinks is fucking cool to be able to do. Like, he is definitely not putting anything heart-shaped in this nest, but it’s definitely cool. She also made some flowers and stuff like that, but those were all with little stuff like handkerchiefs and towels and, like, also not actually a shape he wants to put in his nest. That’s, like–decorative, or whatever. That kind of stuff’s for . . .

Like, that’s what moms do so their nests are cute for their–pups, and all. They make, like . . . little folded animals and flowers and shapes to line the edge of the nest; stuff like that. So they can, like–nest with their pups. Make things, like . . . cute, yeah. Fun for them, and fun little things to teach them how to do themselves, if they’re, like–omegas too, or whatever.

So . . . yeah.

. . . he guesses sometimes also omegas who are inviting a suitor or datemate or whatever in make flowers or cool little shapes too, but . . .

It doesn’t matter. Kon couldn’t even have pups, even if he, like–wanted to, or whatever, and he’s definitely not dating anybody or anything, so–yeah. Not relevant.

He figures he’ll probably just, like–roll Red Tornado’s cape up, really. He remembers the omega in the video making a rolled pillow-thing with the edges tucked in so it wouldn’t, like, instantly unroll, and that seems like something that’d work pretty good. Definitely it’ll make a bigger pillow than any of the other stuff has, too. She also made a triangle and a donut-shape and, like, obviously a square and a rectangle, but the roll just seems like . . . he doesn’t know, just it seems . . .

It–feels best, he thinks, and isn’t sure if that’s that whole “listening to your inner omega” thing the video was talking about or not, but it’s . . . it makes him feel kinda–good, thinking maybe it is. Maybe it’s, like . . . maybe he has a little bit of those . . . instincts, or whatever.

He . . . did wanna nest, before he presented. He just, like . . . he just . . .

He did wanna, he admits to himself.

He rolls up Red Tornado’s cape and tucks the ends of it in like in the video, then carefully sets it against the side of the nesting pit opposite of everyone else’s “pillows” and tries to make sure it’s, like–kinda fluffed, he guesses, or at least as fluffed as a folded cape can get. Just–full, he guesses.

It’s still pretty bare-looking for a nest, but Kon feels a weird twisty sort of . . . feeling, kinda. Like he did–something good, kinda. He really wants more stuff in it, though, but–

The video’s still playing, and the omega in it holds up a denim jacket and then starts folding that into a pillow, and Kon realizes he’s a total dumbass. He is literally still wearing his jacket, for crying out loud, like–geez, how was his jacket not the first thing he used? He doesn’t need his own scent, obviously, but it’d still be another pillow’s worth of space and hell, he’s used it as a pillow before, even. Like, in the field or on the road or on set or just, like . . . wherever. And like–fuck it, even if he doesn’t need his own scent, he still likes it.

Well, like–he means he still likes his jacket, but honestly the cream soda pheromones are, like . . .

He just–it’s an omega scent. A really omega scent. One nobody’d ever, ever mistake for a beta’s or alpha’s.

So . . . yeah, he likes his scent too.

“I’m a moron, buddy,” he tells the Super-Cycle with a wry snort as he takes his sunglasses out of the pocket of his jacket to toss into the front seat with Bart’s weird cowboy boots and spurs and hat, because like, obviously those are not nest-friendly and he doesn’t wanna accidentally snap or crush ‘em. He goes through enough pairs as it is, seriously. Really he should ditch his own boots and probably his gloves up there too, but, like–later, probably. Once he’s built up his–nest a little more, with whatever Red Tornado’s gonna bring him. Because, like–Red Tornado said he was gonna bring him more stuff to use.

Kon feels that weird twisty feeling again, like something’s good, and then huffs at himself and rewinds the video a little so he’ll be able to follow along with the omega on-screen. She’s got denim, not leather, but it can’t be that different a folding process, right?

So yeah, that’ll work, he decides as the video resumes playing right before the jacket-folding and he strips his jacket off to–

–to–

Kon strips his jacket off and catches a trace of–a trace of a scent, just briefly, and remembers–

Superman touched his jacket, earlier.

And his jacket still smells like . . . like Superman’s blockers, and the muddied not-really-there traces of pheromones that he’s never fully scented underneath them, and . . .

His jacket smells like Superman.

#kon el #conner kent #superboy #young just us #young justice #wip: yj packs up and gets pupped #omegaverse

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vivwritesfics · 11 months ago

Note

I have a Rooster idea!!

Bradley x Redbull!Engineer gf

Rooster comes to an F1 race for the first time and is like in aw of similar machinery and seeing his girl work. But maybe she’s Max’s engineer so the two dudes have a stand off (little brother x boyfriend) while Kelly and Reader laugh at their stupidity.

I feel like Rooster would be with an the Newey apprentice

Hope you find this interesting ❤️❤️

-🐮

Moustache man? Hawaiian shirt? I'm obsessed

"Come. To. The. Grand Prix. Bradley."

She stood behind where he sat on the couch, wrapping her arms around him. She kissed his cheek as she waited for her husband to reply.

"Baby," he began, his hands on his thighs as she slipped her hand beneath his shirt, feeling his chest.

"Please," she tried. "Please, we can drive up there together and get a hotel and..." she trailed off and licked a stripe up his cheek.

That seemed to do it. His hand settled over her own and he nodded his head. "Fine," he said. "I'll come to the Vegas Grand Prix."

"Great!" She called, kissed his cheek and stood up. "Max is so excited to meet you."

That was in summer break. That was several months ago. Bradley had forgotten about it while she travelled the world's, going from Grand Prix to Grand Prix, and he worked, flying the Super Hornet.

She was home between the Brazilian Grand Prix and the Las Vegas Grand Prix. Bradley had missed her terribly. The minute she came home he had her in his arms.

On the Wednesday before the Grand Prix, she was packing their things into the Bronco. "Baby," Bradley called as he watched her take their bags (his she had packed) out of the front door. "What're you doing?"

"We're going Vegas, Bradley," she reminded him with a grin.

It all came back to him. They were heading out to Nevada for the Grand Prix. "I can't wait for you to meet Max," she said as Bradley took the keys to the Bronco from her.

Before she could climb into the car, he grabbed her and pulled her close. "I can't wait to see you in action," he said before he kissed her, his moustache tickling her lip. She loved it (and he wasn't allowed to shave).

The five, nearly six, hour drive to the Las Vegas Grand Prix was filled with music. It was Bradley's music, music she had grown to love since the beginning of their relationship.

They stopped for food halfway through the journey. It was getting darker as they finally arrived at the Las Vegas Grand Prix. The two settled in their hotel room.

They splurged, ordering room service so that they could spend their time in their room, enjoying each other.

The next day, they headed to the track for the first practice. Bradley insisted on his usual attire (trying to look tough in front of the drivers, no doubt), but she put a jumper in her bag anyway.

"C'mon," she said, kissing his moustache and leading him out of the hotel room.

The track was incredibly lively when they arrived. She held his hand through the paddock, leading him to the Red Bull garage. "Max and Checo have both been asking to meet you for so long," she said.

But they didn't find Max or Checo first. The first person they found was actually Kelly. "Kells!" She called, familiarity in her voice.

Kelly smiled and waved when she saw her. But then she saw Bradley walking behind her. (He had already put his jumper on over his hawaiian shirt). "Is this..." she began, gesturing to him.

She nodded her head. "Only took me three years to get him to a Grand Prix," she said through a grin.

Bradley was polite as he said hello to Kelly. The three of them conversed for a little while (with Kelly promising to look after Bradley while she and Max worked).

There was no time for Max to meet Bradley before he had to jump into the car and she was on the pit wall. All Bradley knew about the sport was what his wife had told him and Kelly was happy to answer whatever question he had.

He loved watching her on the pit wall, so concentrated as she gave Max the information he needed.

After FP1, Max climbed out of the car. He took a hot minute in his drivers room while she did what she needed to do.

When Max came out of his drivers room, he saw his girlfriend talking to this huge, muscular, moustached man. He had never seen him before, didn't realise it was his engineers husband. "Hey," he said, kissing Kelly and looking up at Bradley. "Can I help you?" He asked.

The expression Max was wearing, he didn't look happy. He looked pissed. As soon as his engineer saw it, she ran over, linking her arm through Bradley's as she looked at her driver. "Max, I'd like you to meet my husband," she said.

The expression dropped from Max's face. "This is your husband?" He gestured up to Bradley, surprise written on his face.

Max didn't care how much bigger Bradley was, he'd go feral little brother modd if he had to. "How long have you been together?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest ad he stared up at Bradley, challenging him.

She went to answer, but Max shook his head at her.

Bradley could see what he was doing, could see it from a mile away. "Four wonderful years," he said and leaned down to kiss her.

But Max had another question. "What's her favourite colour?" He asked.

She couldn't help but laugh. "Max, its sweet you care, but cmon." She said

"Answer the question, Bradley, was it?"

She rolled her eyes. Max knew his name, she'd spoken about him enough. He was sinking lower. She looked behind him at Kelly, who rolled her eyes.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, actually," Bradley responded with a sly grin. He answered Max's question about her favourite colour and kissed her. Bradley Bradshaw loved his wife, and he'd answer any questions any F1 driver sent his way to prove it.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #rooster imagine #bradley rooster x reader #f1 imagine #formula one imagine

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obesogen · 11 months ago

Text

You introduce yourself to someone

"Hi, so-and-so, I'm ..." and you think that you say your name,

but your plump hands, slightly sweaty,

and your swollen forearms, encroaching on small wrists,

your upper arms role-poly like the Michelin man,

and your wide, sloppy, drooping gut,

which is in theory fully covered by a shirt

barely tho;

your deep, wide belly button visible through thin fabric, stretched taut, 12x getting too small,

and let's not forget your double chin,

your soft pillowy neck roll,

your dewlap, a perfectly closed collar of squishy fat that

your tiny features sink into–

these things say

hi so-and-so,

i'm super obese, morbidly obese, obese class III,

i'm permanently disabled by how fat i have become

i'm the fattest person you have ever had to speak to

i'm the fattest person you have ever seen in person

and not on the tv freak show

hi so and so, i'm severely mentally ill

hi so and so, i'm traumatized

hi so and so, i am addicted to food

hi so and so, i have no impulse control

hi so and so, i'm ... what's your name again?

you are no one, nothing,

all you are and all you can ever be is gloriously obese beyond the frenzied imaginings of our starving ancestors who carved the venus of willendorf

you are stuffed to the point of near-bursting; even the backs of your neck rolls are frosted with stretch marks. the body always finds somewhere to store fat, and with all the usual spots so filled to the brim, you notice eventually even your forehead is fat; a deposit of soft tissue that furrows above your brows, like a sharpei.

Not long after you got a second mobility aid for out in public, a powerchair with a capaciity of 1100 pounds and hydraulic suspension and tread on its 8 tires like a tank, you started using your old one around the house, always on the verge of breaking down under the additional 200 pounds you carry beyond its rated 500 pound capacity. Not long after, unthinkingly, you just stopped walking, out of sheer bone-idleness. You couldn't say when your last day on your feet was, you surrendered sooner than that day came, comfortably dependent.

Months later, you dimly attempt to recall when you last moved, standing, from one point in space to another. Until the last month, you could still, barely, haul yourself up using a bar to support and balance yourself. From being pushed up out of your powerchair with a forward lift, to the belly gathering momentum and sliding down, to you standing shakily and taking one shuffling step to reposition your body so you can transfer from one big chair to another big chair, and from one big chair to the big motorized bariatric hospital bed.

Now, just 20 pounds later, you can't move your blob body hardly at all below your greedy mouth with its greasy, parted, mouthbreathing lips and beyond your wriggling sausage link fingers. You cannot move any other part of your body without needing help. You are not to your knowledge paralyzed really in any way, you just shamelessly became too fat to lift your own arms, you press a button on a remote that must be attached to your fat hand since if you drop it you couldn't even retrieve it with a string, you are just that weak– so thoroughly inhabiting how obese you are through the total abdication of all decisions.

Once the support bar began to gather dust and was eventually packed away- you become adjusted to transfering from place to place using motorized cranes and winches, your fat slab form filling huge slings with tough straps, prone and helpless, drowning beneath countless rolls, lovingly oiled machinery creaking as it hefts your megafat body.

Your muscles are so weak and your limbs are so heavy. You still have the urge to to struggle and sweat to lift another treat to your bottomless pit of a stomach. You are estimated to be able to hold several gallons in there before feeling sick from fullness.

Most days you simply lie expectantly and grunt with your mouth open, eating everything you are given by any of your staff or acolytes, and sucking melted ice cream sludge from one tube, or chugging diet coke or (regular) mountain dew from 2 different (fountain) tubes.

Turns out there's more than irony to research suggesting artificial sweeteners like aspartame provoke intense cravings for actual sugar.

You are fat beyond reason. Only the most depraved massive, disabling, immobilizing obesity fetishists could find your tremendous doughy body, with a belly so outsized you must be buckled into powerchairs and scooters and even the shower chair. If you don't endure the humiliation of being buckled into the modern day litter which drags your fat around, your unwieldy pannus threatens to upset your vehicle, tipping you forward and pulling you down– you know you would be left on the floor gasping, unable to even sit up, defenseless, amorphous.

And besides,

you forgot your name anyway

years ago,

dont you remember? my

pitiful

swollen

hog.

#obesogen blog: stimulant fueled obesity gooning #death feedee #death feederism #extremely obese #obese piggy #death feedist #glorify obesity #wg text

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oneshotnewbie · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you're taking requests, specifically for Athena Grant? If so, please could you write something about:

Reader and Athena are together (engaged) and the reader gets injured (either accidently/someone intentionally hurt) and they've had to remove all the jewelry before surgery, so when the reader wakes up, she's panicking about how she's lost her engagement ring (half still under anesthesia and half boasting to the nurses) until Athena gets there and puts the ring back on her finger again? Like re-proposing in front of the team?

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of a serious accident, blood, conversations about possible death and the plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

You leaned against the rolling doors of the fire station as the sun slowly sank behind the skyscrapers of Los Angeles. Daily life at the station was chaotic, as always - the hum of voices and the heavy clatter of equipment filled the air. The icy cold air left an uncomfortable tingling sensation on your skin, a coldness that you couldn't shake off despite the fleece jacket over your shoulders.

Since your engagement to Athena, you had become strangely calmer, your once impetuous nature had changed. But this uneasy silence that this evening brought with it made you nervous. Your finger unconsciously stroked the shiny ring on your hand - a symbol of love, the promise of a shared future that you had given each other.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Hen asked, putting a hand on your shoulder while she cast a worried look at you. "Are you unsure about... the engagement?"

"Oh my God, no Hen. I could never be unsure about Athena. It just feels so... unreal," you replied with a gentle smile as you looked at her while pushing yourself away from the wall. "It is a.. magical feeling and I'm so incredibly happy."

Hen smiled broadly at you and before she could answer you, a shrill alarm sounded, echoing through the walls of the building. The adrenaline immediately shot through your body, your muscles tensed, and the moment of calm was over. It was time for action.

"A serious accident on a construction site in the west of downtown! Several injured, unclear situation, possible danger of collapse!" the announcement echoed over the loudspeakers.

Hen and you exchanged a brief, wordless glance - the mixture of concern and determination in your eyes was unmistakable. You walked quickly together towards the ambulance while the rest of the team jumped into the fire trucks. The engines roared as you left the station in a moment when the air seemed to stand still before the chaos began.

The streets of Los Angeles were packed, but the car's sirens cut through the traffic like a knife. You felt the familiar thrill of adrenaline rising inside you. But today it felt different. Every sound seemed sharper, the movements around you faster - as if the world around you was vibrating with tension. You tried to focus your thoughts, but your eyes kept wandering to the shiny ring on your finger. You couldn't shake the wonderful thought that you would soon be a Grant.

When you finally arrived at the construction site, the extent of the disaster was immediately apparent. A gigantic construction site, filled with half-built buildings, cranes towering into the sky, and workers everywhere, panicking and trying to make their way out of the rubble. The scene was a nightmare: steel beams had collapsed, concrete slabs had been shattered, machinery was blocking access roads, and dust hung thick in the air, as if the entire construction site had been shaken by a major earthquake.

Hen and Chimney jumped out of the car and immediately ran to the injured, while you turned your gaze to the half-collapsed part of the construction site, where the cause of the chaos seemed to be. Sparks flew from a stationary smaller crane that was leaning dangerously to the side and threatened to fall onto the scaffolding below.

You immediately ran, your mind on autopilot. It was clear that this situation was life-threatening but this was your job and you would stop at nothing. The crane had to be stabilized before more people were injured. A team of construction workers tried desperately to secure the heavy equipment with steel cables, but it was obvious that their efforts would not be enough. Sweat ran down their foreheads as they frantically shouted orders to the rest of your team, but time was running out.

"Damn, if that thing falls, it'll kill even more people," you cursed inwardly as you ran and grabbed one of the heavy steel cables, trying to help the workers stabilize the machine before Bobby and the others found a solution.

But the situation quickly escalated. A worker, obviously inexperienced and panicked, began to frantically pull on one of the control levers, ignoring the dangerous weight of the wooden beams moving above him. But before Bobby, Eddie or anyone else could intervene, there was a loud crack that made your blood run cold. You looked up - a massive wooden beam finally came loose and fell towards you without stopping.

Everything happened in a split second. The beam crashed down with a deafening roar and hit you with full force. You felt a sharp, piercing pain as the wood hit your body, as if your entire ribcage was being crushed. Your breath was ripped from your lungs, and you could feel the burning pain flooding your body. The sound of bones breaking echoed in your ears, accompanied by the dull thud as your body hit the ground with full force.

You wanted to scream, but no sound came. You lay under the heavy weight, unable to move, and could feel your consciousness slowly fading. Your head spun, and the pounding of your own heartbeat became duller as the blood from the wound in the side of your torso dripped onto the ground at an alarming rate. Your vision blurred, and the sounds around you became quieter. You knew you were losing control.

The world around you began to blur, but the last thing you consciously perceived was a terrified scream from Hen.

She saw it happen as if time itself was slowing down. The massive beam fell as if in slow motion, and even though Hen knew there was nothing she could do, she felt an indescribable feeling of powerlessness. She had promised her best friend, Athena, that she would look after you during missions. "Y/n! No!" she screamed as she ran across the rubble. Her voice was rough and broken, the shock almost paralyzing her.

Chimney, who had also witnessed the accident, was already at her side, grabbing his emergency backpack with shaking fingers. The sight of you lying motionless under the beam made his heart race. You weren't just a colleague, you were family. The unit was a family, and when one of them fell, everyone felt it.

Hen knelt down next to your head and felt desperately for a pulse. The blood loss was frightening, her fingers immediately soaked by the warm, sticky blood that was constantly seeping from the wound. Hen's heart was racing. She had to keep a clear head, but it was difficult. Chimney worked frantically beside her, trying to put pressure on the wound, but it was clear that the injury was serious. Too serious.

Meanwhile, the others tried to keep the gathering crowd under control while securing the other wooden beams to avoid another accident.

"We're losing her!" Chimney shouted, his voice hot with panic as he performed the makeshift wound care. Hen felt her hands shaking as she reached for the equipment, but she forced herself to calm down. There could be no mistakes. Not now.

"She's strong, no one loses anyone here," Hen whispered, more to herself than to Chimney. The sight of your lifeless body made Hen dizzy. Your chest barely heaved and your face was pale and lifeless, as if the life was draining out of you.

The two worked feverishly. Their hands slid confidently over the injured flesh as they tried to stop the blood seeping from the gaping wounds. The world around them seemed to stand still and all that mattered now was the person in front of them - their colleague. Their friend. Their family.

"Chim, we have to get her out of here. If we don't stabilize her, we'll lose her!" Hen shouted, trying to keep the panic from her voice. Each breath you took was weak, as if the next one might be your last.

"Damn it, Hen, the girder is sitting right on her chest. Bobby, you have to lift the girder! She'll bleed to death otherwise!" Chimney answered hastily, as he secured the pressure bandage to the worst part of your injury. The massive wooden beam had hit you hard, and it was a miracle you were still alive. But for how much longer? Chimney's gaze was fixed on the growing pool of blood beneath his knees.

Bobby, Buck, and Eddy were no time in coming. Each of them knew that time was now their enemy. Buck and Eddie immediately began to position themselves at the respective ends of the girder, while Bobby took the lead and stood over you.

"Okay, everyone ready? On my command! One... two... THREE!" he shouted as everyone lifted at the same time to take the weight off you. The wood cracked under the pressure, and for a moment it looked like they wouldn't make it. But with one last, desperate tug, they lifted it just high enough for Chimney to pull you out.

You were almost unconscious, pale as death. Hen looked at her best friend's bloody, limp face and felt her heart sink. This wasn't just any mission. "Stay with us, y/n," she whispered as Chimney carefully lifted you onto a stretcher.

Bobby quickly put an oxygen mask on you while Chimney applied pressure to the wound with one hand and monitored your heart rate with the other. The situation was critical and the team knew that every second counted. Without hesitation, they pushed the stretcher into the ambulance while Buck closed the doors and ran to the fire truck.

"Hen, Chim, we're right behind you," Bobby called before the doors slammed shut and the ambulance sped off, sirens blaring.

The ambulance sped through the streets of Los Angeles, the sirens piercing the night like the howl of a wounded animal. The city lights blurred into a bright kaleidoscope as the two paramedics inside the car raced against time.

Hen drove the ambulance while Chimney worked feverishly to keep the blood flowing. The oxygen mask over your face was a thin thread holding you to this life. The heart rate on the monitor was faint, and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

"Come on, come on..." he muttered to himself as he applied another pressure bandage over the one already soaked in blood. His latex gloves were red with blood, and his eyes were extremely tense. "We're losing her, Hen. The pressure is off."

Hen pressed her lips together, fighting the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. "Not now. Not here. Not her. We're almost there, keep her alive!"

The ambulance arrived at the hospital minutes later with screeching tires, and the team jumped out, the stretcher with you in the middle. You were immediately surrounded by a team of emergency doctors who moved their bodies like machines, every grip precise, every action practiced.

"Severe chest trauma, internal bleeding! She's losing a lot of!" Hen shouted after the doctors as they quickly pushed you through the hospital doors. Hen and Chimney followed them, both with their eyes downcast and faces covered in sweat.

The rest of the team also watched as you were pushed down the hallway towards the operating rooms and then the moment came when they disappeared around the corner with you and the team was left alone in a state of confusion, concern, hope and fear. In that moment it felt like the air was being sucked out of the hallway they stood in.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Athena stormed through the hospital corridors, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She could hear her own blood rushing in her ears, her thoughts swirling in a chaotic vortex of fear, worry and hopelessness. Bobby had called her shortly after arriving at the hospital, and his words echoed in her head as if they were caught on an endless loop: "It's serious. It's serious."

She reached the emergency room and immediately saw the familiar faces of her friends and colleagues. Bobby was the first to step forward to greet her, his face worried but calm. "Athena..." he began, but she didn't let him finish. "Where is she?" Athena whispered, her voice breaking as she looked around. Her eyes wandered frantically through the sterile, brightly lit hospital corridor until they finally settled on Hen. The paramedic stood with her arms crossed, her shoulders slumped forward, looking exhausted and full of grief.

She stepped forward and put a hand on Athena's shoulder, but she felt that words could not bring comfort here. The pain, the fear, the agonizing wait - all of this weighed heavily on Athena. "She's in the operating room. They're fighting... but it doesn't look good," she said carefully in a quiet voice. Her eyes were tired, the minutes of her colleague's blood loss and the constant tension for her life had left their mark on her too.

"Not good?" Athena shook her head in disbelief, as if she couldn't believe these words. She felt an uncontrollable tremor running through her body that she could barely suppress and the walls seemed to close in around her.

"What does that mean, Hen? Are you going to tell me that she might not make it?" Her voice had gotten louder, almost panicked. Bobby, who was standing next to them, held out his hand reassuringly, but Athena backed away. She needed answers, not pity.

"Athena, we don't know," Hen said carefully, her eyes full of compassion. "She has severe internal injuries and the bleeding was extremely critical. But she's in the best hospital, with the best doctors. They're doing everything they can."

But those words were only a small consolation for her. The worry about you weighed heavily on her chest, and she felt helpless. She wanted to be with you, wanted to hold your hand, to tell you that you should fight and not give up. But all she could do now was stand here and wait. Wait while fate decided the life of the woman she loved.

Athena nodded silently, although inside she wanted to scream. She had to pull herself together, not collapse. "At least tell me that she can feel it... that she knows that I'm here," she finally said, directing her words at her best friend.

"Athena, if anyone can do it, it's y/n. She's a fighter. And she'll know you're here, no matter what."

While the entire team waited, the team of surgeons and nurses fought for your survival. The sterile, cool air in the room was filled with frantic, precise movements. The lead surgeon wiped sweat from his brow as he made another deep cut to find the source of the bleeding

"We've stabilized her, but the blood loss is still concerning. Should we add another unit of blood?" one of the nurses asked as she readjusted the oxygen mask and checked the heart rate on the monitor. Each beat of your heart was weak, almost imperceptible.

"Yes, please. Several ribs are broken, internal organ damage. We need to decompress the left lung," he murmured, handling his instruments more tensely than usual. His hands moved in a routine manner.

One of the nurses, meanwhile, took care of the jewelry that remained on your body. The engagement ring on your finger shimmered in the cold operating room light, a tiny spark in the midst of the fight for life and death. With gentle movements, the nurse removed the ring from your blood-stained hand and carefully placed it in a bowl, along with a chain that had been hidden under your uniform, to later clean these items and hand them over to you as soon as you were able to.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright light of the infirmary blinded you as you slowly emerged from the deep darkness of the anesthetic sleep. At first everything was blurry - the shapes, the sounds, the feeling of your own body. You felt that something was wrong, but couldn't grasp what it was. Your head seemed to be wrapped in cotton wool, your thoughts swirled wildly, but one thing was immediately clear: something was missing.

Confusion spread through your foggy mind and your fingers twitched slightly. You instinctively reached for your hand, for the engagement ring that should be there. But it wasn't there. The cool, bare skin of your fingers touched nothing but the air. Panic shot through your body like lightning.

"Where... where is it?" you murmured quietly at first, still too dazed by the painkillers to speak properly. But the confusion quickly turned into naked fear. You blinked, trying to concentrate, but the feeling of emptiness, the loss of your ring, seemed to smother any clarity.

With a sudden, jerky impulse of movement that put the nurses on alert, you began to sit up in your hospital bed. "My ring! Where... where is it?" you gasped, your voice getting louder, your breathing getting faster. The tubes and wires monitoring you pulled taut as you tried to sit up further. Your body was still weak, but your panic gave you a supernatural strength.

One of the nurses rushed to your side, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "Calm down, everything is fine. Please lie back down, you've just had a serious operation," she said gently.

But you barely heard her. Your thoughts were a wild storm, and the only reality that existed in your head was the horrible feeling that you had lost the engagement ring. Tears gathered in your eyes and your voice broke into panic. "No! My ring... I... I lost it! Where is it? Where is it?!" You desperately grabbed the nurse's hand as if she could give you the answer.

"It's fine, please, try to relax," said another nurse who had now joined you. "We'll take care of you."

But nothing could calm you down. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, the monitor began to beep faster while your heart beat in dangerous panic for your condition. Your eyes wandered around the room, searching for a familiar sign, something that could assure you that you had not lost the ring and everything it symbolized.

"No... no... please... I need it..." you whispered between gasping breaths, your voice full of desperation. The nurses exchanged a worried look, unsure how to calm you down.

Just then, the door opened and Athena entered, closely followed by Hen, Chimney, Bobby, Buck and Eddie. Each of them had spent the last few hours in endless worry, but when they saw you now - your eyes red and filled with tears, your body upright in a bed you weren't supposed to leave yet - a wave of compassion shot through them. The lump in Athena's throat grew when she saw how confused and helpless you looked.

"Hey, hey, everything's fine," Athena called immediately when she saw the panic in your eyes. She quickly went to the bed and knelt by the side, placing her hands firmly on yours. "I'm here, I'm here. You haven't lost anything."

But you shook your head violently, still unable to think clearly. "No... my ring! I lost it! Athena, I lost your proof of love…” The words came in jerky, desperate breaths as tears streamed down your cheeks. You looked at Athena with so much fear in your eyes that it broke her heart.

Athena took a deep breath, then gently squeezed your hand in hers. “Honey, calm down,” she said, her voice firm but loving. She stroked your hand gently. “You didn’t lose it. I have it.”

With those words, Athena reached into her pocket and pulled out the engagement ring—the ring she had put on you months ago when she had promised you to go through whatever life threw at you together. The ring sparkled in the soft light of the hospital room, a familiar, beautiful symbol of their love and future.

Your breathing slowed for a moment when you saw the ring. Your eyes widened, and the panic slowly faded as reality began to penetrate the veil of painkillers. "You... you have it?" you asked quietly, your voice shaking.

"Yes, darling. One of the nurses gave it back to me after she took it from you during surgery for safety reasons. I've been keeping it for you the whole time," Athena said, holding your hand tighter. "I would never let you lose it. You'll always have it. Just like you'll always have me."

Your chest was still heaving heavily, but your panic was noticeably subsiding. You looked at Athena, your eyes filling with tears again, but this time out of relief. "I thought... I thought it was gone."

"It's not gone. It was always here," Athena whispered, holding the ring gently between her fingers before slowly sliding it back onto your finger, right where it belonged.

There was a deep silence in the room. All eyes were on the couple - the team watched as Athena placed the ring back on your finger with as much care and love as if it were the first time. Chimney, Hen, Bobby, Buck and Eddie held their breath as if they were watching a sacred moment.

Athena looked deep into your eyes, her voice firm but tender as she said, "Will you marry me, here and now, a second time, y/n? Will you continue on this path with me, no matter how hard it may be sometimes?"

The words were a mixture of seriousness and comfort, a promise she had made before - and yet now, in this moment, it felt even stronger and more meaningful.

You, still slightly dazed, felt the world around you finally settle down. The fear of losing the ring had been like a huge wave that had washed over you - but now you were back on the shore. The ring was there, Athena was there. Everything was right again.

With tear-filled eyes and a weak but sincere smile, you nodded. "Yes... always yes."

Athena smiled warmly as a wave of relief and love washed through her. She leaned forward, kissed your forehead gently, and in that moment the whole room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. The team, which had been in tense silence until then, could no longer contain the emotions.

"This is incredibly beautiful," Buck murmured with a moist gleam in his eyes as Hen poked him in the side.

"It's not often that you see someone propose the same thing twice," Chimney said quietly, his voice full of emotion. Eddie nodded silently and allowed a slight smile to appear while Bobby, the silent observer, took a deep breath. For him, this moment was a symbol of the fighting spirit that united them all.

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pdmmakina · 7 months ago

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Continue the manufacturing... Üretime devam... #pdm #machine #machinery #packing #filling #yoghurt #juice #ayran #airan #buttermilk #milk #dairy #machinery #solutions #ankara #istanbul #turkey #paketleme #dolum #makineleri http://pdmmakina.com.tr

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terronindia · 1 year ago

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Today, for manufacturing companies mainly involved in the food industry, the issue of high-quality packaging, which has an attractive design for a potential client, the ability to preserve the beneficial and tasteful properties of the packaged product, and also ensures a sufficient shelf life of the contents, is very relevant. It is safe to say that vacuum packaging copes best with these requirements, which perfectly preserves the properties of the product and provides it with an attractive appearance.

Perhaps the food industry, more often than others, uses vacuum packaging for a completely diverse range of products, such as meat, fish, semi-finished products, cheese and sausage products, and much more. But vacuum packaging is also of great importance for sterile medical equipment and supplies: bandages, disposable syringes and needles, etc. Recently, such packaging has been increasingly used with non-food products to preserve their quality and presentation.

Vacuum packaging mainly uses materials with good protective characteristics, single-layer or multi-layer polymers in the form of films, bags, as well as paper and other materials. It can be said that a vacuum packing machine is one of the best options for perishable products that need to ensure the longest shelf life and the possibility of convenient transportation.

Equipment for packing Vacuum packaging uses special packaging machines that help solve the issue of protecting the contents from external factors.

#filling machinery #vacuum packing machine #pillow vacuum packing machine

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knoepfl · 2 months ago

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Mad Genius, Part |||

Hey there! I finally made part 3! I'm glad I made it because to be honest I really love the idea but I'm also not good at writing multiple part stories soo I hope this is alright? I'm already working on part 4 where it's about her only. So we can get a glimpse in the character more. If you'd like to see anything or have an idea feel free to tell me!

---

Characters:

- Viktor – A brilliant but physically frail scientist whose passion for progress often drives him to take risks.

- Reader (You) – A chaotic but genius inventor from Zaun. Once rational and sharp, your mind has spiraled into madness due to overuse of experimental powders you created. Obsessed with Viktor, you break into his lab to meet him for the first time.

Trigger Warnings:

- Mental instability and obsession

- Self-harm (implied through powder effects)

- Unsettling and erratic behavior

Masterlist

Part 1: Mad Genius

Part 2: Mad Genius

Part 4: Mad Genius

Words: 1086

Then came the photographs. The first was of Sky, unaltered but serene, her face marked with little red hearts sketched in ink. The next, doctored and grotesque, showed her screaming, her eyes hollow and empty, her skin marred with sores. Viktor recognized your work—your powders. Finally, there were pictures of you. Some were disturbingly intimate, your smile innocent as your fingers toyed with a vial of Crimson Powder. Others were chilling: your face twisted in a mad grin, powder dusted across your lips like war paint, your eyes filled with manic glee.

---

It had been a month of hell. Viktor’s life had unraveled in ways he hadn’t anticipated, each day punctuated by your lingering presence—though you were nowhere to be seen. The letters began innocently enough, reminders of your obsession inked in looping, elegant script. But they quickly grew darker, their contents escalating with every message. You described dreams of your future together, blending them with threats that sent chills down his spine.

He had avoided confronting you for weeks, hoping you would simply disappear. But the last letter left him no choice:

“Viktor, my love, I’m growing impatient. You and I are destined to change the world together, but you keep ignoring me. Perhaps Sky will convince you to see reason? Meet me at the old factory by the river at midnight. If you don’t come... well, I’m sure you can imagine the rest. Don’t make me do it.”

The factory loomed in the distance, its rusted silhouette rising like a skeleton against the blackened sky. Viktor’s cane tapped against the cobblestones, the sound sharp and deliberate. His chest felt heavy, his breath shallow. He gripped the strap of his satchel, inside of which he had packed vials of antidotes—precautions he prayed he wouldn’t have to use. His mind raced with strategies, though he knew none of them would matter. You were chaos incarnate, unpredictable and dangerous.

The factory door creaked open, revealing a cavernous interior lit by the faint glow of dangling bulbs. Machinery stood like rusted sentinels, their shadows stretching ominously. The air smelled of oil, mold, and something faintly sweet—powder residue.

“Viktor!” Your voice rang out, high and melodic, echoing through the space. He stopped, his grip tightening on his cane.

“Where is she?”

“Oh, darling, don’t be so cold. I’ve missed you,” you purred.

You stepped into view, descending a set of metal stairs with theatrical flair. You wore a flowing, dark dress stained with colorful smears of powder, your hair disheveled in a way that only accentuated your manic beauty. In your hands was a small glass vial filled with a shimmering red substance.

Viktor’s stomach twisted. Crimson Powder.

“She’s fine,” you said dismissively, waving toward a shadowed corner. He followed your gesture, spotting Sky slumped against the wall, bound but breathing. Relief flooded him, but his fury quickly returned.

“You’ve gone too far,” he snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding.

Your face fell for a split second before twisting into a pout. “Too far? No, no, no. I’m doing this for us, Viktor. Don’t you see? Everything I’ve done—this powder, this work—it’s all for you.”

“For me?” He took a step forward, his voice trembling with controlled rage. “You’ve poisoned people, terrorized my colleagues, and now you’ve dragged Sky into your madness!”

You tilted your head, your expression softening into something almost childlike. “But Viktor... we’re soulmates. You and I are the same. Don’t you feel it? When I look at you, I see someone who understands me, who sees the potential in chaos.”

He recoiled as you reached out to touch him, his cane tapping against the floor as he stepped back. “I see someone who has lost their way,” he said coldly.

“Lost my way? No. I’ve found it. And I want you to find yours too.”

You held up the vial of Crimson Powder, its contents swirling like liquid fire. “Do you know what this does?” you asked, your voice soft and teasing. “It’s my favorite, you know. It turns love into rage, affection into destruction. Isn’t that poetic?”

Viktor stiffened, his knuckles whitening around the handle of his cane.

“And it’s not just Crimson,” you continued, your tone growing more animated. “There’s Sapphire—oh, the despair it creates is delicious. Emerald... well, I think you’d enjoy that one. But my personal favorite might be Magenta.”

You took a step closer, the vial glinting in your hand. “Would you like to see how it feels, Viktor? To be consumed by love so pure, so obsessive, that it hurts?”

“Enough!” he barked, his voice echoing through the factory. “This isn’t love. It’s madness!”

Your eyes narrowed, your smile fading into a grim line. “Don’t call me mad,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anger. “I’m not mad. I’m visionary.”

He met your gaze, his voice low and steady. “You’re alone.”

The words struck you like a slap, and for a moment, you stood frozen, your expression unreadable. Then you laughed—a sharp, brittle sound that echoed through the room. “Oh, Viktor,” you said, shaking your head. “You think I’m alone? No, darling. I have you.”

Before he could react, you hurled the vial of Crimson Powder at the ground. It shattered, releasing a vivid red cloud that engulfed the room. Viktor stumbled back, covering his mouth with his sleeve as the powder burned his lungs and eyes. The effects were immediate.

His vision blurred, his heart racing as a wave of uncontrollable rage surged through him. He gripped his cane so tightly that his hand ached, his mind clouded with violent thoughts he couldn’t suppress. His eyes darted to Sky, still slumped unconscious in the corner. Unimaginable scenarios played out in his mind—yelling, screaming, beating—acts of cruelty he couldn’t comprehend wanting, but couldn’t stop envisioning.

“No...” he muttered, his voice strained.

His body moved against his will, his legs carrying him toward her. Inside, he screamed against the urge, fear clawing at his sanity. He collapsed before reaching her, his cane clattering to the floor beside him as he gripped his head in both hands.

“Fight it,” he whispered to himself, his voice ragged. “You’re stronger than this...”

The powder’s effects began to fade, leaving him trembling and drenched in sweat. When he finally lifted his gaze, the room was empty, save for Sky, who stirred weakly in the corner. You were gone, leaving behind only the shattered vial and a note scrawled in your elegant handwriting:

“This is just the beginning, my love. I’ll be waiting for you.”

---

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