#Precision Nail Tools

[anielskaaniela]

5 Best Japanese Nail Clippers: Precision and Durability

In this post , you will learn on best Japanese nail clippers. Check out my japanese products [here]. Japanese nail clippers have earned a reputation for their exceptional quality and precise performance. From the historic town of Seki in Japan, renowned for its fine blades and craftsmanship, brands like Green Bell, Kai, and Suwada have set the benchmark in the grooming industry. Here’s an…

[androdconstruction]

Quote of the Day!

“Every nail driven should be as another round of applause for our creating hands.” — Dave “Carpenter” Campbell

[girlwithrituals]

GLOW UP GUIDE FOR 2025⠀

READ: On average, it takes more than 2 months before a new behavior becomes automatic — 66 days to be exact. And considering that 2025 is precisely these many days away, why not start with our glow up plan already?

Physical Glow Up-

BODY

— 5-10K steps a day.

— 7-8 hours of sleep.

— workout everyday for 1 hr atleast- yoga/stretching/pilates/cardio/lifting weights. a workout may take one hour, but your mood will be boosted for the next 12 hours.

— posture training.

— sunlight exposure after waking up for at least 10 minutes.

NUTRITION

— 2-3 liters of water every day.

— limit your caffeine intake.

— avoid sugars as much as you can.

— high protein diet, pre and probiotics.

— more fruits and veggies (+ green smoothies if you like).

— no junk/processed food/trans fat.

— no eating after 8 pm.

SKINCARE

— be clear on your skin type (oily, dry, combination, sensitive).

— once you're clear, use these accordingly- cleanser, toner, targeted serum, eye cream, moisturizer, sunscreen (≥50 spf).

— keep your bedding clean as well.

— no picking of skin on your lips, cuticle etc.

— gua sha to help improve blood circulation and lessen toxins.

— cold therapy may take three to five minutes of being uncomfortable, but your energy levels will be boosted for the rest of the day.

— remove makeup before you go to bed.

BODY CARE

— shower every day.

— exfoliate 2x a week.

— use body lotion (shea butter/aloe vera gel/coconut oil).

HAIR CARE

— wash hair 2-3x a week

— oil your scalp 2x a week, at least 3 hours before shampoo.

— hair mask 1x per week.

— never brush wet hair.

— use silk pillow case.

HYGIENE

— brush your teeth 2x a day, clean tongue and the roof of the mouth daily.

— floss daily.

— cut your nails 1x a week, never remove the cuticles.

— glycolic acid under arm for odor and discoloration.

— never use soap on your coochie.

Mental Glow Up-

MINDSET

— set clear goals- define and breakdown your aspirations.

— start your mornings with positive affirmations.

— surround yourself with uplifting content and people.

— be shamelessly selfish to your career and mental health, remove anyone or anything that doesn't align with your priorities and wellbeing.

— boost your brain health by these 4 neuroscience tools:

difficult first: start your day with the most difficult task (cortisol and dopamine are high in the body meaning that your body/mind is primed to work).

rest your eyes: introduce a micro-pause after learning by resting/closing your eyes - will help retain information better.

tomorrow's worries: write tomorrow's to-do list before bed as it is proven to be effective in helping you fall asleep.

find time to play: engage in low-stake play. can be anything you find fun but where the outcome doesn't matter (induces neuroplasticity + reduces stress).

MIND

— meditation might take as low as ten minutes, but your focus will be improved for the rest of the day.

— no social media after waking up and at least an hour before bed.

— keep aside 1 hr of time to read daily! reading a new book may take five hours, but you will keep the knowledge forever.

— journaling, gratitude.

— digital detox once a week or for 12 hours.

— limit unnecessary screentime, unfollow or cut off people you don't want to see.

JOURNALING

— choose a regular time each day to journal, making it a part of your routine.

— find a quiet, comfortable place free from distractions. light a candle if you want.

— allow your thoughts to flow without censoring or editing.

— write about your feelings and emotions to understand them better. write about things you are thankful for to boost your mood. write about your short-term and long-term goals. identify what triggers certain emotions or reactions

— set a timer for 5-10 minutes and write continuously during that time.

— reflect on both positive experiences and challenges.

— make lists, journal your thoughts on these questions.

— journal at night to clear your mind before bedtime, because emotions and thoughts lose their power once we acknowledge them.

— a gratitude practice may take five minutes, but your mindset will be shifted for the rest of the day.

AFFIRMATIONS

— customise affirmations to your needs.

Personal Life-

WEEKLY TASKS

— initiate small changes: begin with small, manageable tasks such as making your bed or cleaning your room every sunday.

— celebrate your success: reward yourself when you achieve your goals or have a consistently productive week. consider treats like buying flowers for yourself or watching your favorite show.

DAILY WORK

— set achievable goals: establish realistic goals for the day, week, or month ahead.

— track your progress.

— organise your work space, declutter your shelves etc.

— embrace the power of lists: keep a list of tasks to be done and their deadlines. this way, you start each day with a clear plan. to make it visually appealing and motivating, consider using productivity apps like evernote, habit tracker, or notion.

PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

— wake up early.

— plan ahead everything, do scheduling. you can use:

google calendar / notion / tasks .

— if the task takes less than 2 minutes to finish, do it immediately.

— countdown rule, if you are procrastinating, count 1-2-3-4-5 and jump.

— start slow, don't rush and try to do everything at one time.

— follow a proper routine, use app locks based on screentime.

— pomodoro technique, 25 min work, and 5 min break.

— schedule longer break times as well e.g 30 min nap.

[vunblr]

Built to Last

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff.

Summary: Bucky took up carpentry to keep himself busy, but didn't expect a hardware clerk to make him want more.

Word Count: 3.4k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "I didn't do a thing". Card number 4B-016

Bucky didn’t know what to say when Dr. Raynor told him to pick up a hobby. It wasn’t a suggestion. She said he needed something to keep his hands busy other than fighting, fidgeting with the weight of his past, or rotting alone in his apartment. He had scoffed at the idea at first. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted to do with his life, and a hobby was part of that uncertainty. But after taking his time to think about it, carpentry had stuck.

Before the war -before everything- he used to help out at a woodworking shop near his parents’ place. Just small stuff. Sanding, assembling furniture, little repairs here and there. It had been a way to make a few extra bucks to help at home, and he barely remembered the details of the work itself. But he remembered the feeling. The weight of the wood beneath his hands, the scent of sawdust in the air. The satisfaction of making something solid, something that stayed put when he was done with it.

So, he signed up for a class. Twice a week, a few hours at a workshop not too far from his apartment. At first, it was just to shut Raynor up. But soon enough, he found himself staying longer, working on projects after class, getting lost in the routine of measuring, cutting, and sanding. He liked the precision it required, the way it quieted his mind. His hands had spent too many years destroying. This, at least, was the opposite of that.

And though he wouldn’t admit it, he liked the errand of buying supplies.

Most of the wood was provided at the workshop, but for everything else -sandpaper, varnish, nails, brushes, hinges- there was a small hardware store along the way. Just a hole-in-the-wall place, the kind of shop that had a little bit of everything and a counter perpetually dusted with stray wood shavings. Bucky told himself he went there because it was convenient and nothing more. Liked its atmosphere.

He had no idea how it happened, but somehow -much to his dismay- Sam ended up signing up for the carpentry classes, claiming it would entertain his head. He had begrudgingly shown him the spot where he got his supplies, but after fifteen minutes of Sam chatting up with her, while Bucky busied himself grabbing what he needed, he was starting to think he regretted it.

She knew who he was -how could she not?- but she treated him like any other customer. When she learned he was taking lessons, she started asking about his projects every time he went there. Once a week, like clockwork. Sometimes, when he came in looking roughed up after a mission, she’d even ask if he was okay. Direct and simple, like it wasn’t strange at all for a man like him to be standing in her shop, debating between varnish finishes with bruised knuckles. Every now and then, she gave him candies.

Now, she leaned her hip against the counter, twirling a pen between her fingers as she smirked at Sam. “I bet you expected some grumpy old guy back here, huh?”

“I mean, yeah,” Sam admitted with a laugh. “No offense, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone sell power tools and nails in a dotted sundress before. It’s a little disorienting.”

Her grin widened. “Keeps people on their toes.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose and grabbed a box of nails off the shelf with a little too much force, shoving it into his basket. He told himself it wasn’t irritation that he was feeling. Definitely not.

Sam caught the movement immediately, and jerked a thumb toward him, “Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just mad he’s not getting attention.”

Bucky didn’t look up, but squeezed his hand around the next box of nails he picked up. He didn’t need more nails, but standing there empty-handed wasn’t an option while Sam worked his usual charm on her.

She then flicked her gaze over him, with a little amusement, before she pushed off the counter and strolled toward him. “Need help finding anything, James?”

James.

His fingers tensed around the box again.

She was one of the few people who ever called him that. It always did something weird to his chest, like the name fit better in her voice than his own head.

He swallowed. “No. I’m good.”

Her lips quirked, fixing her eyes to the box in his hand. “You sure? ‘Cause I think you just grabbed two different sizes of nails. And I’m pretty sure the second one’s too big for that book holder you told me you’re making.”

Bucky scowled, glancing down. Damn it. She was right.

“You can never have enough nails,” he muttered, shifting the box in his grip. “Besides, I’m thinking about another project, so…” He trailed off, trying to sound casual.

Her eyes widened with interest. “Oh? What are you making next?”

“Yeah, James,” Sam chimed in, voice dripping with amusement. “What’s your next masterpiece?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. He could practically hear the smirk in Sam’s voice because they both knew he was full of shit. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“A coffee table.”

Her face lit up. “That’s bigger than your usual work,” she said, beaming. “I can’t wait to see a picture when it’s done.”

Bucky swallowed, resisting the urge to fidget. Great. Now he had to make a damn coffee table for real.

“He doesn’t have one, you see,” Sam said as if Bucky wasn’t standing right there. “His place is pretty spartan.”

“Oh, really?” she mused, tilting her head with interest.

“I think he needs some help with the whole ‘making a house feel like a home’ thing,” he continued, grinning. “Everybody knows 40s men weren’t exactly in charge of those things or managing a household.” He sighed. “And since he’s alone-”

Bucky felt utterly betrayed. It was partially right. He was alone, and after so many years of being in survival mode, his apartment still didn’t feel like a home, just another place to exist. But he didn’t have the right to call him off about that in front of her.

His features shifted into a neutral mask, and his shoulders went rigid. Without a word, he set the basket on top of a nearby box and turned toward the door. “I’ll come back later.”

“Wait.” Her voice was gentle but firm, and before he could leave, she reached out and briefly touched his elbow.

The warmth of her hand was barely registered before he tensed, fighting the instinct to pull away. His feet stayed planted, but his gaze dropped to the ground as he gave her a small, awkward nod.

“I have something for you,” she said, already moving toward the back room.

Bucky’s shoulders twitched, and the urge to bolt mounted fast. Sam, sensing he had overstepped, exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, man,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “I just was-“

Bucky waved a hand dismissively, though his jaw remained tight. He didn’t have the energy to say it’s fine, because it wasn’t, not really. But she was already gone, and for some reason, that alone was the only thing keeping him rooted in place.

A minute later, she returned with a well-loved book in her hands. “Here.” She held it out, and when he hesitated, she smiled. “Last time we talked, you mentioned wanting to catch up on books you missed. This was one of them, right? Red Mars?”

Bucky’s brows lifted, caught off guard. He looked at the book, then at her, with surprise flickering across his face. She remembered.

He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers on the worn cover before taking it. “Thanks…”

“I’m only lending it to you,” she teased, “And, you have to tell me what you think about it when you return it to me, like a real-life Goodreads review.”

Sam snorted. “I don’t think he-”

“He knows what it is,” she cut in smoothly, lifting a brow. With an easy shift of her stance, she subtly positioned herself between them, like a shield. “I taught him.”

Sam held up his hands in surrender, grinning. “Alright, alright.”

Bucky looked down at the book again, running his thumb along the edge of the pages, and then at her, standing between him and Sam, cutting through the teasing, speaking in his favor. Of course, he didn’t need it, but… it felt nice.

And before he could stop himself, he flicked a smug little smile in Sam’s direction. Just a quick, fleeting thing -boyish, almost careless- but enough to make Sam blink in disbelief.

“Did you just-” Sam pointed at him, then looked at her, eyes wide. But she had her back turned toward Bucky, and was completely unaware of the display

“Stop messing with me, Sam,” Bucky pleaded, tone all wounded pride. But still smirking.

Sam scoffed. “It wasn’t that serious, and you’re clearly not that affected.”

She turned briefly, and just like that, Bucky wiped the smirk clean off his face, replacing it with a look so convincingly forlorn, like a dog that had just been kicked, that Sam nearly choked on his own indignation.

That bastard. Using his Winter Soldier undercover acting skills.

And then -before Sam could get a word in- she sighed and shook her head. “It’s not funny, you know,” she said as she looked at Sam. “He’s your friend, and he’s been through a lot. You don’t even know me, and you’ve been messing with him this whole time trying to mix me into it. I thought the Avengers were better than that.”

Sam’s mouth opened, then closed. He had faced down alien invasions, rogue governments, and Bucky at his most feral, but this? This had him momentarily speechless.

And Bucky? Bucky beamed.

Because after six months of clipped conversations and hesitant efforts to talk to her in his still-awkward way, she had shut birdbrain down for him, without hesitation. And just minutes ago, the two of them had been so damn chatty.

“It’s okay,” Bucky said, keeping up the little orphan act, shoulders curling in just enough. “He can’t be dealing with my shit all the time.”

“It’s not okay, James,” she countered. “You should speak up for yourself. Don’t just take this kind of treatment.”

Sam found his voice again, throwing up his hands. “Oh, he speaks just fine for himself, let me tell you-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She cut him off with a sharp look. “If you’ll excuse me, I have things to sort from the last delivery. Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll ring you up.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving Sam standing there, baffled.

Bucky, still holding the book, let the smugness seep into his expression again, and Sam shot him a glare. “I hate you.”

----

A week later, Bucky walked into the hardware store, a little worse for wear. He moved stiffly, with fresh a bruise shadowing his jaw, a scrap on his nose, and roughed-up knuckles, the kind of raw that came from a fight, not precisely carpentry.

She glanced up from the counter, and her smile faltered. “Jesus, James. You look like you got in a fight with a truck.”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

She folded her arms. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” It came out too quick, too practiced, but before she could call him on it, he pulled something from inside his jacket and set it on the counter, her copy of Red Mars.

“I read this during some downtime,” he said like he hadn’t just brushed past her concern.

Her expression softened. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

He hesitated, rubbing a thumb along the book’s spine. “Dense as hell, but… good. I liked the way it built up all the politics and survival stuff. And the tech felt real.” He tapped lightly against the cover before adding, “Kept my mind busy.”

Something warm flickered in her gaze, and she leaned on the counter, propping her chin her hand, and grinned. “Told you it was good. You want the follow-up novel?”

He nodded. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll bring it the day after tomorrow for you since you have class.” She tapped the book with her fingers before sliding it off the counter, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching her. There was something about the way she did things for him like she actually gave a damn, like lending him the book. It seemed just a casual thing but also showed that she’d thought about him.

And he liked that. More than he should.

His hand curled at his side, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to do something. Instead, he glanced around, searching for anything to distract himself with.

That’s when he saw it.

One of the shelves against the back wall sagged at an ugly angle, one side barely clinging to the wall bracket. He frowned. “Your shelf is falling.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been like that for a month. My boss keeps saying he’ll fix it, but…” She gestured vaguely to the still-broken shelf.

Bucky wet his lips. “I can fix it.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I can fix it.” He looked at her then, raising his brows just slightly.

Her lips twitched. “I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity, James.”

“You’re not.” He tipped his head toward the backroom door. “Let me see it.”

With a shake of her head, she sighed. “Alright. Knock yourself out.” She lifted the counter flap to let him pass through, and as he ducked beneath it, she murmured, just loud enough for him to hear, “Such a gentleman.” And he repressed a smile.

As he started to work, she stepped toward the counter. “Want a coffee while you’re at it? Nothing fancy, I bring it in my thermos from home.”

Bucky glanced up from where he was bracing the shelf, rolling his shoulder to ease a dull ache. “Yeah. Sure.”

She poured some into a plain ceramic cup, and just as she set it on the counter, the bell above the door jingled. Two men walked in, murmuring between themselves as they started browsing. She didn’t think much of it at first, but as she rang up their items, she caught the way their eyes kept flicking to Bucky, more precisely, to his left hand, exposed where he was securing a bracket.

Their whispers weren’t subtle. She didn’t catch all the back and forth but picked up some words.

“…murderer.”

“Why the government…”

“surely a sociopath-”

Her grip on the counter tightened. Assholes.

She flicked her eyes toward Bucky. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even acknowledge them, but she knew he heard every word given his enhanced hearing. His movements slowed just slightly, his shoulders squared a little tighter.

Something hot burned in her chest.

“Get out.”

The two men stilled. “Excuse me?”

She folded her arms, fixing them with a flat stare. “You heard me. The house reserves the right of admission, and I decide you’re not welcome here.”

One of them scoffed. “For what? I didn’t do a thing.”

“You disrespected a veteran, and an Avenger, no less. Someone who puts his life at risk so you don’t have to.”

Bucky’s hammer stilled mid-swing.

The men bristled, looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “Oh, come on, lady. You know what he is-”

“I know exactly who he is,” she snapped, stepping forward. “And I know you’re the kind of cowards who whisper about a man behind his back instead of saying it to his face.” She jerked her chin toward the door. “So, like I said, get out.”

The men looked between her and Bucky as if waiting for him to react. He didn’t. Just worked his jaw, and locked his gaze on the shelf like it was the only thing in the room.

The tension stretched, but she didn’t back down, didn’t look away.

Eventually, with a few muttered curses, the men turned around and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind them.

She exhaled sharply, with anger, then turned back to Bucky. He was still gripping the hammer, with his fingers curling around it like a lifeline. He wasn’t looking at her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally said, quietly.

She shrugged, reaching for her coffee like her heart wasn’t still pounding. “Sure, I did.”

He then glanced at her, with an unreadable expression. Like he didn’t know what to do with the fact that she had chosen to stand up for him and lost customers because of it.

“You want some sugar with your coffee?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

Bucky blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. He almost wanted to smile.

“No, thank you,” he murmured, turning back to the shelf for the final touches. It didn’t need much fixing, just a few adjustments, and a new bracket, barely fifteen minutes of work. And now it was done. His excuse to be here was gone.

He swallowed down his disappointment and took a sip of the coffee instead.

She leaned against the counter, watching him, wrapping her fingers around her own mug. “That was a quick job. Guess I’ll have to break something else next time.”

Bucky’s grip on the cup tightened just slightly. Something else? Wait. Did she-

He tilted his head, gazing at her with mild surprise. “That so?”

She blinked, as she’d just realized she’d said it out loud. A beat of silence. Then, instead of backtracking, she simply lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug, “Maybe.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee, trying -failing- to ignore the way something warm curled in his chest.

Fuck it.

Stomping down the old instinct to talk himself out of it, to recall every failed date, every misstep, every why would she be interested thought, he decided to man up.

“Are you busy on Saturday?” He kept his voice even, aiming for casual, like it didn’t matter either way. Like her answer wasn’t about to determine whether he will spend the next week brooding.

She tilted her head, considering. “Well, that… depends.” Serious. A little guarded.

His stomach dipped. Shit. Did he misread-She was friendly, sure, but she was friendly with everyone. Just because she indulged him with a little extra care when he showed up didn’t mean she meant anything by it. Maybe she just felt bad for him. Maybe she was the kind of person who went out of her way to make people feel seen, and he was just another project, another lost cause that-

“If you’re asking me out,” she said, with a slow smile tugging at her lips, “then yes, I’m free. But-” she continued, “if you were about to suggest coming here after hours to see what else needs fixing… then no.”

Bucky exhaled, shaking his head. “Damn. And I wanted to impress you with my handyman skills.” He let himself flirt, just a little.

She hummed and then reached for his hand gently, as her thumb traced over his bruised knuckles. The warmth of her fingers, the softness of the motion, sent a tingle down his spine, straight to his chest, where it bloomed into something dangerously warm.

“You don’t need to impress me, Jamie.”

Jamie.

Oh, fuck.

“Just pick a time and place.”

He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.” And after a beat, “What do you think abou-”

The door swung open, and the bell jingled as a small crew of workmen entered. Bucky shut up immediately, scratching the back of his head as she turned to greet them.

“Good afternoon, guys. I’ll be with you in a sec.” Without missing a beat, she grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbled something down, and pressed it into his palm before turning to the customers.

Her number.

“Surprise me,” she murmured over her shoulder before slipping into work mode, shifting gears like she hadn’t just tilted his world off its damn axis.

Bucky stared down at the paper. Then at her.

Then, with a barely contained smirk, he tucked the paper into his pocket and walked out of the shop, already deciding on the perfect first date.

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[adieutristana]

Well, reader and Jinx matching rings (maybe even wedding rings), and when Caitlin shoots Jinx's finger, she destroys this ring. Jinx’s honest reaction?

of course! thank you for the request <3

i decided to make them promise rings since she lost her middle finger. i hope that’s alright!

summary; jinx’s promise ring being destroyed, and fem!reader comforting her after the fact.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war/combat, mentions of poor mental health, medical talk ig? (patching up), s2 spoilers

men dni.

you’re sat in jinx’s hideout watching her tinker away with… something. a new type of explosive she’s experimenting with, she says. something that only requires one hexcrystal instead of two or three, since she can’t keep using so many. she’s unceremoniously hunched over the workbench, goggles over her eyes as she messes with the piece of scrap metal in her hand.

“having fun?”

you ask, sitting back in the chair she got you.

“mm… this is more difficult than i thought it would be. who knew this could be so challenging? but i like a challenge.”

she smirks to herself, not taking her eyes off of her project.

“well, you’ve never let ‘difficult’ stop you. you’re a right genius.”

“oh, stop. you’re biased!”

she teases, but she’s got the lightest rouge dusting her cheeks. got her. your gaze continues to follow your girlfriend, the way she moves so freely and carelessly. getting her face impossibly close to power tools, using her nails to clean up dirt, teeth capturing her bottom lip when she’s particularly stumped.

“alright! that’s enough for right now.”

she proclaims, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

“already?” it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since you asked her how she was doing.

“yeah! besides, i’ve got something for ‘ya.”

jinx springs up from her seat and skitters over to yours, quickly turning it around. you hear cheerful humming from behind you as she shuffles through piles of belongings, clearly looking for something.

"a-ha!"

she spins you back around, both hands on your seat and quickly rises. she's got something clasped in her left hand, but won't reveal it, not yet.

"what's that?"

"you have to be patient, toots! i've got a speech prepared, don't distract me!"

a speech? jinx never gave speeches. was she breaking up with you? so many thoughts began swirling through your mind as your palms began to sweat, gripping the chair- and then jinx revealed what she was hiding. a wooden box. a... ring box?

"isn't it a little soon to be getting engaged, jinx?"

you chuckle dryly, looking up at your girlfriend. she playfully rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, blue bang swaying.

"yes it is, that's why we're not getting engaged."

she clears her throat.

"not yet."

she turns her attention back to the box, and she opens it. inside lays a thick silver ring, with a circular blue gem in the middle. it looked eerily similar to a hexcrystal- but carved into a gemstone. 'JINX' is shakily engraved on the inside, something she undoubtedly did herself.

"this is a promise ring. i've been working on it for a while, and well... it's kind of stupid." she looks off to the side, sheepishly. "but this is me promising myself to you. to show you that i'm serious about this, ya know?"

you look over the ring for a moment, taking it in for all that it is. it's obviously unprofessional, the metal is a bit dull, and the shape isn't precise. but god dammit if it isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. you glance back to your girlfriend, noticing her observing you- likely for any signs of disapproval. poor girl. as much as jinx had improved since meeting you, she still had the habit of expecting the worst. you didn't think that part would ever go away.

"jinx, it's beautiful. i- you made this?"

you ask, your eyes flickering back to the ring she's holding out. noticing how her grip is becoming a bit less stable.

"with my own two hands."

you chuckle, giving her a little grin.

"well? come on, put it on."

jinx doesn't need to be told twice. she gently takes hold of your left hand, removing the ring from the box and slowly slipping it onto your finger.

"there! it's on your middle finger, so your ring finger is open for the real thing."

not an ‘i do,’ but an ‘i will.’

you hold your hand up to the light, admiring how the ring catches it, before leaning forward to press a flurry of kisses to jinx's face.

"ah- hey! stop, you goof!"

she laughs, arms coming to wrap around you as a fit of giggles erupts from her.

"nope! i get to do this!"

it's not a week later when you arrive to jinx's hideout with a promise ring of your own to give her. a thick gold band to contrast the silver jinx had given you, with a rose quartz to accompany your own hexcrystal. pink and blue… she had a theme going, didn't she?

it wasn't handmade, but held the same sentimental value. you weren't as handy as jinx, and you'd learned to accept that a while ago. you had strengths in other areas, one of them being finding perfect gifts. it didn't take you long to find a jeweler in piltover who had exactly what you needed.

"oh, my god- you didn't have to do this."

she gasps, rosy eyes blown wide. both hands are on her cheeks as jinx gently approaches the open box in your hand.

"you promised yourself to me, didn't you? this is my promise to you."

jinx lets you put the ring onto her own left middle finger, her eyes never leaving your face. watching you so intently, she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. what did she do to deserve you exactly? she could never quite figure it out, but that doesn't matter right now. you glance back up at her, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"i… you're too good to me, toots. really."

"i am not. i love you, remember?"

"mm… i love you too. i still think you're too good to me, though."

you let out a low chuckle.

"c'mere."

you bring the girl into your arms, tilting her chin with your index finger to gently bring her closer to you. pressing your lips to hers in a slow, gentle kiss.

oh- and of course, your name is engraved on the inside of the ring.

✧.*

you're posted at your girlfriend's hideout, going over notes in preparation for an exam. it's nerve wracking, sure, but the odd tranquility of jinx's desk is useful in its own way.

jinx swings open the door to the hideout, and as soon as she steps onto the panel of the wind turbine supporting her hideout, you can tell she's in hysterics.

the girl is wailing. she's pacing back and forth, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. but most importantly, her hand is gushing blood. you immediately drop your notes, papers scattering across the desk to rush over to your girlfriend.

"jinx? jinx?! what the hell happened, oh my god..."

you kneel down in front of jinx, taking her hand to examine it. her middle left finger is completely gone, blood rushing out from the wound. it seems to be a clean cut, at least, you won't have to deal with any extra bits to clean up.

"the ring, the ring, it's gone-"

she sobs, a hiccup following and her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. you gasp, looking up at jinx, then back down at her finger.

"jinx, seriously? you just lost your finger and you're worried about a damn ring?!"

you breathe out, exasperation and worry weighing heavy on your voice.

"the ring is important! it's- it's our promise!"

she cries, hanging her head low. jinx is so ashamed, it hurts your heart to see. you let go of her hand and frantically sweep along her workbench for anything. you knew you had a first aid kit somewhere, you'd gotten it after seeing jinx patch herself up in a way that would make any doctor shiver. but god damn it, where was it?

there.

you quickly swipe the kit and a bottle of peroxide from her workbench, rushing back over to jinx. you take one of her wrists and quickly guide her over to her beaten-up couch.

"sit."

"but-"

"sit."

jinx huffs and sits down on the couch, you sitting down beside her. you open the kit and bottle, pouring peroxide onto a cotton square and taking her hand into your lap.

"this is going to sting. a lot."

jinx winces at just the thought, but nods slowly. keeping her eyes on what you're doing-

"agh- fuck!"

she yelps, tossing her head back as you press the square to the wound, holding it there to both disinfect and stop the bleeding.

"i'm sorry, baby, it'll be over soon. i just need to stop the bleeding."

you coo, trying to do anything in your power to calm her down. yet it's obvious the injury itself isn't what she's upset about.

"that- that fucker vi is with shot it off, she shot the ring off..."

jinx seethes through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure as you hold the peroxide to her wound. ah.. that makes sense. caitlyn was never fond of jinx, especially after the stunt she pulled with the council room. part of you was simply grateful that she didn't just take jinx out, as much as you knew she was probably trying to.

jinx was always putting herself in so much danger, both for the sake of necessity and the fact her ego was just so damn inflated. she said it herself- she just can't seem to die. but she got impossibly close way more than you would've liked her to.

you take out a roll of gauze and begin to wrap it around her hand, the wound being in the center of it all. it's far from professional, but this will have to do until you can get her proper medical attention. which you were trying to avoid talking about, since jinx was the last person to ever admit she needed help.

"jinx, i'm just happy that you're alive. i don't care about the ring right now. what if she had shot you somewhere more... vital?"

"then i would've gotten to keep the ring."

god damn it. she could not be serious right now. you finish wrapping her hand, bleeding having come to a halt and wound disinfected. you'd grab some painkillers in a moment. you quickly take both of her cheeks in your hands, forcing her to look you directly in the eye. the cold metal of your own ring against soft skin.

"jinx. again, i'm happy that you're here, and you're alive, and losing your finger was the worst thing that happened. i will get you a new ring, first thing tomorrow. okay?"

she sighs, her lips coming into a slight pout. at the very least, she's not crying anymore.

"but..."

you press your index finger to her lips, shushing her.

"no. just because you don't have the ring anymore doesn't mean the promise went out the window, okay?" you whisper, brushing your lips against her forehead. "i still love you, and still have promised myself to you. that won't change.

jinx closes her eyes, and leans into your kiss. she seems to have finally resigned, and is snaking her arms around your waist.

"i just- i love you so much..."

"i know, baby. i love you too, which is why i'll get you a new ring. a better one, even."

your hand still cupping her face, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

"just stay here, with me. you've had a hell of a day."

[kabsey]

The moment the last of the Antaam fell, Rook dashed across the battlefield, hurrying to Harding's side. Lucanis shielded his eyes from the Rivaini sun to try and see what had prompted such a response, but all he saw was Harding laughing as Rook tugged her down to sit on the grass. Then Rook's gaze swept the area, and when it landed on him, she called his name with such urgency that he found himself moving just as quickly as she had.

"Keep her upright," Rook ordered as he knelt beside them, and he immediately placed a supportive hand on Harding's back.

"Rook, I'm fine. It's barely a scratch," Harding protested. "I'm not going to faint at the sight of a little blood."

Rook didn't answer; she was too busy dumping the arrows from her quiver. When they lay scattered, she reached into the quiver to her shoulder and fished out a circular leather case. When she unlatched it, it split open. One half held a set of miniature tools, and the other bristled with tiny vials in a rainbow of colors that sparkled in the afternoon light.

"Rook?" Harding's voice had gone quiet.

Rook glanced up with only a hint of her usual boisterous smile. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

She went straight back to picking at the wax seal on one of the vials. Lucanis shared a glance with Harding and then they both silently watched Rook work. He had never had the opportunity to see her perform such a delicate task or to witness her concentrate with a singular focus. In the short time he'd known her, constant movement had seemed to be her natural state. In combat, she flipped and flittered from enemy to enemy, and outside of it, she seemed to relish the simplest motions, always pacing or stretching or even dancing when the mood struck. He had found himself wondering how someone as cerebral as he knew Viago to be wound up with a protégé so steeped in the physical.

As he watched Rook's hands measure out precise dropfuls of liquid into an empty vial, she suddenly appeared as a de Riva to his eyes. Her fingers were long and elegant, tipped by shaped and buffed nails. Unlike nearly every other part of her, the backs of her hands were free of freckles. They looked pale and soft in the sunlight, though he knew they were likely as calloused as his own. Their weapons were similar. Did her calluses match his? Palm to palm, would they be mirrors of each other? And why did that thought strike him as familiar?

He hadn't intended to lapse into reverie, and it broke at the sound of Harding swallowing heavily.

"I feel a little strange," she admitted.

Lucanis glanced down at her again and was alarmed to see her face had gone white behind her freckles. He shifted closer, allowing her to lean against his side.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured her.

"Oh, yeah?" She lifted one of her booted feet in a weak poke at Rook's side. "You could have mentioned I was poisoned."

Rook only flashed her a brief smile before resuming her work.

"Every Crow in Antiva knows that Viago de Riva is the best among us at creating poisons and antidotes, which means he is likely the best in the world," Lucanis told Harding. "You've met him, yes?"

Harding nodded, her head lolling a bit against his chest. "He trained Rook, right?" The last word came out as barely more than air as her breath ran short.

"Yes. For many years."

"But you and Rook... never met?"

Lucanis shook his head. "Perhaps he did not want her entangled with the Dellamortes. My house has many enemies."

"More likely he thought I'd embarrass him," Rook said. She held a vial to Harding's lips. "Drink."

Harding obeyed, though she seemed to have a bit of trouble swallowing whatever antidote Rook had mixed. Lucanis shifted again, trying to guide her head to tip back slightly against his shoulder. When she finally drained the last drop, he let out a soft sigh of relief, one that Rook echoed.

"Well, that was fun," Rook remarked.

She rocked back on her heels and began tucking the various elixirs and tools back in their case. Once that was safely settled at the bottom of her quiver, she scooped up her remaining arrows, dropped them in, and then swung the quiver over her shoulder. A moment later she was on her feet and stretching her arms over her head.

"Thanks, Harding. I was afraid I was getting rusty."

"Don't mention it," Harding replied drily.

Already her voice came steadier, and Lucanis thought her color was returning, though it might have been wishful thinking coupled with the ruddy light of the setting sun. Rook grinned, her usual good humor restored. She trotted off down the beach, searching the Antaam corpses for potions or coin or Maker knew what. Lucanis stayed with Harding, and they sat in comfortable silence broken by nothing but the waves, the birds, and the flies buzzing around the bodies. He took a moment for gratitude that none of his new allies were among them. They were all still reeling from the devastation they'd seen in Minrathous; Neve had not yet returned to the Lighthouse. To lose one of their number—and one with such a vital spark as Harding—might have broken the fledgling team.

Instead, thanks to Rook, Harding was getting to her feet with Lucanis's help in a matter of minutes. She scowled down at her torn sleeve and the still-bloody scratch in her arm that had nearly been her end.

"I'm gonna go wash this off," she said and headed down to the shoreline without the slightest waver in her step.

Soon after Rook returned to his side and showed him a simple but sleek-looking throwing knife that ended in a loop with a red tassel. "The Antaam's favored delivery method for poison."

"How did you know?" he asked.

"All part of a de Riva education." She tucked the knife carefully into a pouch at her waist. "Fortunately they generally use a fairly standardized compound across all their troops. Probably brew the stuff by the wagonload in Par Vollen."

She sighed, and her brow pinched in thought. "I'd love to carry the antidote premixed, but as soon as you add the reagent, the efficacy starts sliding down a steep cliff. If you wait too long to administer it, you're left with nothing but a foul-tasting tea. And it's not even hot."

Gazing at her as she pondered her alchemical dilemma, Lucanis was struck again by the feeling of familiarity. His eyes traveled over her face and caught on the little wrinkle that furrowed the space between her eyebrows. He knew she and Viago shared no blood connection, but some sort of resemblance teased at him. He remembered the summer nearly a decade before when he and Viago had worked together to track down a target who had poisoned several members of a rival family. Working side by side with the man, witnessing firsthand his intellect and confident competence, had been the first time Lucanis had ever understood the attraction his cousin seemed to feel for every woman that walked past him.

Rook tilted her head at him, and he noticed the smooth line of her neck, the way the strands of long hair that had escaped her messy bun teased at the skin there. He was surprised to find he was curious about that spot as well, how it would feel beneath his fingertips.

How it would feel beneath his lips.

Rook raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Lucanis blinked at her, caught with a wandering mind for a second time in a single afternoon. "What?"

"What's that look?" she asked.

"There's no look."

"Uh-huh." She smirked at him. "Hey, Spite. What's Lucanis thinking right now?"

In a moment of instinctual panic, Lucanis snapped his head to face the demon, who grinned back and crowed, "He Likes! Rook! Wants to Kiss! Rook!"

He felt a hint of warmth suffuse his cheeks as he turned back to Rook, whose smirk had widened to an open grin.

He frowned. "Why would you ask him that? You can't even hear his answer."

"No, but you can," she said. "You're cute when you blush."

He huffed in annoyance despite how one corner of his lips twitched with the urge to curl upward. "It's just from the sun."

"Uh-huh." She turned and began walking backward toward the water. "Let's go make sure Harding hasn't gotten into any more trouble."

She twirled again and then marched down the sand with a long, easy stride, arms swinging, as though she hadn't a care in the world. She moved with the grace all Crows were trained to, but on her it seemed effortless, natural.

Lovely.

"Mierda," he muttered to himself. Suddenly it didn't seem like Harding was the one in imminent danger.

[hy6erion]

YOU NEED VIK REQUESTS? I GOT YOU!

viktor's fingers <3 he has those pianist fingers, long and slender. gimme some viktor hands/fingers yappery <3 x reader or x jayce or whatever, you have the creative freedom!

Viktor’s hands. His fingers. God. Where to even start. They’re the kind of hands you notice immediately, whether he’s gesturing mid-sentence with all that dramatic, airy elegance or quietly adjusting a bolt in some intricate Hextech prototype. They move like they have a mind of their own. Not just graceful—precise. Every movement calculated, smooth, controlled, but there’s feeling in them too. Emotion where most people wouldn’t expect it.

Those long, deft fingers were made for delicate work—steady when he’s soldering a circuit, softer than air when he brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You swear he could play the violin if he wanted to. Piano, too. That’s the first thing Jayce ever said about them—“He’s got pianist fingers,” in this offhanded way, half-teasing, half-intrigued, like he didn’t want to admit he’d been staring. But he had been. You caught him doing it again the next day. And the next.

And you don’t blame him. They’re so clean, almost unfairly elegant for someone who lives in a lab, but every now and then you’ll catch the little calluses—at the tips, around the knuckles. A contradiction, like everything else about him. Soft and hard. Cold and warm. Sharp and reverent.

He doesn’t touch you often—Viktor is careful like that. Thoughtful. But when he does, he touches like someone who thinks first. Someone who knows. His fingers trace more than just skin—they study you. Thumb sliding slow along your jaw, two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your face toward his, the lightest, ghost-soft drag of his knuckles down your arm when no one’s looking. Like he’s memorizing every inch of you in braille.

And when he touches Jayce? Holy hell. That’s when those hands go feral. It’s like they’ve been dying for something stronger. Gripping the back of Jayce’s neck when he’s annoyed with him. Dragging his nails lightly down his shoulder blades when he’s not. Pushing up under his shirt just to feel him. He’ll grip Jayce’s wrist in that sleek, silken vice-grip when he’s impatient, lean in close and press his fingers into the dip of his back like a claim. And Jayce just lets him. Melts for him. Smiles all stupid and dazed, like those clever, slender hands are the most addicting thing in the world. Because they are.

You’ve felt it too.

That hand slipping under your waistband, slowly, never rushing. Just fingertips at first, mapping you like an engineer, reading your body like a code he’s about to break open. His palm against your stomach, the metal of his brace cool and impersonal against the burn of his real skin. He’ll stroke the inside of your thigh with that maddening featherlight rhythm until you’re breathless—not to tease, but because he’s genuinely fascinated with how you react. He watches his fingers disappear between your legs like a scholar watching an experiment unfold. Eyes dark. Lips parted. Silent awe.

And Jayce? Jayce watches him. Watches those hands move like they’re possessed—deliberate, exact, always hitting every spot like he’s known your body for years. Sometimes he guides them. Sometimes he surrenders to them. Sometimes he grips Viktor’s wrist and groans into his neck while Viktor just smirks, his fingers buried in you or wrapped around Jayce’s cock like he’s doing something sacred.

Because to him? Maybe he is.

Viktor doesn’t use his hands the way other people do. They’re not just tools. They’re not just instruments. They’re extensions of his mind. His desires. His need to understand and shape and change. And when he lays them on you, it’s never casual. It’s never just about lust. It’s about study. Reverence. Possession. Love.

His fingers are everything. Elegant and obsessive. Curious and consuming.

And when they’re on you, you’re ruined for anyone else.

[wileys-russo]

tiny red hearts II a.putellas

tiny red hearts II a.putellas

amid the pandemic everyone picked up a hobbie in lockdown.

if it be knitting, dancing, pottery, reading, cooking, puzzles. you name it, someone had likely perfected it as an art form during those weeks and weeks locked away from society.

for you it was no different. you'd tried cooking, reading, jigsaws, colouring in, sudoku, even gardening but nothing really clicked.

until one day you were endlessly doom scrolling your various social medias as again, everyone was, when you stumbled across a nail art video. intrigued you'd watched it, then another, and another, and another, the worm hole you fell down was one that was long and steep and swift.

then before you knew it you had package after package arriving on your doorstep, much to your girlfriends confusion at your sudden online shopping habits. normally you were quite the stickler for the 'its a want not a need' type attitude, but with the packages snatched up and hidden away in your room the days melted into weeks as you worked tirelessly to perfect your new art.

and a week of hard work and countless hours spent watching youtube tutorial after youtube tutorial later holed up in the guest bathroom, you'd done it.

that wasn't to say your clear dedication to your new hobbie was one your girlfriend enjoyed, forever trying to bait you into doing something with her but you'd just brush her off, eyes glued to your phone screen which was propped up against a bottle of shampoo.

which is how you came to be sitting on the floor of your living room weeks and weeks later, bottles of polish sat in perfect colour coded order on the coffee table with all your little brushes and tools neatly lined up in front.

your bottom lip was firmly between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed deeply with concentration as your eyes squinted and your hand moved slowly and precisely.

your girlfriend of two years whom you shared your home with and whom you'd been locked in with for the horrendously active period of this ghastly pandemic lay stretched out on the sofa behind you, toned tanned arms crossed firmly across her chest.

her face was stoic and seemingly stern as ever, you'd forever nag her about the frown lines she was embedding into her beautifully smooth skin with the scowl she'd not even clock was on her face nearly all the time when she found herself deep in thought or lost in her own mind.

but she'd merely brush it off with a wave or a hum, nothing unusual when she was reviewing game footage and given she wasn't currently able to play her studying of games when she could had only increased.

you were off in your own little world and she was in hers, you coexisted but knew how not to be codependent, something which had surprisingly caused your relationship to stay just as strong if not more so during this lockdown together.

one of the key things that made your relationship healthy was the fact that despite how long you'd been seeing one another you still spent time apart, and despite not being able to leave the house much you still had different hobbies and interests to preoccupy your time.

you would go shopping or out for drinks with your school friends you'd known for years, as alexia would often go for dinner or hikes with some of her own childhood friends, well that was when she wasn't chasing after ball and getting grass stains all over her legs.

but that's not by any means to say you weren't positively and certainly head over heels infatuated with one another, and whenever you did spend time apart you were increasingly clingy that night once you were reunited, but when out you knew to respect one another's time and space and didn't feel the need to be texting one another the entiere time.

after all there was seldom you loved more than laying down with alexia of an evening, the two of you knew how to treasure quality time and found that so long as you were together you could be doing nothing at all and still perfectly content.

with her body warm and strong it pressed against yours as you'd lay down squished on the sofa, soft gentle kisses littered across your shoulders as your fingers intertwined and you'd take turns filling one another in on how your days were since you'd spent them apart.

back to present day sat on the floor you gave a small exhale of relief when you finally finished the intricate design you'd been working on, your frown of concentration switching quickly into a grin of delight as you slipped your hand into the UV nail lamp and waited for them to dry.

as you had been every now and then you leaned your head back to rest against the couch, knocking it back into alexias good knee and puckering your lips expectantly.

then with a smile and a small chuckle your girlfriend pulled herself up to sit with a quiet grunt, leaning down and rewarding you with a soft kiss before returning back to her previous position.

punching the pillow behind her head and wiggling slightly until she was comfortable, her foot poked at your shoulder every now and then as if to reassure her you were still there without needing to look.

since a young age you had been known to daydream.

it got you into a fair deal of trouble in school, forever having a teachers hand or a heavy textbook slammed down onto your desk with a loud bang to snap you back into reality, your peers giggling and cheeks flashed bright red as you'd smile sheepishly and do your best to focus on your lessons.

your girlfriend however had always found it adorable as much as amusing as you'd zone out from reality and go somewhere she never understood.

sometimes as you drifted away into your own head alexia would just watch you with lovesick puppy dog eyes, filled with nothing but pure adoration that was so sweet it could give someone a tooth ache, though always in the privacy and intimacy of just one another's company.

after all the big bad la reina couldn't be known to be so whipped for her girlfriend (everyone already knew she was).

case in point right now where you'd clearly drifted off somewhere as the footballers eyes glanced down toward you and her hardened features softened, corners of her mouth curled upward into a smile.

"hola, princesa." you snapped right out of it as her foot moved to poke at your cheek this time, dragging you back down to earth as you pushed it away and sent her a playful glare, pulling your other hand out and flicking off the lamp as both of them were now dry.

"look amor!" you leapt up eagerly and dropped down on the lounge next to your girlfriend, sat practically on top of her, wiggling your fingers proudly at the blonde who hummed.

"muy bien bebé." alexia complimented, leaning up and softly kissing your cheek before turning her attention back to the television where the match had resumed, as did the stoic expression on her face.

"alee." you started with a coy smile, grabbing her hand and interlacing your fingers with a gentle squeeze. "mm?" the midfielder hummed, eyes unmoving from the screen.

"can i paint your nails cari?" you asked hopefully, alexia only letting out a puff of air from her nose as she chuckled, shaking her head. "por favor you know i am good and they will look good!" you pleaded, squeezing her hand again and even kissing over her knuckles a few times.

"no mi amor, no nails." alexia shook her head as you huffed, moving to rest your chin on her shoulder, lazily kissing her jaw. "sí nails. sí, sí, sí, sí, sí-" you repeated over and over, peppering kisses across her face.

now as much as alexia could be at times be a fierce woman, driven and passionate and willing to do absolutely anything to achieve whatever she set her mind to, she had a fatal soft spot.

you.

alexia would do nearly everything that you asked of her, especially with a few choice sweet words in her ear and a charming smile you had the catalan wrapped around your little finger, and you reveled in it.

so of course it was with a deep sigh that alexia inevitably gave into your demand, wordlessly placing her free hand in your lap as you beamed and perked right up.

clapping happily you sat up properly and grabbed her chin in your hand, pecking her lips a few times and reveling in the slight pink blush which coated her cheeks.

"tan lindo." you cooed, pinching her cheeks as her eyes rolled but she made no move to argue which only caused your elated grin to grow.

you moved her hand and sat back down on the ground, staring carefully at the arsenal of colours at your disposal, taking a few moments to decide what you wanted before nodding happily and grabbing what you needed.

you settled back down on the lounge as again alexia moved her hand into your lap, eyes glued to the match as her eyebrows turned downward in frustration at a fumbled tackle and an easily preventable shot at the barcelona goal, a shake of her head and an annoyed grumble under her breath.

"you will get wrinkles corazón." you teased, smoothing out her eyebrow with your thumb as the tiniest of smiles flickered across her face just for a moment which wasn't missed by you.

"déjame en paz." the footballer muttered as you chuckled and kissed her palm sweetly, turning her hand back over and adjusting your position a little.

warning her to stay still you placed her right hand down on your knee and grabbed the first colour, tugging the coffee table closer so everything you needed was well within reach to avoid anything being knocked or falling.

much as alexia might bend over backwards to do as you asked you knew well enough if you spilled even a drop of polish on the carpet or the sofa you knew you'd be hearing about it for weeks.

as you set to work your girlfriends face remained blank, but her bright hazel eyes flickered down to you curiously every now and then, corner of her lip curling upward at the look of sheer concentration on your face and the way the tip of your tongue poked out of the side of your mouth.

finishing one hand you blew gently on the nails, unable to use the machine which was plugged in on the floor and just out of reach. though not in any rush you awaited her first hand to dry as you kept a cautious eye that she didn't move as your head dropped to her shoulder.

there was a comfortable silence between you, the only sound the occasional grunt of frustration from the taller girl whose side you were curled into, a shake of her head and something mumbled under her breath at every costly mistake.

her first hand drying you tapped her knee, gesturing for her to swing her legs into your lap so you could reach her other hand. shuffling her body she did as you asked, sliding down a little as her head thumped backward into the soft cushions behind.

you couldn't do anything to keep the smile off your face as you worked on your girlfriends nail design, incredibly happy with how it turned out as again you gently blew on her other hand, settling it back into her lap to dry same as the first one.

warning her once again about not moving you crawled up the lounge and wedged yourself into her, sitting half on top of her much to the older girls amusement as you pulled her other arm to drape across your shoulder allowing you to tuck yourself even tighter into her side.

checking a few moments later you were happy they were dry and sat up a little, shrugging off your girlfriends arm and eagerly taking her hands in yours.

"listo!" you announced happily as alexia's eyes moved from the tv to her hands which made yours seem tiny, your own gaze falling to admire both the size difference and the small 11 tattooed on the back of her palm.

"i did more of a pale pink because i know you do not like them too bright, but i did tiny red hearts on each nail for barça!" you explained with a beaming smile, alexia melting at the confession as she stole a glance toward you and softened even more seeing the clear and pure joy in your eyes.

"muy perfecto bebita." your girlfriend gave you a small smile not giving much away, one of her hands slipping around to cup the back of your neck and bringing you into a tender kiss.

"can i put them on my story? i think these are some of my favourites." you asked hopefully as alexia shrugged, eyes having returned back to the final few minutes of the match, seemingly unfazed.

grabbing your phone you positioned her hands on her knees, taking a few photos and editing your favourite before adding it onto your instagram and curling back up on top of your girlfriend who held you tightly, eyes flickering down to her nails with a small hidden smile every few minutes.

~

that next day at training was a very different story though as alexia couldn't wait to show off her nails to the rest of the team.

the morning was spent with the midfielder very proudly boasting how good you were and that you were completely self taught, ignoring all the teasing remarks thrown her way about how she'd gone soft.

when you'd come to collect her that afternoon having dropped her off and borrowed her car for the day as yours was being serviced you were overwhelmed as a small group of the girls suddenly swarmed you in the carpark.

"hey hey hey back up!" alexia warned protectively, moving in front of you with a mean stare as a few of the younger girls cowered and hurried off to their own cars as the rest rolled their eyes, knowing that really she was all bark and no bite.

"me next amiga! maybe little black hearts? or...letters!" mapi beamed, eyes flickering toward her girlfriend who caught onto what she was wanting and blushed as you laughed.

"get your own! este es mío." alexia huffed, wrapping herself around you as her chin hooked into your shoulder and she sent her best friend a glare.

"tomorrow? but you must cook me dinner as payment maría." you offered with a grin, mapi agreeing eagerly as you promised to also do ingrid's nails when you caught her frowning at you over her girlfriends head.

"sí, sí! before the next game chicas, promise." you laughed as pina, salma and cata swooped in next undeterred by the murderous glare given by your girlfriend, who refused to unwind her arms where they wrapped tightly around your torso holding your back flush to her front.

"we are going! relax capi, you will get wrinkles." cata smirked as alexia's eyes narrowed even further and the three sprinted off and away.

with a small laugh you craned your back back staring up at your girlfriend with a wide grin.

"see amor? i warned you about the frown wrinkles."

~

you expected alexia to allow the nails for a couple of days before she'd want to return back to normal with a clean set again, so you were surprised when anytime you'd offer to help her take it off she seemed to come up with every and any excuse not to.

by the end of day five with the rigorous gym program and workouts needed with alexia's recovery the polish was cracked and chipped, most of it worn off and faded, hearts now barely recognisable as just small red blobs.

it was that night alexia finally seemed eager for you to wipe them clean, again swinging her long bare legs into your lap and settling her hands on her knee for you to work on.

the removal process compared to the creation was next to nothing and before even five minutes had passed you were finished, tapping her legs to let you up to move your things back to the bathroom where they normally lived.

when you returned it was to an empty and dark living room, so changing route you followed the light at the end of the hallway where you finally found your girlfriend once more.

you held a hand over your mouth to stifle the loud boom of laughter you wished you could get out, the catalan having fallen deep asleep on top of the bed, one of your favorite dramas playing in the background where she'd clearly intended the two of you to lay in bed together and watch.

with a small sigh of amusement you flitted back around the house ensuring everything was locked before you returned, closing the bedroom door behind you with a gentle click.

the room now only illuminated by the dim glow of the tv you flicked off the downlight and you made you way around to her side of the bed and crouched down.

"amor. amor. alexia!" you called out softly, moving one arm to shake her lightly when there was no response, the blondes chocolate brown eyes fluttering open tiredly once you shook her a little harder.

"hola bebé, into bed?" you ran a hand through her mane of hair, moving a few loose strands off her forehead with a soft smile as the footballer sighed tiredly but sat up with a curt nod as you tugged down the covers allowing her to slip in properly.

already showered and changed you ducked off to the bathroom to brush your teeth before joining her, chuckling as once more she was seemingly dead to the world, mouth ever so slightly ajar as her blonde hair sprawled across the pillow.

though as the mattress dipped, never the heaviest of sleepers alexia awoke a little, turning around to her other side and shuffling down the bed as her face pressed into your neck and her long legs tangled with yours, feet rubbing against one another.

you felt an i love you mumbled against your skin as her arms wrapped tightly around your torso, latching her taller body firmly onto yours making you smile and tangle a hand in her hair, lips lingering against the warm skin of her forehead.

"te quiero más."

~

a few days later you'd removed your own nail design and sat down to try a new one, having spent a few hours scrolling through for inspiration before it struck and within minutes you'd grabbed what you needed and settled.

though before you could even glance to the bottles of polish a body dropped down next to you and suddenly strong hands were on your hips lifting you up.

"ale!" you laughed as she set you down on her lap, long legs stretched out straight as you wiggled a little to get comfortable. "my turn first please." the girl spoke in her adorably accented english, hands moving around you and placing themselves on your knees.

"oh your turn?" you asked both equally pleased and surprised, turning a little so you could look at her properly. "sí, mi novia so my turn." alexia grinned, pointing to you and then back at herself before moving her head to press a soft and tender kiss against your lips.

you smiled as you pulled away, a hand softly carressing her cheek as your thumb pulled at her bottom lip, pressing another tender kiss against them with a lovesick sigh.

"of course mi amor whatever you want. so, what colour?"

[differenteagletragedy]

What if it's like Price decided a long time ago that he's never going to have a traditional family -- a wife and kids, the whole picket fence thing -- so instead of even trying, he dedicates his time off duty to other pursuits, and that's how he picks up carpentry.

So for years, when he's not working, he's just building things. It starts off with little wooden sculptures and some repairs around the house, but eventually he's building furniture. He can do anything with wood and some tools, and it's soothing, creating instead of destroying.

He builds himself a coffee table, then he builds himself a bed. He makes a nice trunk for Laswell and her wife, another for Gaz. Sometimes in his free time he'll meet women in bars, quick little hookups that will never be anything more than one night, and sometimes he'll watch some documentary and drink too many scotches, smoke too many cigars, but there's just something about building that sets his mind at ease.

It gets to the point where he doesn't have anything left to make for any of the few people in his life, so he starts building a guest room in his basement, just for something to do. Another bed using a technique he hadn't tried before, a wide chest of drawers, a couple of nightstands. When he's done with that, he decides to keep going for it -- he learns how to build cabinets and puts in a little kitchenette in the corner. He even learns some rudimentary plumbing over a longer break and gets a sink going down there.

What's it all for? He has no idea, but the whirring of the saw blocks out thoughts that are too hard to think, and when he's concentrating on the hammers and the nails and the precision he needs, there's not enough room to concentrate on anything else.

Then he sees you. Maybe you're a bartender at the local pub, or a girl he runs into sometimes at the grocery store. Either way, there's a kind smile you give him, a lingering look that shows that you notice him, and it makes him notice you back.

And then it hits him -- maybe you're what it's all for. Maybe that bed in the basement is for you. Maybe he's not built for a traditional family, but maybe he built a whole new world, a whole new life, just for you.

[pittsick]

ohhhh maybe giving scenemo!pat his magic cross piercing. he’s hard partially because you’re pretty and have your hands on his dick, and partially because he’s a bit of a whore for pain. you notice, one thing leads to another, he’s fingering you in your back office while you try and give him care and healing instructions.

summary: when patrick gets his magic cross piercing and things leads to one another, he’s fingering you in your back office when you try to talk to him about the aftercare.

pairing: scenemo!patrick x afab piercer!reader.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.1k words. genital piercing. pain kink. clinical setting. professional boundary violation. dirty talk. brat behavior (Patrick).

taglist: @blastzachilles, @lvve-talks, @jordiemeow, @strfallz, @222col, @soulxinxthexsky, @diyasgarden, @jinxedbambi, @lexiiscorect, @religionlost, @bluestrd, @jclolz22, @destinedtobegigi, @imperishablereverie, @lovefaist, @shahabaqsa0310, @prismozo, @jesuistrestriste, @grimsonandclover, @nozhdyved, @artstennisracket, @yardofbrunettes

You’ve done plenty of intimate piercings before—Prince Alberts, frenulums, ladders—but something about this appointment has you tightening your thighs the second you read the form.

“Magic cross.”

And the name on the intake? Patrick fucking Zweig. Scene hair, chipped nail polish, three belts on his jeans and none of them functional. He’s got eyeliner smudged into the corners of his eyes and a grin that belongs on someone who’s been suspended from at least three high schools.

It’s not his first time at the shop; he had been here for his labret piercing a few years ago and an eyebrow one that he didn’t keep—but you hadn’t been the one piercing him at the time. A shame.

“I want the full cross,” he says again when you sit down on your rolling chair. “Horizontal and vertical. Gimme the pain.”

You arch a brow, snapping on a pair of gloves. “You know that’s four holes total, right?”

Patrick shrugs, fingers already at his zipper. “Yeah. I’ll try not to nut on your gloves.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm. You’ve seen dicks in every shape and size—but not every client moans when you disinfect them. Not every guy twitches under your touch and breathes out, “fuck, you’re kinda making me hard just with the prep.” But Patrick does.

You ignore him. Kind of.

The setup is clean. Tools lined up. Two needles, two straight barbells, all sterilized. You mark him quickly—two vertical dots, two horizontal, all across the head—and give him a look.

“You ready?”

Patrick lies back with a deep exhale. “Ruin me.”

You pierce the vertical pair first. He lets out a guttural sound as the needle slides through, but it’s not a cry of pain—it’s pleasure. His cock jerks in your grip, fully hard now, tip glistening like he really might cum from the needle alone.

“Shit,” he pants. “That—fuck—that hurts so good.”

You keep your head down, focus tight, thighs clenching. Slide the jewelry in slowly, threading the bar through the fresh holes one by one. It’s precision work, and you do it perfectly—even as Patrick groans under you and clenches the edges of the padded bench.

Then come the horizontal. He’s sweating by the end, but still rock hard, his chest heaving like he’s been edged.

“Jesus,” you murmur, wiping him down and snapping off your gloves. “You’re a freak.”

“Compliment,” he gasps. “Say it again.”

You shake your head, fighting the throb in your own core. “Get dressed. I’ll give you care instructions in the back.”

By the time he walks into your cramped little office, he’s redressed—mostly. His belts are hanging undone, button half-fastened. He sits with a slight wince but a smirk still plastered across his face.

You clear your throat and grab the aftercare sheet. “No sex for at least six weeks,” you start, professionally.

He raises a brow. “Not even hand stuff?”

You ignore that; well, you try your best to. It wouldn’t be professional. “Clean with sterile saline twice a day. No touching unless it’s to clean—”

Patrick leans back, legs spread slightly, his tongue pressed to his lip ring. “So like, hypothetically, if I were the worst patient you’ve ever had—”

“Already are.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“—and I touched it anyway… and got really fucking hard again, just thinking about your hands?”

You blink at him. He’s already moved closer with the rolling chair, almost between your knees now, voice low and syrupy. “Would you let me show you how good my fingers are, since you were so gentle with me? Think of it as a payback.”

You open your mouth to say no. To say it’s not professional, you could get caught—yet, you can’t stop thinking about how Patrick reacted to you piercing him, his cock hard, his comments. So your legs unconsciously spread for him and you sigh like permission.

Then his hand is between your legs as soon as he sees your expression and you realize you’re soaking through your underwear. You have been since Patrick’s first dirty comment.

“Fuck,” he hisses, like it’s hurting him how wet you are. “You’re into this, huh? Got off on making me moan for it?” He’s smirking now. You don’t answer. You can’t—not when two of his fingers slip under the band of your panties and slide right in, like your body’s been waiting for it.

You gasp, legs spreading even more before you can stop them, hips bucking into his hand. Giving him more space.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he whispers, transfixed. “Holy shit—did stabbing my dick actually get you this wet?” It’s like he can’t believe it, licking his lips and the silver ring of his labret.

Your breath shudders. “Patrick—”

“I’ll be gentle,” he lies, already curling his fingers just right. “Promise.”

You brace your hands flat behind you on the desk, head tipping back as he starts to move. His fingers are rough and metal-tipped—cold rings sliding against your folds as he pumps into you, fucking you open like he’s trying to earn an A+ in making piercers cum in their own office.

He finally gets up from the chair just to lean in close, breath hot against your ear. “Should I stop?” he whispers. “Or should I let you finish telling me about cleaning it while I ruin your panties?”

You bite your lip hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t stop,” you grit.

He laughs—sweet, fucked-up, giddy. He angles his fingers again and you nearly choke on your own moan. Your thighs clamp around his wrist and he groans like he felt it in his own cock.

“God, you sound so good,” he pants. “Can’t believe I came here to get stabbed and ended up with my fingers in the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.”

You try to glare but it melts into a whimper. He speeds up, fingers rubbing against your walls to find the perfect spot that you’d make you cum. When he does, you see white, thighs shaking and whimpering.

Your orgasm builds sharp, fast, the kind that climbs with no warning. You clutch the edge of the desk, head spinning, thighs trembling more and more as he keeps working you—slick and messy, knuckles deep, wet sounds echoing between your moans.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Give it to me. Let me feel you cum on my fingers. You earned it, didn’t you?”

You fall apart with a broken sob, clenching around him so tight he curses. Your body jerks with it, trembling as he fucks you through the high, eyes dark and locked on yours like he’s watching art happen in real time.

When it’s over, you sag forward, chest heaving, thighs twitching. He pulls his hand out slow, sucking your wetness off two fingers like it’s dessert.

You stare.

“You’re gonna clean those before you touch your piercing, right?” You can’t help but ask, professionalism coming back into your mind.

He grins. “You gonna spank me if i don’t?”

You grab the aftercare sheet, eyes rolling and smoothing your skirt down.

“Maybe.”

[revelboo]

Holy guacamole finding your account is like finding the holy grail. Thoughts on tfp shockwave??

Oh, no. I feel so bad for him. Casual TF fans can just see him and Whirl and vaguely wonder why they look so different and not know the horrible lore implications…. I miss those happy days and unfortunately I do know, so you have to suffer too for asking.

Point of Extinction

TFP Shockwave x Reader

Warnings: 18+ 🌶️

• Routines to ground him. An exact number of swipes with a cleaning rag after disinfecting his work station after another failed experiment. Routines to keep him busy so his processor can’t dredge up those broken fragments that make no sense to him. Confusing flickers of memories that are and aren’t his. “Enter,” he says, using a servo to slide a tool back precisely where it goes. Order. This he can control.

• Antenna flicking up as the vehicon enters his lab, a box in its servos. And that snares him. Two hands like he’d had. No, that’s not right. Helm tipping down to stare at the cannon at the end of his arm, there’s a moment of disconnect before he’s back. Did he have two hands once? He can’t remember. Logical steps. That chaos isn’t his, it belongs to a stranger. “The counter.”

• Watches the vehicon set the box down and immediately retreat. Unwilling to stick around. They fear him and he understands the concept, but it’s not a thing he really understands. Illogical emotion that can control a mech, twist them into making wrong decisions. Emotional decisions.

• Lifting the lid, he stares at his newest specimen. Number 13. A human. The little creature is slumped at the bottom of the container, breathing but still. The last twelve earth creatures had been smaller, too delicate to survive long. This isn’t what he expected the vehicon to bring him, only specifying something more sturdy than the birds, cats, and lizards he’d been provided before. Something that will last long enough to get conclusive data.

• Reaching in to nudge it before he carefully picks it up in his servos and lifts it free of the box. It’s warm against his metal flesh, his antenna angling forward as the creature stirs. Makes a noise of pain as its eyes open and land on his single glowing optic and stay there. Leaning in to study it as its breathing begins to speed, its eyes widening. Reacting with some emotion. And then it screams, the sharp unexpected sound nearly enough to make him drop it, servos tightening on it until it’s clawing at him, wheezing. Antenna back, he puts it back in the box. “Silence.”

• Heart racing, you scramble to press against the wall of the box you’re trapped in as far from the pointy metal, nightmare as you can get. That one glowing red eye is still staring at you as it makes a noise. “Experiment number 13. Human.” That thing has no mouth you can see, but you can hear it just fine as you slide down to pull your knees tight to your body. Experiment? Where are you? What happened? The last thing you remember is leaving work late.

• “Wait- please I’m not supposed to be here.” It’s speaking to him and he hesitates in reaching for his data pad. The other twelve hadn’t been sentient. Unable to answer his inquiries except by going under his blades. Tapping his cannon against his thigh, he shifts to stare in at it again. Wide eyes stare up at him, the little nails of its fingers digging into its arms. “Please.” Illogical pleas to sway him to release it, voice taut with emotion he can’t identify. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Its voice breaks and that off balance disconnect flares again. A memory his and not his. Had he said those same words? In that same terrified tone? He’s not sure, but he’s frozen.

Next

[charliemwrites]

Mafia au with Price perspective

Content: Implied Violence

John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.

It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.

Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.

In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.

Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.

John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.

You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.

You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.

The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.

Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.

That, he knows, is a rare commodity.

“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”

Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.

You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.

“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.

John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”

You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.

“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”

You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.

“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”

A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.

“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”

Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.

“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.

John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.

“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”

You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”

He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”

You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.

“How many and what time, sir?”

“Six for eight o’clock.”

You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.

“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”

You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.

“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.

He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.

“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”

He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.

“Why’s that?”

You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.

“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.

“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”

He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

How did he ever manage all this without you?

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[littlelovelunette]

Jinx X possessive/dark reader? I see very little of reader being possessive/dark. Essentially reader is willing to manipulate things to their way to keep Jinx safe and as theirs. Even before their relationship, they were taking care of snitches and enforcers trying to arrest her but you wouldn’t know it because reader has learned to mask their more dangerous and violent tendencies. A wolf in sheep’s clothing if you will.

Wolf In Ship's Clothing

Contains dark!r, possibly yandere!r, violence, blood

You sharpened the blade, the sharp sound of the metal echoing in the hideout when you heard the door creak open and shut with a little thud. Against the reflection of the knife, you saw your blue haired girlfriend walking inside. She was covered in glitter from head to toe, you could only guess it was one of her bombs.

“Hey, toots,” she grinned toothily, dropping the bag of strawberries on the small kitchenette counter.

You turned, undoing the apron, “Hey, sweetie, what happened?”

“Just some enforcers,” she raised her top to reveal the thin gash across her flat stomach.

Your heart dropped.

“Baby!” You gasped and knelt down instantly, using your fingers to gently prod at the wound, “Oh, my goodness… it's deep,” you whispered as you instantly reached for the cabinet door, swinging it open.

The medical tools you had stuffed in there messily fell out of the cabinet, you instantly grabbed the antiseptic, ripping a huge bit of cotton from the box. “Tell me if it stings a bit too much,” you whispered to her, gently dabbing the cotton on her wound, soaking it with her blood.

Jinx didn't really react but her crazed eyes did soften, “You're so nice to me, it doesn't hurt, you shouldn't worry.”

“You're still bleeding,” you said softly, hands working with precision, “And you deserve care.” You went back to looking at the wound while you treated it. “Who were they, those who hurt you?”

“They don't matter.” Jinx muttered before she leaned against the kitchen counter with her hip, “Just a bunch of Piltie enforcers,” she scoffed, arms crossing.

Your eyes darkened at that but you didn't let that show, your fingers clutched the cotton tighter as you maintained a steady pace at cleaning her wound. “You'll be okay, just let me stitch it.”

Reluctantly, Jinx let you stitch up her wound. She winced from time to time but other than that, she was quite brave throughout the entire ordeal. You finished and got up from the floor, helping your girlfriend to slump down into a chair.

She groaned. “Whatcha’ makin’?” The air was soon lifted with her hyperactivity and happy giggles.

Jinx was deep asleep in the fuzzy bed you and she shared when you slowly got out of her slender armed hug, shifting so the blankets were on her.

Slowly, you tiptoed out of the room, the loose wooden floorboards creaking from time to time. With a small sigh, you stripped off your golden star printed pajamas and pulled on a tight black cropped top. You paired a black pleated skirt, safety shorts underneath and knee high socks. You had dark boots on, reaching one hand on the counter to grab your keys.

You heard the sheets rustle and your heart skipped a beat.

Jinx turned over, hand dangling off the edge of the bed as she snored on. You sighed softly, a sigh of relief as you walked to the door. With a careful motion, you shut it behind yourself.

The night was cold, and the air was filled with the poisonous gas that almost always lingered in the underground.

Your lungs had gotten used to it, the set of blades you carried remained well hidden under the cloak that covered your hair— your, matching with Jinx, blue dyed hair. “I'll kill them for hurting her,” you thought as you walked past the occasional drunk idiot or druggie.

You didn't want to draw too much attention to yourself when you did what you did. Your fists clenched, nails digging almost painfully into your palm as you thought about all the ways you could torture whoever hurt Jinx.

No one gets away with messing with her and you'd make sure of that.

She was your girl.

Your girlfriend.

Once your job was complete, you stepped back inside the house, covered with the blood of the enforcer you'd just tortured to death. “Where were you?” Jinx questioned in a raspy, sleepy voice, she was walking into the kitchen just then to get a glass of water.

Her sleep drunk eyes were half closed and she looked like she'd pass out any moment.

“Couldn't sleep,” you lied smoothly, “So I took a walk.”

“And you didn't think to take me?” Jinx sipped her water, “Could've gotten hurt, toots…” she put the glass down and tried to pull you for a hug which you gingerly dodged.

“How ‘bout I take a shower first? I don't wanna smell like shit, it's quite humid t’night…”

Jinx narrowed her sleepy eyes, she was too used to the blood. So much so, she didn't even notice it on you.

“‘Kay…” she walked away into the bedroom and you heaved a sigh of relief.

It was a close call this time, too close...

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Work in Progress

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (age gap though ages are unspecified)

Words: 1.5k

No warnings, just two cuties who need to fall in love already; a fluffy and flirty good time

Masterlist

Sunlight filters through the windows of a modest workshop in Jackson, illuminating the clutter of tools and half-finished projects. The room is warm and inviting, with the smell of wood and metal lingering in the air.

Joel Miller is focused on a workbench, his broad shoulders hunched as he concentrates on fixing a small wooden chair. His hands are deft and steady, moving with practiced ease. Every now and then, he mutters to himself, his deep, gravelly voice a soothing background hum.

You are nearby, organizing screws and handing him tools when he needs them, trying to keep up with Joel’s quick pace. Despite the mundane task, you can’t help but be captivated by the way he moves, each gesture so deliberate, a precise balance between delicate and powerful.

You accidentally knock over a can of nails, which scatter across the floor with a clatter.

"Sorry," you squeak, embarrassed as you crouch down to pick them up, but Joel’s voice suddenly cuts through the noise.

"Don’t worry about it, I’ll grab ‘em," He offers.

Joel kneels beside you, his presence close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. His hands, rough but gentle, brush against yours as he gathers the nails. The accidental touch sends a flutter through your chest, and you try to suppress a blush.

"Thanks, Joel. I should’ve been more careful."

"Happens to the best of us," he says easily, comforting.

His smile is so disarmingly charming that it makes you forget what you were doing for a moment. You fumble with the nails in your hands, trying to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so," you laugh nervously.

Joel stands up, handing you the collected nails. His fingers brush yours again, sending a rush of warmth through you. You quickly pull your hand away, but not before you feel your cheeks flush.

Joel’s gaze lingers on you, trying to decipher what has you so skittish today. He resumes his work, but his casual demeanor makes him more endearing.

"You’re doin’ good, you know," he reassures you, wanting to ease whatever might be worrying you. "Not easy work, but you’re stickin’ with it. Youve learned a lot these last few weeks."

You smile, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. His praise, so simple yet sincere, makes your heart race. You focus on your task, trying to steady your hands.

Flustered, you respond, "Just trying to keep up with you."

Joel chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through the room. It’s impossible not to be drawn to the warmth of his voice.

"No need, you’re doin’ just fine."

As you continue working, Joel inadvertently keeps charming you with every casual comment or gesture, completely oblivious to his effect on you. He leans in close to demonstrate something, his breath warm against your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

At one point, Joel hands you a tool with a lingering touch, and you nearly drop it, your hands shaking slightly.

"Thanks. I think I’ve got it now."

"You sure ‘bout that? Might need to double-check," he jokes.

His playful tone and the warmth of his gaze make your heart pound even harder. You nod, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yeah, I think I’m good."

Joel’s eyes soften, and he gives you a reassuring smile before returning to his work. Despite the focus on the project, the air between you remains charged with something that Joel seems blissfully unaware of.

As the hours pass, the two of you work seamlessly together, the occasional brush of your hands or shared laughter making the task seem almost like a dance. The project becomes secondary to the unspoken connection that grows between you, a testament to the unexpected and delightful charm that Joel Miller brings into your life.

Later in the day Joel is adjusting the legs of a wooden table, his brow furrowed in concentration. You’re sitting cross-legged on a nearby stool, sanding a piece of wood with careful precision.

"Careful with that sander," he instructs thoughtfully, "Don’t wanna end up with splinters in your fingers."

"Got it. Thanks for the tip," you say as you adjust your hold and try soft, even strokes.

“Good girl,” he praises, “just like that.”

You damn near fall out the chair at that. Cursing under your breath you try to ignore the way something pulses between your thighs. Head out of the gutter, you think to yourself.

Joel’s gaze occasionally drifts to you, his attention seemingly split between his work and the subtle way you react to his presence. There’s a moment of quiet as you both focus on the tasks at hand, the soft hum of the sander and the occasional clink of tools the only sounds in the room.

Then, as Joel reaches for a tool on a high shelf, his arm accidentally brushes against yours. You freeze, the unexpected touch sending a jolt through you. You try to mask your reaction, but your hand trembles slightly as you place the sander down.

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly, confused before a flicker of realization crosses his face. He watches you, noting the way you quickly look away, your cheeks flushed pink. There’s a moment of introspection as he connects the dots.

He may be old and, as Ellie likes to remind him, blind as a bat sometimes, but he ain't dumb.

"You alright, honey?" he asks in a syrupy drawl that has heat blooming in your stomach.

"Yeah, fine. Totally fine," you say, trying to play it cool but the slight tremor in your voice gives you away.

Joel straightens up, his gaze softening as he observes you more closely. There’s a mix of curiosity and tenderness in his eyes. He sets the tool down and moves closer, his demeanor shifting to something more considerate.

Joel's voice is lower than earlier when he says," You know, I’ve been watchin’ you blushin’ and fidgetin’ all day. Figured I might’ve done somethin’ to upset ya." He watches you out of the corner of his eye, gauging your response and trying to hide his knowing expression.

You look up at him, wide-eyed and a little embarrassed. The sincerity in his voice makes your heart race even faster. You hesitate, then shake your head slightly.

"It’s not that" you begin softly, "It’s just... I guess I get a little nervous around you."

Joel’s brow furrows, but then a slow, almost shy smile spreads across his face. He leans against the workbench, his eyes twinkling with an amused, gentle light.

His tone turns playful, "Nervous? Me? Didn’t think I was that intimidatin’."

It makes sense now. The way you stutter when he speaks to you, the way your eyes look everywhere in the room except for at him, except for when he catches you staring when you don't think he's looking.

The realization makes him both flattered and a bit self-conscious. The idea that someone as kind and sweet as you could feel this way about him strikes a chord. Not to mention the couple decades he has on you. He'd all but convinced himself there was no way you would be attracted to him. Not you with your pretty face and soft features, much too delicate for someone like himself.

He rubs the back of his neck where his greying hair curls around the collar of his jacket, his voice taking on a more tender tone.

"Well, if it helps any, I reckon you’re makin’ me a bit nervous too."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. The vulnerability in his admission, combined with the warmth of his smile, makes you melt.

"Really?"

Bashfully he confesses. "Yeah, really. Ain’t used to bein’ on the other end of this kinda thing."

Joel’s admission brings a newfound ease to the room. The tension melts away, replaced by a shared understanding and an unspoken connection that feels both thrilling and comforting.

You should feel embarrassed knowing you've been found out. It must have been painfully obvious, but he quickly puts you at ease.

Joel looks at you with a soft smile and a rosy tint to his cheeks, "Well, since we’re both nervous wrecks now, how ‘bout we take a break? Don't want to slip up and hammer a nail into my palm. Maybe grab a bite or somethin’. Could use a change of pace."

You nod eagerly, the idea of spending more time with him outside the workshop making your heart leap, something you'd been dreaming of since the first day you'd spent with him.

"I’d like that."

As you both head toward the door, the earlier nervousness has transformed into a hopeful, excited energy. Joel glances back at you, his smile genuine and full of affection. There’s a new, unspoken understanding between you, a gentle acknowledgment of the connection that has formed in the warmth of the workshop.

He holds the door open for you, and this time you don't shy away from his body in the doorway. Your back brushes his chest as you duck under his arm, and above you, a smile pulls the edge of his lips, happy that it turns out you weren't scared of him all this time.

And as the two of you step out into the fading afternoon light, the world beyond the workshop seems just a little brighter, filled with the promise of something new and wonderful.

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; you infiltrate makarov's lair. pain ignites fury, and you deliver a scalding promise—one he won’t forget.

⚠️ warnings; graphic depictions of violence and blood

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The mirror reflected a calm exterior, but beneath the surface, your heart raced with anticipation. You adjusted the sleek black dress one last time, the fabric hugging your form like a second skin. The look was sharp and perfect for the night ahead.

You sat at the small vanity, a small bottle of nail polish rested beside you, its deep, glossy shade matching the intensity of your outfit. You steadied your hand, brushing the polish onto your nails with deliberate focus, each stroke precise and smooth.

When you finished, you blew softly on your nails, letting the sheen catch the light for a moment before setting the brush down, briefly looking around the room as you waited for the polish to dry off for completely.

Everywhere around you was a testament to the work you and König had put into the plan. A table nearby was cluttered with equipment—various concoctions, spare ammunition, and a few items for contingencies you hoped you wouldn’t need. Among the chaos, a detailed map of the club lay spread out, corners weighed down with stray tools. 

Behind you, König appeared before dropping into one knee. “Hold still,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he carefully slid the strap of your heel over your foot.

His hands, so large they practically enveloped the delicate shoe, moved with surprising gentleness. The buckle clicked into place, and he adjusted the strap to sit just right before reaching for the other.

“König,” you said softly, watching him through the mirror.

He glanced up briefly, his pale eyes meeting yours through his mask, and then returned to his task. “I still don’t like this,” he muttered.

“You’ve made that clear,” you replied with a faint smile, resting a hand on his shoulder for balance as he fastened the second shoe.

When he was done, he stood, towering over you. His brows furrowed even further as he caught sight of the dagger holder strapped to your thigh beneath the dress.

“Let me see,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sighed but lifted the hem of your dress slightly, revealing the sleek leather strap secured around your leg. The dagger sheath was snug, but König crouched again, checking the fit like a craftsman perfecting his work. His fingers brushed against your skin as he tightened the strap just a notch, ensuring it wouldn’t slip during the mission.

“Too tight?” he asked, his voice softer now, his gaze flicking up to yours.

“It’s fine,” you assured him just as softly.

He didn’t move for a moment, his hands lingering on your leg, as if debating whether to say something more. Finally, he stood again, his towering presence making you feel both small but protected.

You smoothed your dress back down and turned to the mirror, adjusting your earrings as you spoke. “I’ll go in and blend with the crowd. Makarov’s likely to be well-guarded, so I need to keep a low profile until he makes an appearance.”

“The dagger is already planted in the bathroom,” König interjected, his tone clipped. “Getting it back shouldn’t take long, but—”

“I know,” you cut in, meeting his gaze through the reflection. “Once I have it, the real challenge begins: getting him alone. He won’t make that easy.”

König’s frown deepened, and his hands twitched as if resisting the urge to grab you and pull you back from this entirely. “And you’re sure about this?”

You turned to face him fully, resting your hands on his chest. “I trust you to stay close, in your own way. We agreed on that. If something goes wrong, you’ll know.”

“Right….Sybil will alert me if it does,” König muttered, his gaze dropping for a moment as Sybil, ever-watchful, padded silently across the room to sit by your side. Her dark eyes glinted as she nuzzled your leg.

“Exactly,” you replied, stroking Sybil’s soft fur. “She’ll use our connection to let you know if I need you. But I can’t do this with you breathing down my neck the entire time, König. We have to play it smart.”

He exhaled heavily, his hands found your waist, holding you firmly as he stared down at you. “If he so much as looks at you wrong—”

“You’ll know,” you promised as you patted his hand over the curve of your hip, your voice softer now. “And you’ll do what you do best.”

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the muffled hum of the world outside. Then König nodded, though his grip on you didn’t loosen. “Be careful,” he said, his voice rough.

“I will. Now let’s finish getting ready. Makarov won’t wait forever.”

. . .

The car slowed to a stop a block away from the club. Even from here, the heavy bass of the music was palpable, vibrating through the cool night air.

König’s gaze was fixed ahead, his grip tight on the steering wheel. For once, his usual mask was absent, his sharp features faintly visible in the dim light spilling through the windshield. The shadows of the streetlights and car interior kept most of his face obscured, but the darkness couldn’t completely hide the tension etched into his expression.

You had told him not to do it—removing the mask wasn’t necessary, you’d said. You knew how much it meant to him, how it was his ultimate comfort, his shield. But König had made the decision on his own.

He knew wearing it would draw too much attention, especially here. With his towering frame and intimidating presence, he already stood out more than enough. The mask would have been a beacon, and that was something neither of you could afford.

Even now, as the shadows concealed most of his face, you could feel the unease radiating from him. His jaw clenched tightly, his pale eyes flicking toward you for a moment before returning to the road.

“Stay sharp,” he said, his voice carrying that protective edge you’d come to expect.

“I will,” you assured him, turning to Sybil in the backseat. The white-furred Borzoi tilted her head, watching you with an expression that was both serene and perceptive.

Bending closer, you planted a quick kiss on her forehead. When you pulled back, you noticed the faint lipstick mark left behind on her pristine fur. You laughed softly, your nerves easing just a bit. “Sorry, girl. Guess you’re part of the disguise now.”

Sybil blinked at you, her long tail thumping heavily at your tone. 

König, however, wasn’t too amused. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he muttered, his voice a low rumble. “I’ll be close.”

You stepped out of the car, your heels clicking against the pavement, and turned back to give him a small wave. “I know. We’ve got this.”

The street buzzed with life, partygoers laughing and chatting in clusters as they moved toward the entrance. The dress, the heels, the way you carried yourself—it all screamed that you belonged here.

The line for Konni stretched down the block, a clear testament to its popularity. The music from inside thudded through the air, mingling with the lively chatter of the crowd waiting to get in. You honed in on a group of girls standing just ahead of you in line, their sparkling outfits catching the glow of the streetlights. One of them laughed loudly, her bold red lipstick standing out against her pale skin. Bingo.

“That lipstick is amazing,” you said warmly, leaning toward her with a friendly smile. “What shade is that? It’s perfect on you.”

The girl blinked in surprise, then lit up at the compliment. “Oh my god, thank you! It’s Riot Red! Do you want to try it?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I wish I could pull it off like you can. Seriously, you look incredible.”

Another girl in the group chimed in, flipping her curls over her shoulder. “No way, you’d look amazing in it. And that dress? You’re killing it.”

You waved a hand dismissively, giving a soft laugh. “You’re sweet. Honestly, I was nervous about coming out tonight, but you guys are making me feel so much better already.”

The first girl grinned and linked her arm through yours without hesitation. “Girl, you’re with us now. We’ve got you.”

The group’s energy was infectious, their chatter and laughter making it easy to blend in. You joined in their conversation, throwing out compliments and jokes that kept the mood light and carefree. As the line shuffled forward, you felt yourself being folded effortlessly into their circle. The bouncer glanced over the group and waved you all through without much hesitation, clearly accustomed to the dynamic of excited, glamorous groups showing up together.

The heavy bass hit you first, reverberating through your chest and pulling you into the club’s electric atmosphere. The lighting was dim and moody, with sharp beams of red and white cutting through the haze of smoke and swirling shadows.

On the far wall behind the bar, the club’s logo loomed large, its eerie design catching the occasional flicker of light. The snake’s skull, menacing and jagged, was crossed from top to bottom by a dagger. Its sharp simplicity made it both unnerving and impossible to ignore. The entire space seemed to echo the symbol’s vibe—sleek and dangerous.

Snakes coiled through the décor in subtle ways, their imagery etched into the mirrored panels behind the bar and wrapped around the bases of the industrial steel light fixtures. Even the bar top gleamed with designs of serpentine scales, the texture faint under the drinks and shifting hands of patrons.

The girls pulled you toward the bar, their laughter and easy energy blending seamlessly with the beat of the music. Their chatter and laughter provided the perfect cover, drawing attention away from you and onto their sparkling outfits and bold personalities.

Still, a flicker of guilt twisted in your chest. These human girls weren’t just a tool for the night—they were kind hearted, naïve in a way that made you feel protective. As you moved through the throng of bodies, you kept them close, flashing an easy smile before leaning in to speak just loud enough to be heard over the pulsing bass.

“Hey, just a quick reminder,” you said, pitching your tone to sound casual but warm, leaning in toward the group as you all shuffled forward in line. “Don’t drink anything someone hands you tonight. Only take what you get straight from the bar, okay?”

One of the girls raised an eyebrow, her glossy lips curving into a knowing smile. “Of course. Duh.”

Another chimed in, rolling her eyes playfully. “Please, we already know that one. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

Their laughter was light, confident, but you could see a flicker of acknowledgment in their eyes.

Still, you smiled back and leaned in slightly. “Good,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to add a hint of seriousness. “Just be careful, girlies. It’s common sense, but places like this…you never know.”

Your grin turned playful again to soften the moment, and they laughed with you, their chatter quickly picking up where it left off. Despite their bravado, you noticed one or two of them glancing at their drinks a little more thoughtfully. Good. At least they’d think twice now.

With their attention pulled back into the lively atmosphere, you allowed your own focus to shift. You moved with them toward the dance floor, your eyes floating upward as casually as possible to the VIP room. Perched like a foreboding crow’s nest above the chaos, it loomed dark and shadowed, its one-way glass concealing its occupants from the prying eyes below. The tinted panes offered privacy, but you could still spot faint movement inside—the shifting silhouettes of figures leaning and gesturing.

Still, you forced yourself to look away, letting your expression remain light and carefree, matching the girls’ as they laughed and swayed to the beat of the music. 

The night unfolded smoothly as the drinks flowed, and you made sure to keep them coming, careful to never take too much for yourself. The bartender seemed unimpressed at first, but as you discreetly slid larger and larger bills across the bar, his demeanor shifted.

Eventually, he placed a drink in front of you—a glittering concoction in a tall glass with a swirl of smoky liquid that caught the red light overhead. Nestled beneath the base of the glass, barely visible, was a sleek black card. Without the bartender noticing, you dumped it into a nearby plant, keeping the card to yourself. A quick glance confirmed what you already suspected: it was access to the VIP section.

You turned back to the girls, who were swaying to the music and laughing, and leaned in close to their circle. “Hey, let’s hit the bathroom, yeah?” You suggested with a grin, loud enough to be heard over the pounding bass.

They nodded eagerly, and together you made your way through the packed dance floor to the restrooms. Once inside, the bright, sterile lighting felt jarring after the club’s shadowy ambiance. The girls chattered amongst themselves, touching up their makeup and fussing over their hair, while you slipped into one of the stalls.

You knelt down, sliding your hand behind the loose panel where the dagger was supposed to be. Instead of the reassuring weight of the weapon, your fingers met nothing but smooth, empty space. Your heart skipped a beat, panic bubbling up. You patted the space again, as if the dagger could materialize if you just tried hard enough. Nothing.

For a long moment, you stared at the panel, your pulse thundering in your ears. No weapon. No fallback. König had said it would be here—he promised. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, steadying your shaking hands. Panicking now would only make things worse. 

You had to improvise.

Sliding the panel back into place, you stood and smoothed your dress, your movements deliberate. You couldn’t afford to let your nerves show. You emerged from the stall to find the girls still preoccupied, their laughter echoing off the tiled walls.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” you said lightly, your voice pitched perfectly to sound casual. They didn’t question you, too absorbed in their own banter to notice you slipping out of the bathroom alone.

The black card felt heavier in your hand now as you approached the staircase to the VIP section. The bouncer’s sharp eyes landed on you briefly, but the card was enough to grant you passage without a word.

Each step upward felt like it stretched forever, the muffled sounds of the club below fading into a muted afterthought. That familiar, sickening sensation crept over you—the same one you’d felt around Leah all those weeks ago, only far stronger here. The air was thick and oppressive, charged with something dark and vile. It twisted your stomach, but you shoved the feeling aside.

This was it. There was no turning back now.

At the top of the stairs, the VIP section unfolded before you, a luxurious den of decadence. Dim red lighting cast long, menacing shadows over plush leather couches and low tables scattered with untouched drinks. The hum of low conversation and private laughter buzzed faintly in the air.

And there, at the center of it all, was Makarov.

He sat like a king on his throne, reclined in a sleek leather armchair with an air of effortless arrogance. His sharp features were illuminated by the dim, blood-red lighting—the angular planes of his face exaggerated by the shadows, making him look more predator than man. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and the contrast between his polished appearance and the grotesque menace he exuded was unsettling, making the room feel even colder.

Surrounding him were men and women alike, all undeniably vampires. They stood and watched with the same unnatural grace—too perfect, too controlled. It was clear that every person in the room served one purpose: to feed Makarov’s ego and protect his rule.

Keeping your composure, you let your eyes sweep the room, as though taking it all in with detached curiosity. You knew you were being watched—eyes flicking to you with interest, hunger, and something darker.

You moved with confidence, choosing an empty seat that gave you a clear view of the room while placing you within arm’s reach of Makarov’s position. The luxurious leather felt cool beneath you as you crossed your legs, projecting ease you didn’t feel.

It didn’t take long for one of Makarov’s companions to approach. A woman, tall and striking, with dark skin and a predatory glint in her eyes, sashayed over to you. Without a word, she slid onto your lap, one bare leg draped possessively over yours.

“Well, aren’t you interesting,” she purred, her sharp nails tracing a slow line down your shoulder.

Succubus.

You forced a coy smile, letting her linger. Play along. Blend in.

Her laughter was low and rich, her fingers curling briefly around your chin as she leaned in closer. Her nails were sharp, painted a glossy black that matched the sleek fabric of her gown. The scent of her perfume—sickly sweet, with an underlying metallic tang—was cloying as she hovered just inches from your face.

“Let me get us something… special.” she purred, her voice dripping with amusement.

With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned a man from the shadows—a server carrying a tray of drinks that sparkled faintly under the dim lights. He approached swiftly, bowing his head slightly as he placed the tray on the table in front of you.

She plucked one of the crystal glasses from the tray, her long fingers wrapping delicately around the stem as she swirled the crimson liquid inside. Her eyes flicked back to you, glinting with something predatory, and a slow smile spread across her lips.

“Here,” she said, holding the glass to your lips as though feeding a lover. “Try this. It’s… divine.”

You hesitated for the briefest moment, the weight of her gaze and the oppressive atmosphere of the room pressing down on you. Refusing wasn’t an option—not here, not now. With a carefully crafted smile, you allowed her to tilt the glass, the cold liquid brushing your lips as you sipped.

The taste was strange, rich and coppery, sending a chill down your spine. It took all your willpower to keep your expression neutral, to meet her gaze with a coquettish smile instead of the unease clawing at your insides.

Her laughter bubbled again as she set the glass down, leaning even closer until her lips were near your ear. “Good, isn’t it?” she murmured, her hand tracing the edge of your jaw.

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over the both of you. Makarov’s presence was immediate, suffocating, as he stepped closer.

He waved her off with a dismissive gesture, and she immediately slipped off your lap, her sultry demeanor replaced by something obedient and servile. She shot you one last lingering glance before disappearing into the shadows of the room.

Makarov took the now-vacant spot beside you, leaning back leisurely as if he owned the entire world. His presence was overwhelming up close, the stench of blood and decay mingling with the faint trace of expensive cologne.

“It’s about time you got here,” he said smoothly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. His smile widened, sharp and wolfish.

Your pulse kicked up in your ears. It was only then that you noticed—somehow, without you realizing it, the room had emptied. The other figures who had been laughing and drinking moments ago were gone, leaving you completely alone with him.

Makarov leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, menacing rumble. “I can smell your fear,” he said, his gaze burning into you. “And I can’t wait to taste it.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t look away, forcing yourself to hold his gaze.

“But first,” he continued, his tone almost playful now, “I wanted to know—did you enjoy my little present?”

The cold realization settled in your stomach like a stone. He was talking about Leah. The parasite.

“I thought it was fitting,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “In the end, it was all for the best, wasn’t it? I rid you of an incapable group of men. They were... distractions, holding you back.”

Your nails dug into the soft leather of the seat as his words sank in, rage battling nausea in your chest. Makarov leaned closer, his grin widening, his teeth gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“You should be thanking me,” he murmured. “Don’t you think?”

Before you could respond, his demeanor shifted in an instant, the calm arrogance replaced by a sudden, terrifying violence. His hand shot out, gripping your arm like a vice, and before you could react, he slammed you against the crystal table by you feet.

The force sent everything on it crashing to the ground—glassware shattered into jagged pieces, scattering across the floor like ice shards. A sharp edge sliced across your arm as you instinctively tried to brace yourself, and you couldn’t stifle the grunt of pain that escaped your lips.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Makarov was on you, his weight pressing down as you scrambled to push yourself free. The crimson light overhead bathed his face, highlighting the feral hunger in his eyes as he leaned closer, trapping you further.

“You’re so clever, aren’t you?” he sneered, his voice dripping with venom as his grip tightened. “The dagger. Those two mutts outside. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Your blood ran cold. “What—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Makarov interrupted, his smirk widening as his dark eyes bored into yours. “Your precious hound and that oversized brute you left lurking in the shadows? They’ve already been dealt with. Did you really think you could waltz in here and catch me off guard?”

“And running back to the coven,” he spat, his lips curling in disdain. “How predictable. But for me, the seed was already planted. I knew you’d come. I knew your temper, your pride, your weakness.”

His hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he spoke, his tone turning mockingly soft. “You still love them, don’t you? The pack. Pathetic as they are. That love—it’s a chain, binding you to them. And I took full advantage of it.”

Your nails scraped against the slick surface of the shattered table, your mind racing for a way out as his words sunk in.

“You’re nothing but a puppet,” he growled, his face inches from yours now. “And you danced perfectly for me.”

Before you could scramble away, Makarov moved with terrifying speed, shoving you down to the floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through you as shards of glass dug into your skin, the cold, jagged edges biting deep. You gasped, your hands instinctively trying to push him off, but he was relentless.

He loomed over you for a moment, his dark eyes gleaming with triumph. Then, to your shock, he dropped to his knees, his movements eerily graceful despite the chaos.

Glass crunched under his weight as he knelt, uncaring of the jagged edges slicing into his legs and palms. Blood welled briefly where the shards pierced his flesh, but the injuries healed almost instantly, sealing themselves as if they’d never existed.

Pinned beneath him, you twisted and struggled, your breath ragged as you tried to claw at his arms, his face—anything to create distance. But Makarov was immovable, his grip iron-tight as he held you in place.

His lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice a low, taunting growl. “You’ve been fighting so hard,” he murmured, his gaze boring into yours. “But it’s over now.”

Before you could muster a response or another desperate attempt to free yourself, his head dipped low, and his teeth sank into the curve of your neck.

Pain exploded through you, sharp and searing, as if fire had replaced your blood. Your body arched involuntarily, a cry caught in your throat as his fangs tore into your skin. The world tilted, the room spinning in a haze of crimson and agony.

Your body trembled, each beat of your heart pushing more blood into his greedy mouth. But even as the agony burned, you focused as your bloodied hands moved with purpose, curling around a jagged shard of crystal glass. The rage bubbling in your chest was impossible to contain. It surged, hot and molten, drowning out the pain and fear.

As he took his first deep gush, savoring the rush of your blood, you moved. With all the strength you could muster, you drove the shard into his neck, the jagged glass sinking deep into the pale flesh just below his jaw.

Makarov’s smirk faltered, the smugness on his face twisting into confusion. At first, he barely reacted, his arrogance shining through. Physical blows didn’t faze him—he’d been through countless fights, shrugged off countless attacks.

But then the wound began to ache. The ache turned into a burn, a searing pain that spread like wildfire. His eyes widened in shock, the smugness melting into something raw and he felt…..

Fear.

He tried to pull away, his hands pushing against your shoulders to break free, but you clung to him with all your might.

“Oh no,” you hissed through gritted teeth, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Your fingers dug into the wound, twisting the shard deeper as his regeneration faltered. You could feel the slickness of your blood mixing with his as you pressed harder, your nails scraping against the flesh.

Makarov let out a low growl, his movements turning frantic as realization dawned. He could feel it—the poison seeping into his veins, halting the regenerative abilities he relied on. Your nails, coated with the blend your mother and Horangi had painstakingly prepared, tore at the flesh around the shard, ensuring the concoction spread.

His growl turned into a ragged snarl, his hands clawing at you weakly as the pain consumed him. “What… have you… done?” he rasped, his voice choked with disbelief and rage.

“You want to know what I’ve done?” you snapped, your voice rising, your fury unleashed. “This is my real temper, you bastard!"

Your words were scalding, each one sharper than the shard in your hand. “You said you knew me. That you planted the seed, that I’d come because of my temper? Well, congratulations—you were right. And now, I’m here.”

You twisted the shard again, your nails digging deeper into his flesh, right where the concoction soaked them. Makarov’s snarl broke into a gasp of pain, his body jerking as the poison coursed through him.

“I promised,” you seethed, leaning closer so he could feel the full force of your rage. “I promised I’d have your head. And I don’t break promises.”

banner credit

[natsaffection]

I’m sorry if this is too much to ask

I recently went through a breakup with my girlfriend (recently as in last night) and I need some Natty fluff and comfort. For an idea reader and nat are bestfriends and have been through S.H.I.E.L.D for many years before Nat was promoted to an Avenger and reader was left behind as an agent.

Reader broke up with their relationship a day before Nat got home from a mission(clarification that nat n reader share apartments) injured and its just the two worrying about eachother to mindlessly cuddle and comfort eachother.

could add in soft sex for plot but ill let you decide the rest 😞✊

Held Together. | N.R

Warnings: friends brake up, injury

Word count: 2,3k

A/n: Hey you. I know this isn't going to help you much, and I definitely want to lend you my ear if you ever want to talk about things like this. I know how it feels, and I also know that saying it will get better doesn't exactly help. So please don't hesitate to write to me. 🩵

The first time you saw Natasha, you were both in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility, hidden deep within the confines of a classified location. The facility was stark, all concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, with the faint scent of sweat and determination lingering in the air. You were new, just another recruit with a mysterious past, handpicked for reasons that weren't fully explained to you. But then again, secrecy was the foundation of S.H.I.E.L.D., and you had learned quickly that questions were often better left unasked.

Natasha stood out immediately. Not just because of her striking red hair, which seemed to catch the light even in the dullest corners of the room, but because of the aura of quiet confidence she exuded. She moved with a precision that spoke of years of experience, each step deliberate, each movement economical. It was clear that she was in a league of her own. But it wasn’t her skill that drew you to her, it was the look in her eyes. Beneath the stoic mask, there was a flicker of something familiar, something you recognized in yourself. The guarded pain of someone who had seen too much, too soon. The training sessions were brutal. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn’t coddle its recruits, and you were pushed to your limits, physically and mentally. But every time you faltered, Natasha was there, a silent presence at your side, pushing you to keep going. She wasn’t the type to offer comforting words or a reassuring pat on the back, but her actions spoke louder than any words could. She trained with you, sparred with you, and when you were both covered in bruises and gasping for breath, she would sit with you in the quiet moments, a rare smile tugging at her lips.

Over time, what began as mutual respect grew into something deeper. You found yourself seeking her out, not just in training but outside of it. Late nights in the common room, nursing cups of coffee and talking about everything and nothing at all. You learned that Natasha wasn’t just a hardened spy. She was fiercely intelligent, with a dry wit that could cut through any tension. She had a past that she kept close to the vest, but in those quiet moments, she would let slip little pieces of herself, and you would do the same. It was during one of those late-night conversations that you both discovered just how much you had in common. You shared a dark sense of humor, born from lives that had demanded you grow up too fast. You both knew what it was like to be used as a tool, to have your choices stripped away, and to fight tooth and nail to reclaim some semblance of control.

The turning point in your friendship came during a mission in Prague. You had been sent in as backup for Natasha, who was deep undercover, trying to extract a high-value target from an enemy compound. The mission had gone south, bad intel, compromised routes, everything that could go wrong did. Natasha was pinned down, outgunned and outnumbered, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you thought you might lose her. But you didn’t hesitate. You stormed the compound, using every skill you had learned, every lesson drilled into you during those grueling training sessions. You fought your way to her, the two of you battling side by side, back to back, until you managed to extract the target and make your escape.

When you were safely back at the extraction point, covered in dust and blood, Natasha had turned to you, her eyes fierce with a mix of adrenaline and gratitude. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave you was all you needed. From that moment on, you were partners in every sense of the word. There was an unspoken understanding between you..a bond forged in the heat of battle, one that neither of you questioned. Over the years, that bond only grew stronger. You became the team that everyone wanted on their mission, the pair that could get the job done no matter the odds. You were the calm to her storm, the steady hand that balanced her fierce determination. And she was your anchor, the one person you knew you could rely on, no matter what.

But it wasn’t all about the missions. There were moments of light in the darkness inside jokes that no one else understood, late-night movies when you both should have been sleeping, and the kind of trust that only came from knowing someone inside and out. You knew her favorite coffee order, the songs she hummed when she thought no one was listening, and the way she always checked her weapons twice before a mission, even when she didn’t need to. And she knew you, knew the nightmares that woke you in the middle of the night, the reason you kept your distance from most people, and the way you always carried that one memento from your past, a small token of a life you barely remembered. She never pushed, never pried, but her presence was a constant reassurance, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this world.

Then came the day when everything shifted. Natasha was summoned to Nick office a meeting that would change the course of both your lives. When she emerged, she looked different, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but there was something else too a distance, a sense of something slipping away. She told you about the Avengers, about the offer Fury had made. You could see the excitement in her eyes, the way her posture straightened as she spoke about it. And why wouldn’t she be excited? It was a chance to be part of something bigger, something that could change the world. You listened, nodded in all the right places, and when she asked what you thought, you plastered on a smile and told her how proud you were.

But inside, your heart ached. You knew that things would never be the same. You didn’t want to hold her back, didn’t want to be the reason she missed out on something extraordinary, but the thought of losing the connection you shared filled you with a dread you couldn’t shake. And slowly, that fear began to materialize.

As Natasha got more involved with the Avengers, the calls became less frequent, the visits even more so. You found yourself spending more time alone, throwing yourself into missions to drown out the loneliness. The once unbreakable bond you shared felt like it was fraying, the threads pulling apart one by one. The more you tried to reach out, the more distant she seemed, until one day, you realized that the Natasha you knew was almost a stranger to you now. She had new friends, new responsibilities, a new life. And where you once stood side by side, you were now watching from the sidelines, unsure of where you fit in her world anymore.

But the memories remained. Every time you walked past the training room, you could almost hear the echoes of your past conversations, the laughter that once filled the empty spaces. The ghost of what you had once had lingered, haunting you in the quiet moments. You didn’t know what the future held for you and Natasha, but one thing was certain: the bond you had shared was changing, evolving into something you couldn’t yet understand. And as much as it hurt, you knew that you had to find your place in this new reality, even if it meant doing it without her by your side.

The apartment felt too quiet, the silence oppressive as you sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the empty walls. Your things were mostly packed, boxes lining the hallway, and the last remnants of your life here waiting to be sealed up and carried away. You had made your decision the day before, the weight of it still sitting heavily in your chest.

You had ended it. Ended the friendship, the partnership, the life you had built with Natasha. The pain of watching her drift further away into her new life as an Avenger had become too much to bear. Every day had been a reminder of how much you were losing her, and it had finally reached a breaking point. You couldn’t stand being the one left behind anymore, always wondering when or if things would go back to the way they were. So, you had left a note on the kitchen table, explaining as best you could, trying to make her understand why you needed to leave, why you couldn’t keep living in the shadow of her new world. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it to her face, not after everything you’d been through together, so you had written the words, packed your things, and left the apartment.

But now, sitting in the empty space you once called home, the reality of what you’d done settled in, and it hurt more than you could have imagined. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to give up on what you had with Natasha, but you didn’t see any other way to protect your heart from breaking further. It was supposed to be simple. You would leave, and Natasha would come back to an empty apartment, read the note, and understand. She’d move on, and so would you. That was the plan.

Except plans never go the way you expect them to.

The sound of the front door creaking open jolted you from your thoughts. Your heart stopped as you heard footsteps heavy, uneven. Natasha was back. You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be gone, far away, already beginning the process of moving on. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Not yet. You stood up, feeling your heart race as you heard Natasha’s familiar footsteps drawing closer. When she finally appeared in the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. She looked exhausted, her skin pale, and there was a grimace on her face that she couldn’t quite hide.

But what really terrified you was the blood on her jacket and the way she was cradling her side as if trying to hold herself together. “Natasha..” you whispered, the word barely audible as the shock of seeing her like this hit you. Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, she just stared, as if trying to process that you were really there. “Y/n..?”

“You’re hurt.” you said, your voice trembling as you took a closer look. "It’s not as bad as it looks..” she replied, trying to offer a reassuring smile, but it faltered as she winced in pain. “Stop pretending.” you snapped, though your voice was laced more with worry than anger. “Why didn’t you go to the medbay?”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a strained sigh “I just..needed to come home.” she said softly, her eyes flickering around the room, taking in the packed boxes, the half-empty closet. “I thought you would be gone..?” The words hung in the air between you, heavy and filled with the tension of everything that had happened, everything that hadn’t been said.

“I was supposed to be..” you admitted. “Come here, let me help you with that.” She didn’t resist as you guided her to the bed, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as she tried to stay composed. You carefully unzipped her jacket, wincing at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages underneath. It wasn’t the worst injury you’d seen her with, but it was bad enough to make your hands shake as you reached for the first aid kit. She winced as you peeled the blood-soaked fabric away, revealing a nasty gash along her side. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep enough to require stitches.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion as you began to clean the wound, trying to keep your hands steady. “I didn’t want you to worry..” Natasha replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess that plan didn’t work out too well.”

“Damn it, Natasha..” you muttered, blinking back tears as you worked. “You can’t just..you can’t just keep doing this. Keeping things from me. Pushing me away.”

“I wasn’t trying to push you away.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just..I didn’t know how to handle all of this. You, the Avengers, everything. I thought I could balance it all, but I was wrong.” You paused, your breath hitching as the weight of her words settled over you. “Nat-” you started, but she cut you off.

“I read your note.” she said, her eyes glistening as she looked down at you. “I know why you left, and I can’t blame you. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I forgot about the one person who’s always been there for me. And now I’m scared I’ve lost you.” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you finished dressing her wound, your hands lingering on her skin for a moment longer than necessary. “You haven’t lost me.” you whispered, your voice shaking. “But I can’t keep living like this, Natasha. It’s tearing me apart..”

She reached out, her hand trembling as she cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing away your tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you.” You leaned into her touch, closing your eyes as the warmth of her hand seeped into your skin. “I know.” you whispered. “But things have to change. We can’t keep going like this.”

Natasha nodded, her own tears spilling over as she pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you as if she was afraid to let go. You buried your face in her shoulder, the scent of her familiar, comforting even through the layers of blood and sweat. You both held on to each other as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing keeping you from falling apart. For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with the sound of your combined breaths, the rise and fall of your chests in sync, the steady beat of her heart against your ear. “I don’t want to lose you..” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

“You won’t.” she promised, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I won’t let you.” There was a moment of silence, thick with unspoken emotions, and then, before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned in, pressing your lips softly to hers. The kiss was tender, hesitant, as if you were both afraid to break the fragile connection between you. But the moment your lips met, it was like something inside you both clicked into place, the distance and the pain melting away, replaced by the familiar warmth of being with each other. Natasha kissed you back, her lips moving slowly, carefully, as if savoring the moment. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

“I’m sorry..” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Shh..” Natasha murmured, her hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “We’ll figure it out.” You nodded, unable to speak as you felt the tears slipping down your cheeks. Natasha gently wiped them away, her touch so soft it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what the future held for you both, but in this moment, with her arms around you and her lips still tingling from the kiss, you felt a glimmer of hope.

Carefully, you helped her lie down on the bed, her head resting on the pillow as you pulled the blanket over her. But before you could move away, Natasha caught your hand, her grip surprisingly strong despite her exhaustion. “Stay with me.” she whispered, her eyes pleading. You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion as you crawled into bed beside her. Natasha immediately curled into you, her head resting on your chest, her arm draped over your waist. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close, as if you were afraid she might slip away if you let go.

The two of you lay there in silence, the only sound the soft rhythm of your breathing and the steady beat of your hearts. The tension, the hurt, the fear..it all seemed to fade away as you held each other, the warmth of her body against yours a balm to the wounds that had been festering between you for so long. You pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, your fingers gently stroking her hair as she sighed contentedly against you. “I love you, Nat..” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I love you too.” she murmured, her voice filled with so much tenderness it made your heart ache. You tightened your hold on her, burying your face in her hair as you let the weight of the day finally slip away. For the first time in a long time, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other. And as you both drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.