#Devils Tattoo Price

[githvyrik]

see the thing abt me is I take the roleplaying in video games so seriously that I just start making shit up about the character I play and their rich inner history and complications and motivations and hobbies and quirks. so basically I made up too much of a backstory and personality for my bg3 character and now I don’t even wanna finish the stupid game I just wanna play this character in a dnd campaign

[bibleofficial]

today has been so good i saw so many people like i got a walk-in done for this parlours walk-in day & she was so sweet & fun & she was the 1 i was WANTING to get done by !! THEN i went back home after running errands & FIRST i saw my neighbour that lives in the flat below me, Li, then KP was walking to Tesco & saw me so he popped over! & then TASKIN who lives in the building across from me walked back from getting a haircut & was chatting w him before he & i met this random floridian girl that lives in taskin’s building 😭😭😭 she’s so fucking funny omg i don’t even remember her name but she literally hate crimed me by saying i look like im from colorado

[poisonedprose]

I need way more sexworker!reader x cod characters

at this point i just need it to survive

₊˚✧ sex work! — headcanons about sex work with price, soap, and gaz !

john price, john 'soap' mctavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem!reader headcanons

warnings: lower case intended, might be typos, incomplete sentences, nsfw, cursing, sex work, tattooed reader - price, m!masturbation - price, f!masturbation - soap, cream pie - soap, m!masturbation - gaz, fleshlight use - gaz

masterlists

price ! ⋆ THIS FUCKER KNOWSSSSS

⋆ mr price over here was scrolling through the only fans home page

⋆ one girl caught his eye and low and behold she had the exact same tattoo in the exact same place as you

⋆ he was grinning like a fuckin devil when he realized

⋆ lil old you had dirty lil secrets? he was gettin a kick out of this

⋆ immediately subscribed. watching every single one of your videos. even rubbing one out.

⋆ the next day this cocky mf knocks on your door with a shit eating grin

⋆ "you never told me you had an only fans."

⋆ lets just say after that he is your top supporter also buys you cute little sets to make videos in

soap ! ⋆ he was suspicious but he didn't know for sure

⋆ him and his bad habit of not knocking was good for him bad for you

⋆ he walks in like he owns the place "hey, training starts- oh wow."

⋆ you guys just stare at each other for a good minute or so

⋆ you're just like "get out????"

⋆ his ass does not get out

⋆ that solo masturbation video you were planning? yeah now it's a 'getting caught by my coworker/friend and then getting cream pied' video!!!

⋆ anyways save to say soap is a new member of your onlyfans after that

gaz ! ⋆ not a damn clue, so blissfully unaware its painful

⋆ literally would have never guessed

⋆ then you sent him one of your videos and were like "do you think i should post this? idk if i like this set"

⋆ jaw dropped. mouth wide open. drooling. catching flies. he was not ready for THAT when he opened your text

⋆ hes so caught up with how fucking horny he got he didn't even realize you said post it

⋆ the convo went a lil something like (gaz is blue)

yeah, it looks really good but post it? on what??

of duh

of?? of what??

only fans

WHAT

⋆ begs to watch you film every time now

⋆ also shamelessly fucks himself with a fleshlight while watching you

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎┊ㅤㅤ💋 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

HAL, HEAR ME OUT !!! ghost coming home to wis wife on Easter, he thought he wouldnt manage to come back home in time, but Price dismisses him earlier, so he decides to surprise her by making a egg hunt for her, something she always said she liked to do when she was little, I KNOW THIS IS A SPECIFIC REQUEST, FEEL FREE TO DENY DEARIE, i just really love easter loool (and simon too)

love ur works, hal ❤

A Good Man

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Self-deprecating thoughts, allusions to Simon's past & trauma, delving into his psyche, angst, but a lot of fluff, Simon's POV

A/N: I knew I had to get this out before Easter actually came around so here it is early, Anon! This was an adorable request. Enjoy and have a happy holiday! <3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it. 

Skin shredded; showing every tear and rip with a thinly veiled sense of pride along with a detailed description of every bullet wound and burn. Rope tears along the forearms and red stab marks over the visible spine of his back. Tattoos that depict skeletons and war. He couldn’t tell you every life he had ended, but he could name names until his tongue went black and fell off; though he spared you the details. 

Simon Riley was a devil incarnate. Dead-eyed and robust of body. Muscles wound with promised death and the trigger finger to prove it. His life was measured in an hourglass, the sand cascading down like the blood from his knife after a kill; it would stop flowing, one day – abrupt and final. Simon Riley was a demon, a monster. Simon Riley was a Ghost. 

A ghost with an impeccable memory and a deep love for the woman currently on the living room couch. 

The man blinks, slate eyes taking in the steady rise and fall of your chest with a slow melting of his shoulders. He had a doubt that you had planned to fall asleep with the Tv on – or the floor lamp, for that matter. 

Its golden light slipped over your form, and he traced the flow of it as the voice of the news anchor went in one ear and out the other. Gradually, a hand slipped to the balaclava over his head as your lips let loose a grumble, nose nuzzling the feather pillow. 

Simon often found himself watching you sleep when he was home; how your face would lose all tension in those brief intermissions between oblivion and awakeness. When his own nights were restless, it helped to know that at least someone was at ease, especially if it was you. The fabric slips from his tired visage, the mess of blonde locks atop his head sticking this way and that; layered with the gleam of grease. As the black face-paint stains his sockets and spreads with a swipe of a stiff palm, the ever-constant cloud over his head peels back but for a brief moment of peace. 

His bag was still in the foyer, holding three months of dirty clothes and gear hostage in its zipped space; stained, and bloodied. The man himself wasn’t much better. 

It had been a long few months. 

Hooking the balaclava onto the belt of his cargo pants, Simon bends down on an achy knee, a grunt in his throat sounding off like a boar. Scarred fingers go to brush your cheek, though no words exit his mouth, no whispers of adoration. Just a glimmer in his eyes, a release of that furrowed line in the center of his forehead that seemed permanent these days. 

Staring, the faint twitch of his lips is the only tell at all that he was content at all, feeling your skin as a feather would slide over water. He takes down a breath.

There were few instances that Simon fully remembers from his childhood – most displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole – though there is one he refuses to lock away. His mother. He can’t help it, and before he can stop himself the words are spilling directly from his heart to his mouth. 

Hell, he really must be tired. 

“She’d of loved you, Sweetheart.” It’s like he’s startled by his own voice, head pulling back and walls going back up, but that delicate glimpse was enough. 

A gravel voice and manchester accent bleed together to form some piece of the puzzle that was his pure adoration for you; small cardboard cuts and divots that had been given over to create a picture. Simon Riley was a ghost, yes, the Ghost, but he was never that when he was home. 

He was just Simon to you.

Blue eyes study the small smile that blesses your face when the man runs his fingers into your hair and attentively separates knots; your body unconsciously molding to his touch. With a kiss on your forehead, Simon chooses to not wake you. It’s late, the man reasons, and he knows how hard it is for you to sleep when he’s gone. Almost as hard as it is for him when he can’t feel your weight on the opposite side of the thin mattress he’s cursed with in the barracks. 

Against his better judgment, he’d learned to love your contact; your presence next to him and the way you fit into his arms.

As gently as he’s able, the black ink of his tattooed arm slips under your shoulders, pushing between the cushion and your limp body to lie still. The other hooks around your knees, and with a pause to make sure you weren't going to wake up, Simon lifts you as easily as a piece of paper. Your weight lays comfortingly against his chest, shallow breath hitting his neck and he thinks for a moment just how it was possible to love something more than you can love anyone else that came before. 

“Simon…” Your voice brings goosebumps to his forearms, his fingers tightening over the shirt he now recognizes as his own clothing you. A smirk runs over his face. 

Lips caress his pulse, a nose taking in his scent of canvas and sweat; a tinge of barely restrained corruption, a soul more damaged than a window shattered into a million pieces.

How can you stand it? How could your body instinctively lay into him and give redemption willingly? 

Simon grips you ever closer, using his own body heat to lull you back to oblivion. He didn’t have an answer – probably never would – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t forever grateful. 

But he was a stiff man; a stoic one. 

He slips through the bedroom door, navigating in the dark as if his eyes had built-in night vision, and hums out, “it’s me. Go on – back to sleep now, Love.” 

Air communes with a soft grunt, and Simon watches from the side of his vision as your lids flicker open and closed. As desperate as the fight is, it’s over fairly quickly when he lowers you to the sheets, cupping your head and setting in on the pillow. 

Soft fingers wrap his lower arm, and with trapped breath, Simon watches your lips connect to the pale skin of his wrist before your form once more goes slack; ever the stubborn one to greet him even half-gone. Weak mumbles stuck forming ‘welcome home’ and ‘love you’ on a lead tongue garble to nothingness like a gargoyle’s stone speech. 

“Hmm.” The Lieutenant smirks as the area tingles, preening like a bird. There are many things to say to you, but he settles with a mumbled, “Don’t hog the sheets. Gotta go take care of the mess first, copy?” 

You don’t answer, of course. With a delicate pet on your head, Simon exits the room silently to take a shower and organize his gear; closing the door behind him only halfway so he can still keep an eye on you as he passes. Ever the neat partner, he wouldn’t go to sleep until all were in their proper places – clothes in the washer, knives and various licensed weapons in the nightstand, and paperwork in the office. 

There was a sanctity in this. A way to get rid of the lingering adrenaline of being on Base or in the field – deterioration of the mind but in such a way it would be described as a boil to a simmer. 

All of it is uneventful. 

He enters the kitchen with only a white towel around his waist sometime later, flicking on the lights and running his fingers through his damp hair before bee-lining to the fridge. If there needed to be a list made of the things he loved the most, it would be fairly short – only three. 

One, you, two, the adrenaline rush of a good deployment, and, finally, your food.  

Simon would listen to Johnny’s rambling for days if it ended with an excellent heaping plate of whatever you cooked for supper.

Opening the fridge, the man’s eyes widen, shimmering with azure glass.

“Fuckin’ hell, Sunshine,” he breathes to himself, hand reaching inside the box with fervor, “you’ve been busy, then, eh…? Bloody feast in ‘ere.” 

The Lieutenant drags out a heaping plate of steak and potatoes – a side of greens covered in plastic and a sticky note on top. 

‘Save for Simon.’ 

The food didn’t look older than a day or two…did you save him some of your meals every once and a while just in case he would show up?

He grunts, re-reading your chicken scratch with a swelling of his chest and a foreign heat on his cheeks. Simon moves to the oven, preheating it and placing a cooling rack on a metal pan over parchment paper. Damned if the man would mess up your masterpiece; he’d reheat it properly. 

With minimal noise, he waits for the meat to be done and settles on placing the potatoes in the microwave with the greens for time's sake. Standing in the kitchen, his eyes gradually fall closed, their weight heavy. But his ears perk at the faint pitter-patter of bare feet. 

The sneaking arms around his waist don’t startle him, and with a sigh on his lips, Simon feels you melt into the curve of his open skin. A head connecting with his spine. 

“Thought I brought you back to bed?” He whispers, flesh melding to you like hot iron, a scarred hand resting over the one that’s on his abdomen. 

Your nose nestles into the burns over his back, and even if you couldn’t see it – the sudden sweep of vulnerability is nearly heard. You lay a kiss and think no more of it, but Simon shivers with beautiful agony; eyes gazing off.

“...Erm,” you groan, fingers tracing the build of his ribs, “needed to hold you.” Your breath stills – half-asleep. “You’re…here?”  

Simon chuckles, hearing it echo off the walls.

“I’m ‘ere, Love. Few more bloody cuts,” he breathes, “but I’m here.” 

“Good. Missed you.” A second of kisses and distant blue eyes. Muffled yawns into his flesh. “Didn’t think you’d be back in time for Easter.” 

Simon twists, aware of the delicate fold of his towel, and lifts your fatigued form onto the counter, settling you down so you don’t fall sideways. He blinks down at you, cupping your cheek when your neck gets too heavy to hold up. Your lids rapidly move, your nose scrunched at the overhead light and the man knows you’re only awake because he’s home. 

He utters out to you, faces close, “The Old Man let me off early,” and lays a peck to your forehead, holding his lips there for a long second. Mutters into your skin, “prickly bastard’s been antsy – hasn’t had a good drink in weeks. Was about ready to strangle someone.”

She’s warm.

His body slots itself between your legs, one arm around your back and the other placed on the counter. Simon’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and with a groan of satisfaction, he feels your fingers go through his locks; itching at his scalp dreamily. 

“...Dunno whether to thank him or send ‘em to a therapist.” You whisper, kissing his neck, unable to keep your hands off each other for a mere second. 

“Better to place money on the both.” His grumbled words are barely heard. “I’ve got two weeks ‘fore they need me back.” 

A soft hum is all he gets before the timer goes off and he takes down a breath, forcing himself to peel back from you and grab his supper. 

By the time the both of you are in bed, he’d nearly forgotten about your comment, and as he stroked your hair and felt you bring him closer under the covers, he remembers. He’d asked Price to give him two weeks on account of the holiday you’d loved so much – Easter – and had used the Captain's deteriorating attitude as a pry. It had been easy enough, the two had known each other for a long time. They knew their breaking points. 

Sometimes living around a handful of other men formed unbreakable bonds of brotherhood, and while that was true for 141, it was also a pain in the ass. People long for home at the end of it – a soft touch and sweet kisses. There’s only so long you can go with yelling orders into the same faces and playing Poker in a shitty safehouse.

Simon never thought he’d be worthy of it, a home, but here he is regardless and here he would stay. And he knew Easter was your favorite time of the year, and he also knew that Easter was…tomorrow. His dead eyes widened. 

The plan formed quickly, his strategic mind helping as it always does, and as he snuck out of bed and laid his lips to yours in a tiny kiss, a shirt was tossed on along with boxers. You never heard the door to the garage door opening, just snuggled back up to the pillow and an old t-shirt he’d placed in his spot instead; inhaling his calming scent.

—

When the sun had risen an hour ago and Simon had finished with heavy fingers. Groaning, the back of a hand meets a forehead, trying to swipe away sleepiness as one would a fly. But he says nothing, feet hitting the floor as he enters the kitchen, an object held in his palm that was quickly stashed in the breadbox.

This was childish, he knew, not at all like the deadly Lieutenant of TF-141. Like Ghost. The boys would tease him relentlessly if they found out.

“Simon…?” Your voice draws him back, and with a look over his shoulders, he finds you wrapped in the comforter like a mouse. “What are you doing out here?” 

The lie comes easily.

“Fixin’ breakfast.” Your eyes flicker to the open breadbox, eyebrows furrowing. A smirk grows and you walk over with a laugh living in your expression. 

“I don’t even trust you to toast bread, Love, go sit down. You’ve been stuck on rations for too long.” Simon only steps back, gazing over your head and seeing your hand pause. “I’ll make us some…” 

He watches as he loves to do, memorizing the parting of your lips and the recognition lighting like a shy fire. The man smiles then, and it is a delicate thing; an expression not tainted with sarcasm or deception. 

Your hand delves into the box and pulls out a plastic egg softly as if it would snap in two. 

It’s cheap, made of thin plastic and fading in colors of the shade of pastel pink. Chipping. There’s nothing inside of it, just a bare piece of holiday joy that never meant too much to anyone beyond children. But with how you’re staring up at him, Simon thinks all the searching in the bins from the garage was worth it. 

“What’s this?” Your voice wraps him close, and your hand holds the object close. Simon shrugs, digging deep into your vision. 

“I’ve the faintest idea, Sunshine.” The giggle flies to his cold heart and he pulls you to his chest to still the raging of it. “My guess,” he raises a stiff brow, “intruder broke in, yeah?” 

“Did this intruder have ears and a pink nose?” You ask, noses brushing. “A hop in his step, maybe?” 

“Hell if I know,” Simon grunts, eyes flickering away before he can break before you. “Best get my gun just in case – you’ll ‘ave to find the rest ‘o the bastard things, though.”

You kiss him then, and he captures the back of your head, holding you to him as if you’d disappear if he let go. He doesn't know what you did to possess him so, to make his thoughts be only of you even when he’s halfway around the world. Were you an angel? A shred of light made physical? Perhaps an embodiment of all the good in the universe? 

Simon had no answer, as he usually did when it came to you, and you sighed into him, whispering redemption to his soul. 

You said you loved him, and he said it back with every ounce of him that was untouched by death. And then you pulled from him with a laugh that could throw away darkness and disappeared with promises of finding the remaining eggs. Like a loyal hound of hell, Simon followed, pulling on the comforter to slow you down so you don’t trip. He would always follow.

The vision of a good life starts with a view of the present. Who you choose to care about; how you make meaning of nothing but a shared morning and a memory of youth. Simon does not remember much of his childhood. Most of the memories are displaced in the back of his mind with a barbed wire fence and a door with no keyhole. Cast away. 

Coated in fear and lies.

Some days he asks how he can still call himself Simon Riley – it’s the name of a dead man, after all…and then he looks at your beaming face, and his question is answered as fast as it was thought up. 

You deserve Simon Riley, not Ghost. Not a devil incarnate or Dead-eyed. A demon, or a monster. If there was even a shred of purity left in him, that was what he knew beyond doubt. 

Simon Riley was selfish, he admitted, and he was loathed to leave you…so here he would stay. Hiding easter eggs and giving veiled hints when you were close to one near the planted flowers in the backyard. There was a simplicity that the man bathed in – the blatant enjoyment of a plain life. 

With a chuckle in the back of his throat, Simon pushes off the back porch and makes a comment about how you were closer to the dead bird you had buried in the garden bed than an egg. A flick of your middle finger leaves him smirking, and he splays a hand over your back, angling your body farther north. The kiss left on his stubbled cheek makes him warmer than he wants to admit; cold eyes soften.

If such a thing as a good man existed, Simon Riley knew he was not it…but he was trying to be damn near close. Until then, the ring he had bought would stay in his office.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @shoe1412, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @john-pricee, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 33 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

As it turns out, the Underworld provides a whole slew of services designed to deal with circumstances just like this. Medical care, emergency home repair–and body disposal, all for the price of a handful of gold coins.

You sit with John as a man your lover so descriptively calls Doc sews up Wick’s wounds. There is blood on your face, and your silk pjs. Dog sits on your foot, clearly anxious about letting either one of you out of his sight. In the same spirit, John’s good hand is clasped in yours, or yours in his–neither of you have been able to let go. 

Another man known simply as Charlie orchestrates the removal of the collection of corpses through the house. Yet more tattooed tradesmen work on boarding up the blown out window in the kitchen with a big piece of plywood. 

It’s a miracle, really, the house didn’t burn down. 

“Thought you’d left all this behind you, John?” asks Doc, making a neat knot in the former assassin’s side. 

“So did I.”

“What will you do?”

“The same thing I always do when I’m lost. Talk to Winston.” 

The two men share a snort of laughter you don’t entirely understand. 

When Doc finishes with John he gives you a bottle of pain meds, and a bottle of what are, as far as you can tell, pharmacy grade amphetamines. “In case he has to work again.” You take them with wide eyes and a nod, praying to whatever devil might be listening that that won’t be necessary. 

You’re fairly certain that no one up above is interested in any of you anymore. 

You killed a man. 

You killed a man with a gun to save John, and you do not feel sorry at all. 

Numb, perhaps, but not sorry. 

John groans as he adjusts himself on the couch. You reach out to steady him, helping him best you can. He is heavy, and you look at the stairs with doubt. “Maybe we should sleep down here tonight?”

He blinks at you, undoubtedly thinking you incredibly naïve. “We can’t stay here, baby. It’s not safe.”

“Where will we go?” 

“We’re going to the city,” says John, sounding weary as a man twice his age. “I know a place. Can you drive?”

You have to admit you’re a little dizzy from the whiplash. In the span of a few hours, you’ve gone from being locked up like a princess in the castle, to murdering a man, and now John is going to let you drive?

He must read the blatant surprise on your face. He doesn’t like it, his grip tightening on your hand. “These are bad, bad men who would eat you for breakfast. You’ve got to stick with me.” 

You bristle at this, because even though you absolutely should be thinking about escape? You’re not. You were thinking about how you were going to manage taking care of him in this state, and it pisses you off that he’s still so fucking worried about controlling you that he can’t see the writing written in blood on the wall. 

Or at least, written in blood, on the kitchen floor. 

“You asshole,” you say for the second time tonight. It wins you a lordly scowl that for some fucked up reason thrills you to the tips of your toes. But it’s too late to turn back now. “Were you there, when I fucking shot a man for you? Maybe this is just business as usual for you, but it’s fucking new to me.”

He clenches his other fist on his knee, seeming to count to ten with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he finally grinds out. “I know…Are you alright?”

You guess that you put up a good enough front that he forgot that maybe he should ask. Good on you. Maybe.

“No, not really,” you answer truthfully. “But I don’t have any choice, do I?”

He actually has the grace to cast his eyes down, seeming to really think on what you’re saying. “You had a choice,” he muses quietly, his thumb sliding over your knuckles. “In the kitchen.”

You stroke Dog’s head for something to do with your other hand, which is shaking. Your thundering heart beats painfully in your chest. From the corner of your eye you take in this anomaly of a man. This man, who kidnapped you, who has been playing mental games with you for months, who has kept you prisoner, who has taken your body to heights you never even knew were possible, who has spoiled you, who has adored you and degraded you all in the same breath–this man, who somehow, you know you love with your whole heart. 

“John…” He tilts his head to look at you, his eyes glazed with pain. You’re not sure if it’s physical or mental at this point. “Did you really think I could shoot you?”

Perhaps he did, because in his mind, the only acceptable answer to a wrong against you is murder. 

Perhaps in the brutal world he’s occupied since he was just a child, it is. 

Suddenly he can’t meet your eyes. “Maybe I would deserve it, y/n.”

The fact that he knows that is definitely a good sign. 

But the tricky truth is–it wasn’t all bad. And the good? The good was almost worth the bad, you dare to think now that you’ve survived it. You know better than to say that, because you know you are in the midst of a negotiation right now.

“I love our life together, when you’re sweet to me, John. I only want to murder you when you boss me around. And I only mean that figuratively.”

A huff of laughter escapes him; there is a glimmer of hope in his miserable dark eyes. You know it’s insane, after everything he’s done, but you feel sorry for this man. 

“If you would just treat me as an equal, instead of constantly trying to control me…” I’ll be your ride or die. You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud yet. He already has enough power over you. “Do you think…that’s something we can work on?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, when slowly he nods, bringing your knuckles to his lips to kiss them. “If you don’t want to murder me after everything I’ve done to you…maybe anything is possible.”

You on the other hand, can only blink. Did you just hear what you think you heard? 

That blood-pressure induced ringing has returned to your ears again. The explosion and gunfire surely didn’t help, but somehow this is far more momentous to you. Your surprise for the magnitude of this admission surprises you, and you must show it in the lift of your brows. It makes him smile ruefully; you’re not sure why the sight of it squeezes your heart so. 

You are not so stupid as to think this traumatic event has healed him miraculously, knocked some loose screw back into place. The mind doesn’t work like that. But just maybe, it did put some things into perspective. You are allies now against a mutual cause, rather than enemies of each other. And just maybe, when you tell him that you don’t want to leave him, he will actually believe you from now on. 

“Anyway…I can drive the Rover…” you say with confidence, even though you are still utterly flabbergasted he’d even give you the opportunity. “I don’t know about the ‘Stang.” The Mustang you think you could manage in an emergency, but it’s been a long time since you had to drive a stick, and being responsible for his baby doesn’t sit well with you. 

“That will do.” He grumbles, mostly to himself, “I’ve got to teach you to drive. There is so much I need to teach you.”

You’re not sure what he means by that. You are too tired to hash it out completely right now, but you sense that something, a whole lot of something, has changed in the past few hours between you.  

He makes to get to his feet with a groan–and can’t quite. “Maybe I am too old for this shit,” he grouses. 

“John, you got shot, stabbed, and fought off ten heavily armed assassins. I think you can count tonight as a win.”

Again, that bitter huff of laughter escapes him. You help John to his feet, trying to steady him as best you can. If he’d injured one of his legs badly you would be so fucked; there was no way you could carry him.

“Um…who were they?” You realize you haven’t even talked about who was just trying to kill him. You suppose you already think you know the answer, but then again you could be wrong.

“Camorra goons, I’m pretty sure,” hisses John, clearly in pain. “Guess I should have kept someone alive for questioning…I’ve always been bad at that.”

You press your lips, because it shouldn’t be funny…but if you don’t laugh about it, you might cry. Your life has been so weird lately, it almost just seems par for the course in a way. 

“John…” you chortle and sigh. “Surely the d’Antonio kid gets the picture now? You’ve killed everyone he’s sent after you? Why can’t these assholes just leave you alone?” Why the prince of the Camorra would court such trouble is beyond you. 

“Good question.” He groans as he takes a step, his good arm slung over your shoulder. “The young ones, especially the second or third generation, think they have to prove themselves. Or maybe…he loved his mother and wants me dead. It’s a faint possibility.” 

“Italian boys and their mothers.” 

John chuckles a little, then winces. “Please, sweetheart,” he entreats you. “Don’t make me laugh.” 

Maybe you are a silly creature, but hearing the endearment for you warms something in your heart that had been left out in the cold for too long. “Fine,” you agree, even though humor is absolutely your biggest coping mechanism. “Tell me what we need to do next?” 

“We need to pack.”

“Ok. What?”

“Suits, and guns.” 

You guess in a nutshell, that was the essential distillation of his world, once upon a time. Now, quite against your will, you both are being kicked back into it. By the look in John’s dark eyes, for some reason you have a feeling it’s the Camorra who are going to regret it. 

[variety-fangirl]

Multi-faves (ongoing):

A wonderful masterlist for both myself and others (yourself) to explore. Will be continuously updating.

There will be a mix of smut, angst and fluff. I've only just started so bare with!

Also my fave 18+ links 😏. NO MINORS.

NONE OF THESE ARE MINE. CREDIT WILL BE GIVEN.

The fandoms-

COD:

Poly TF141-

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader by @i-am-hungry-24-7

Cherry Bomb (tattoo parlour au) by @swordsandholly

On The Run by @angel-eyes-and-devil-hearts

Soap and Ghost spying on you by @simonbrain

Simon Riley-

Dog Tags by @starstruckmiraclekitty

Riding Simon by @sunsetsimon

Being Protective by @dante-mightdie

Mechanic Simon by @ebodebo

Needy Sleepy Simon by @deunmiu-dessie

Car Sex by @oceantornadoo

Staring at You by @y-ckysstuff

Work Wife by @stargirlrchive

Nightmare in the Daylight by @ghostedbunnie

Mail order Bride by @bi-writes

No Warnings by @khioneee

John Price-

Filling you up good by @dumbbitchgalore

Possessive Over Assistant Reader by @evermoreal

Appreciation after you gave birth to his baby by @dumbbitchgalore

Lavender & Whiskey by @staytrueblue

Johnny Mctavish-

Try Me by @forsworned

Fade Into You by @frudoo

König:

Size Difference by @amaranthinespirit

COD 18+ Links:

Captain John Price by @riddlesweater

Multi by @bigguyenthusiast

Multi and Multi by @mrsparrasblog

COD ART:

Simon Undressing 🥵 by @tassodelmiele

Shirtless Price 🤤 by @tassodelmiele

Price tied up 🥵 by @tassodelmiele

JJK:

Gojo-

Pirate!Gojo x reader by @nezuscribe

His Moans by @urinejaeger

I Want You To Want Me by @goxjo

Toji-

Making You Want to be Mine by @metranart

The Grudge by @screampied

Virgin by @screampied

Sukuna-

Tight Fit by @m-ayo-o

Not Saying I Love You Before Sleeping by @kbwrites

Riding Him by @lxnarphase

My oh My by @tonycries

Pussy Drunk Sukuna by @tonycries

Pornstar Sukuna by @webism

Incubus Sukuna by @fatherbrat

Artist Sukuna by @rubyarerosies

Boxer Sukuna by @soleilchanson

Soft Sukuna by @lovegasmic

Megumi-

You Noticed Me by @lokissweater

Choso-

Pornstar Choso by @webism

Multiple men-

Hot to Go by @tonycries

I-T-G-I-R-L by @tonycries

Sweetest (cream)pie by @screampied

18+ Links:

Multi by @wild-jackalope

Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara cuddling by @tikklil

JJK Art:

Geto as Ghost Face by @aransmind

Moon Knight:

Stranger Things:

ST 18+ Links:

Enjoy lovelies!

[maisen13]

The devil is real

Sukuna x reader

smut oneshot

i might rewrite the ending.

«Are you sure you can handle this sweetheart?” Sukuna said looking down at you with an evil grin. You weren’t so sure about how you ended up in this heated situation. Sukuna pinned you to the wall and eyed you like you were his next meal, which you probably were.

It all started when you walked into the hotel and bumped into this guy by accident. That guy ended up being Sukuna, a man most would tremble just to be in his presence. But something about him was so attractive. You couldn’t help it, his facial tattoos and muscular body were enough to start a waterfall between your legs.

He had been so terribly sorry about bumping into a pretty lady such as you, so he had asked you out for a drink. Anybody in their right mind would have said yes, so you obviously agreed to it. The bar you went to wasn’t so very far away from the Hotel, only a 10-minute walk.

He had paid for a few of your drinks and had danced with you on the dance floor. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. After your seventh shoot of the night and an hour of dancing, he had asked if you wanted to go back to the hotel with him. If you had been a little more sober you would probably have told him no, oh god who were you kidding, you would have said yes either way.

The hotel room was not very fancy, it had a decent toilet and a king-size red double bed. You took off your shoes that had made your feet pound on the way here and made your way to the bed. But before you reached the bed, Sukuna grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the open wall. There he clasped your arms above your head and looked down at you.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” He said with his free hand holding your cheeks. You didn’t have a chance to reply before he smashed his lips on yours. He tasted like alcohol, which wasn’t so weird with the fact that you had just drunk it.

He pushed one of his legs between yours, grinding it into your clothed pussy. The alcohol was getting to your head, and your legs felt like they could give out any second. If it hadn’t been for his strong hold on your writs, you were sure that your legs would have given up on you.

Your tongues fought for dominance, but his won. The hand that had held your face in place moved to grop your left boob. The overwhelming feeling of his leg grinding against you and the hand massaging your boob, was enough to make you moan loudly into the kiss.

He let go of your hands and boob and lifted you by your ass. Your pussy was now on the same level as his dick, without thinking so much as a thought, your body started to grind against him to reveal some friction.

It felt good almost intoxicating. His tongue went far down your throat tasting the inside of your mouth like a starved caveman. Big strong hands massaged your soft ass. This man had barely done anything and yet you felt as if the world was spinning.

He pulled away from your mouth breathing just as hard as you were. “What a good girl you are, let’s see if we can keep it that way” A shiver went down your spine. The wetness in your pants could probably overflow a desert.

He carried you to the blood-red bed, carried you like a feather like the weight of your mortal body was nothing to his almost godly self. Carefully, he laid you down on the velvet soft sheets. But do not mistake him for a gentleman for the piercing gaze in his scarlet red eyes could tell any person with a soul that he was from the deepest part of hell. Even if you knew this or not your body still burned as if you were Icarus flying too close to the flaming sun.

Sukuna stood at the end of the bed staring down at you lustfully and terrifyingly. The hair on your body stood up as if Zeus himself were about to strike you with his lightning bolt. He ripped off his shirt with a price you didn’t even want to imagine. His lean body was full of tattoos, tattoos that no ordinary man would have.

It creaked in the bed as he put his body weight on it, crawling towards you like a hunting lion. Your heart was beating fast just like an antelope trying to outrun the sharp teeth of a hungry lion.

If it weren’t for a few too many shots you had taken without a care in the world, you would have left the intimidating situation. In all the years of your sexual life, you had never felt so trapped. Even though your mind and soul were screaming at you to leave, to get out of there, to run until blood suffocated you through your fatigued lungs. Your body had other wants and needs, it felt as though every particle of your body wanted him.

The body overthrew the mind as he crawled over you. “let’s get this useless dress off your body” His words did not even process through your mind before the cold air surrounding your already overheating body. You were now only in a black silk bra and matching panties. “How cute, too bad we have no use for them”

You would think that a muscular man like him would be warm like the god of the flames had blessed him with his inner blaze. However this was not the case, his cold finger danced along your sensitive skin. Going from your navel to the edge of your bra, he did not stop the icing-cold movements until he reached the clips of your bra. He undid it with only one hand, the other one just as cold had found its way to your clothed but socked hole.

The bra had found its way to the floor, and your panties were halfway down your legs. The embarrassment of being naked colored your cheeks into a rose-red color. You had always felt comfortable in your own body, but something about this man, if he even was a man, felt unnerving. “Your body is as of a goddess, the oil-soft skin, the golden glow of your hair. If I hadn’t heard the fast pace of your weak heart I would have thought you immortal. However, you are just a fragile human girl, who I can so easily shatter like the thin ice on a river in the early morning of November”

The loud gasp from your trembling lips created a devilish smirk on his red lips from the heated kiss just moments before. “You make it sound like you’re not a human yourself” He stared at you, not saying anything. You stared at each other for only a few seconds, seconds that felt like an eternity, until he slowly without breaking eye contact lowered his head between your legs. “I will not deny you neither will I tell you you’re right. If I’m human or not, mortal or immortal I will still pleasure you better than any man known to mankind would or could.” After he said that he broke the intense contact and liked your wetness.

His tongue felt like a gift from the heavens itself. The pleasure was breathtakingly enchanting, was this a creation from a god or a devil? You felt cursed, bewitched, but also divine. It was addicting the way his tongue moved around your folds.

You could already feel an orgasm approaching through your veins. The whole world had stopped and for this few minutes were only for the two of you. Like the world was not allowed to proceed while the two of you became one.

A finger went through your pulsating hole, teasing its way into you, making your eyes wide and your fingers gripping the sheets. He was a man true to his words, he could make you feel more pleasure from just his tongue and one finger than any other man could have.

You looked down at him and made eye contact. This was it you thought, this orgasm would be the end of you. How could an orgasm be more pleasurable than this? It was probably possible to die of too much pleasure.

It hit you like a bus, the pleasure went from your clit and traveled through your veins through your whole body. Many unholy words left your lips as he helped you ride out your very intense orgasm. “I never thought a girl like you could taste good, I have heard through many years of my life that girls like you tasted like unwashed carrots, however, you do not. It’s sweet and arousing. I’m afraid that if any men get the taste of you they would want you as their own. Your taste can make any man greedy with want for something a lot better than themselves”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, was it a compliment? As you looked at him dazed you couldn’t help but notice the big wet stain in his pants. Had he too orgasmed? “Now my little fallen angel, I want you to sit in my lap and ride me. Hmm? You don’t want that? After I had put in so much work for your pleasure you don’t want to repay me? And here I thought you were just a filthy slut so desperate to be filled with my cock. If you want to be a brat, then go on be a brat. I will make sure you apologize later like the good girl I know you can be”

He stood up and took off his remaining clothes. His dick was blessed in both size and length. With a red tip and precum running down the length. “Get on all fours with your ass towards me” His words were colder and more stern. You did as he said with your ass in the air and head in the pillows.

A hand spanked your ass hard enough to leave a mark of a handprint for you to find later. Only vibrations of a moan were heard in the room from the spank on your ass, the pillow was stopping most of the sounds from coming out. Sukunas hand traced your ass just where he had spanked it. His fingers were still made of ice, even the temperature in the room felt as though it had dropped a lot.

You could feel something lining up to your entrance and slowly making its way inside of you. The pain was burning inside of you, a fire you could not take out. You groan into the pillow in agony. Normally it would not hurt this much, but he was just too big. “Breath sweetheart, my dick isn’t getting any smaller” He was right, it got in fact not smaller, but rather bigger.

“What are you so big for?” Your voice was hoarse from the first orgasm. He did not answer you, however, he started to slowly pull out. Before he slammed back in again, making you gasp. He continued this method a few more times, and to your surprise, it worked. The more he slammed back in the more pleasure you felt.

It did not take long before stuffed moans could be heard in the room as well as skin slapping. He was going at a rather fast pace, grunting here and there.

His cold fingers held you in place, ensuring you weren’t going anywhere. “Only a god could make a being like me feel this good, but here you are doing the impossible. Maybe I should take you for myself and make you mine so that I can use your soft body as much as it pleases me, hmm? You would like that wouldn’t you?” His words went in one of the ears and then out through the other.

Your skin was burning like a forest fire, besides you were not sure if you even could hold your hips up to his level without his grip. Suddenly your legs were moving and you were now lying on your back in the now messy sheets.

It was hard to keep your eyes open, even so, you could still see a few glances of Sukuna. God was he beautiful, he looked like he was sent from heaven. Nevertheless, you knew better than to think of him as an angel when he was a devil disguised as an angel. Do you know what they say about the devil? They say that the devil can be beautiful. A fallen angel, roaming the earth looking for its new victim which now was you.

He grabbed a hold of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. “Keep your eyes on me, darling, I want you to watch me destroy you” You were not sure if he meant destroying your body or your mind. However you did not feel as threatened as you did before, perhaps this was the work of the devil.

His grip on your neck did not loosen up, it was hard to breathe. Dizziness corrupted your mind and your vision started to blacken. Panic formed in the pit of your stomach, and made its way to your brain. You tried to push his hand away from your neck, but he did not move an inch. The last thing you saw before pacing out was his crazy smile.

A cold breeze hit your face waking you from your slumber. At first, you were confused and disorientated. Until you remembered your night with that stranger, well he wasn’t a stranger, Sukuna, a devil in disguise.

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

thank you so much for reading (: please leave a note if you liked it<3

[mistydeyes]

matching tattoos

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: What matching tattoos would you and the 141 get together?

pairing: 141 x Reader

warnings: none

a/n: got my first tattoo recently so while I was sitting in the chair, I came up with this idea :)

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

Price, to me, would love delicate line work. To him, it's very clean and won't fade as easily as color. He might get a matching one a few years down the line, just when he knows you're here to stay. You both like the idea of matching objects, a paper crane, lighter/cigarette, or a satellite. I feel like the satellite idea would be great as you always bring Price back home when he's on deployment. Plus, on its own its an innocuous tattoo but when you're together it just makes so much sense.

soap

I feel like you both would get fun quirky tattoos together! It would be more of a spur-of-the moment decision and you would book the appointment either that day or as soon as possible. You would laugh as you both went under the needle and proudly showed your friends. If you didn't want a big piece, then I could see you getting the walkie talkies or the little gunshot on your arm/leg. If you were the opposite, then you and Soap would decide on the astronaut and diver piece, proudly showcasing them on your arm.

ghost

Okay he'll take some convincing! He only has one massive tattoo and wasn't looking for anymore. However, if he did indulge into your pleas then he would get something that fits the theme. I love the realistic skulls and I feel like he would go for that one more. But if he wanted something a little more silly (definitely have to beg him for it) then I like the idea of small dancing skeletons or the angel/devil. Originally, he wanted you to have the angel based on your personality but you convinced him otherwise saying, "Then you'll always have an angel on your side." He would nod, secretly knowing that you were the only angel for him.

gaz

Similar to Ghost, Gaz is a little bit younger so I feel like both of you would have some fun with it. I love love love the primary colors tattoo because I feel like it would offer an amazing contrast on your skin tones. The wishbone and dragon are also cute because they are paired together. The dragons are a little bit silly but he thinks the design is so cool and badass. Since he's mister test flights and falling out of helicopters, this would be a cute pick with a funny backstory on his part. With the small wishbones, I could imagine Gaz rubs his fingers on it when he's away from you, wishing for the best.

[gothicfairytopia]

Like the music in the new Hunger Games movie but not really know anything about folk/bluegrass/country? Here are some quick recs to get you started!

(This is not comprehensive and the genres here are a little whack, these are just songs I listen to as someone raised on good Appalachian vibes. Not necessarily from just Appalachian artists, particularly in the second section. Just think it’s nice that people are getting more exposure to folk + bluegrass!)

Protest Songs / Coal Criticism

(Hazel Dickens I would give you smooches.. also these are just the ones living in my playlists rn)

“You’ll Never Leave Harlan Alive,” Patty Loveless

“The L and N Don’t Stop Here Anymore,” Jean Ritchie

“Coal Tattoo,” and I’m exercising my free will and linking the Hazel Dickens version

“The Yablonski Murder,” Hazel Dickens

“Coal,” Tyler Childers

“Trip to Hyden,” Tom T. Hall

“Coal Miner’s Daughter,” Loretta Lynn

“Devil Put the Coal in the Ground,” Steve Earle

Assorted Personal Favorites

(where my love for Sierra Ferrell is really on display)

“West Virginia Waltz,” Sierra Ferrell

“Across the Great Divide,” Nanci Griffith

“Blue Ridge Mountain,” Hurray for the Riff Raff

“Iowa (Traveling, Pt. 3),” Dar Williams

“Rhododendron,” Bella White

“Boulder to Birmingham,” Emmylou Harris

“Silver Dollar,” Sierra Ferrell

“Hands of Time,” Margo Price

“Lilacs,” Waxahatchee

“Way of the Triune God,” Tyler Childers

“The Dreaded Spoon,” Ricky Skaggs + Bruce Hornsby

“Preacher in the Ring, Pt. 1,” Bruce Hornsby

“The Green Rolling Hills of West Virginia,” Hazel Dickens

“Rocky Top,” The Osborne Brothers

“Do You Think About Me At All,” Bella White

“In Dreams,” Sierra Ferrell

[intheholler]

east tennessee native here, and we don't call them "halfbacks" but the problem is just awful. we have about 30,000 people in my town and most of them live in the older, eastern part of town, and range from poverty-level to middle class. but those "halfbacks" have been tearing up our natural ridges, buying up lake property that used to be priced reasonably for the middle class, and selling it all to other rich folks or to development companies, or using them as vacation houses for a month or two a year.

what's worse is that the local government thinks that pandering to them is the best option since they're rich. our tax dollars aren't going towards upkeep and renovation for the older part of town, which has many more people, but to developing the beautiful forested ridges and farmland on the western end into upper-middle class, cookie-cutter house subdivisions, or worse.

then the devils decided to build a community center - which would be great, if it was in a place accessible to everyone. instead, they build it way out on the west end, too far for those without transportation to walk, and the real kicker is that, even though our tax dollars fund and maintain it, they still charge you a fee to enter. it's plain out tailored to the rich folks.

i don't know what to do about it other than get sad. i'm sick and tired of rich folks and northern conservatives buying out our land and then coming down here and pretending we've ever thought like they did, or that they could ever fit in with the salt of the earth when they're the scum of the earth.

"i'm sick and tired of rich folks and northern conservatives buying out our land and then coming down here and pretending we've ever thought like they did, or that they could ever fit in with the salt of the earth when they're the scum of the earth."

tattoo. that. on. my. ass.

man. reading this ask stoked a real ancient anger in me. i don't know what to do except be sad, neither. sad n pissed.

the speed with which the general sentiment went from "fuck appalachia, let's just saw yall off into the ocean" to "i can fix her with my old money and my backwards politics, actually" liked to gave me whiplash.

atp, id rather them stay home, keep their uninformed beliefs about appalachia and let us in peace to do our thing. better than them coming up the holler and cutting down a tree just to make an expensive sign telling us we're spellin hollow wrong

solidarity, east tn <333

[rebelrevenant]

9 BOOKS I PLAN TO READ IN 2025

Tagged by @aunteat TYSM!

Faust by Goethe: Rereading Tale of the Body Thief got me in the mood to actually sit and read this pure poetry. I have to read it slowly because almost every single line slaps. It's just absurd how good the prose are.

The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky: Almost finished with The Idiot and it is so tender and beautiful and hilarious. I find I am so in love with the tragically fictional Prince Myshkin that I, too, am doubting my sanity. If The Brothers Karamazov is even better, as most tend to champion as superior, then give it to me immediately.

Blood and Gold by Anne Rice: In 2024 I reread The Vampire Armand, Tale of the Body Thief, and Memnoch the Devil, so let's give Marius de Romanus his time in the sun (but not really, that kills the man, or rekills him, rather).

The Return of the King by Tolkien: Every year in November and December I open one book from the trilogy and just get as far as I can before winter is over. Just my cozy little activity. So this year, you're back up in circulation, The Return of the King.

The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith: Hello, the sapphic film Carol was based off of a book? For shame I did not know this.

The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway: Look. So I read half of it in 2022 and thought that Hemingway just might not be for me. And then I visited New Orleans and this book was all I could think about - it was just an inexplicable feeling, like... dizzying nihilism? And now I'm visiting Paris in April, so I'm rereading it on the plane. Like a dessert.

Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin: I read it back in November. I cannot stop thinking about it. The ending made me bawl my eyes out. His writing style is INSANE. Lyrical almost, and some of his turns of phrase I want to tattoo on myself. And I have no tattoos. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND READ THIS BOOK.

Blackwood Farm by Anne Rice: I'm angry at myself for skipping this book before. No longer allowed.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: Read it forever and ever ago, when I was not yet the unapologetically weepy and sensitive creature I am now. Let's give it another try.

No pressure, and you may have been tagged already, but if you want to! @lestcat-de-lioncourt @tulinokkaelain @paintaboveyourbones @thepreachers-son @st-ignatius @iloustat

[ellephlox]

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger. 

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing. 

But you knew. 

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew. 

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream. 

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

 

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering. 

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen. 

Only one more block. 

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.  

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close. 

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street.  Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility. 

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand. 

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time. 

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant. 

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now. 

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you. 

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy.  You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname. 

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down. 

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers. 

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. 

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it.  And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over. 

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant. 

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt. 

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.” 

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life. 

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond. 

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Villain's Coffee Shop part 48

Warnings: none, really (but if someone thinks I should add a warning or if I missed something, feel free to let me know)

The next day Hero and Villain got cleaned up and treated their own injuries, before sitting in front of the TV to watch the news. The whole fight was caught on a bystander's camera. Both Sidekick and Vigilante had been detained for evaluation and questioning, but apparently Superhero's body had never been found, though it was obvious that he had drowned in the river. Some poor fisherman would likely come upon the body sometime in the next few days to be traumatized by its charred appearance.

But it was finally over. Superhero was gone, and Hero could breathe, knowing he couldn't come find her and use his powers to turn her into a mindless puppet again.

Hero and Villain watched the news until the reporter switched topics, and Villain turned the TV off.

"So what now?" Hero asked. "Where do we go from here?"

"I think you mean where do you go from here," Villain said quietly. "I have... other things that will require my attention in the near future. Which means this is, sadly, where we shall part ways, it seems."

Hero sat bolt upright, giving him a confused glance. "What do you mean?" She snorted. "What could you possibly have to do besides running this coffee shop?"

Villain wouldn't meet her gaze, gently stroking Mocha's fur as the cat purred contentedly next to him. "The deal I made with Supervillain to heal me... I have to make good on that debt."

"Oh? Are you finally ready to tell me exactly what the 'devil's bargain' is you made with him?" Hero arched an eyebrow pointedly.

"I'm not, but... You're going to find out eventually, and it's probably best if you hear it from me." Villain let out a shaky sigh, jaw working. "I will be employed to Supervillain for three months before the deal is off and I will be free to leave. He will use me however he sees fit, whether it be using my superpowers or my skill set. Likely for criminal mischief, knowing him. He's asked me to join him several times in the past given how powerful I am, but I turned him down each time. Until I was badly injured by Superhero, as you know, and had no other choice but to offer what he wanted most in exchange for a healing: my allegiance."

"Villain!" Hero gasped. "Do you have any idea what Supervillain is capable of?! He's one of the most dangerous murderers the Agency has ever tried to stop!"

Villain winced at her tone. "I know. But I was near-dying, and I offered what it took to make me well enough to fight Superhero. The bargain's already made. There's nothing I can do to change it. I sold my soul to Supervillain for three months."

"But Villain... the things he might make you do..." Hero trailed off, face slack with shock.

"I am aware of the price I'll be paying. You don't need to remind me," Villain cut her off with a growl.

"Surely there has to be some sort of loophole or--"

"--There isn't."

"Can't you just, I don't know, not do it? We could work together to take Supervillain down and turn him into the police, and then you wouldn't have to hold your end of the deal."

"That won't work," Villain said flatly, and pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing a small tattoo on the side of his neck Hero hadn't seen before, of a skull with crossbones.

"What's that?"

"A blood bargain. Tattooed in Supervillain's blood. He possesses a special tattoo machine crafted by someone with unique superpowers who could give ordinary objects certain powers of their own within strict parameters and rule sets. The machine he has makes any deals permanent until the duration of the deal is over or until it has been fully fulfilled, a tangible link between two people." He covered the tattoo back up with his shirt collar again, averting his gaze to the floor. "If I don't follow through on our agreement... it will slowly make me sick, poison me, and eventually I'll die.”

"WHAT?!?" Hero shrilled. "Why would you make a deal like that??"

"Like I said, because I had no other choice." Villain's lips tightened into a grim line. "It was either work with Supervillain, or risk my injuries making me a cripple for life. With how many broken bones I had, there was no way there wouldn't be any lasting damage. So I made a calculated decision."

"So you're just going to roll over and take whatever Supervillain throws at you without a fight?!" Hero gawked at him in disbelief. "What if he asks you to kill for him?"

Villain closed his eyes with a shudder. "I'll do my best to find loopholes when I can in the way Supervillain gives me orders and how he words things, but aside from that... I have to do what he says. Or the blood bargain will put me in an excruciating amount of pain."

Hero was shocked. No wonder Villain hadn't wanted her knowing what he was offering Supervillain when he came to heal him. Because she would definitely have done anything in her power to stop him from making this awful deal, enslaving himself to one of the worst criminals in the whole city. And for three whole months?? The amount of damage Supervillain could cause in that amount of time was unfathomable.

"Supervillain gave me a two week allowance before I'd be called to duty," Villain continued, "to give me time to deal with Superhero. But now that the threat Superhero posed is gone, I have to start paying off my debt. And I don't want you contacting me during that time, okay? I don't want to be anywhere near Supervillain where he might see you as a liability to eliminate. It's best if we just... go our separate ways and return to the way things were, with me as the lone wolf and you as another normal hero at Agency. I'm sorry.”

“You–You can’t be serious!” Hero sputtered, tripping over her words.

“I am.” Villain’s face was sad and knowing as he got off the couch to stand. “This will likely be the last time you’ll see me for a very, very long time.” He snapped his fingers at his cat, who hopped off the couch to stand next to him.

“I already told Supervillain I’d meet up with him today to discuss the specific terms of my agreement, so I have to get going. Mocha, come.” Villain turned on his heel and trudged toward the door of his coffee shop to leave, but paused, glancing over his shoulder one last time, his face full of genuine sincerity. “I am eternally grateful for all you've done for me, Hero… it just wasn’t enough to save my soul like you hoped.”

And then he was gone, leaving Hero alone in stunned silence.

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

Somewhere else in the city....

Cold. Dark. It was the first two things Superhero became aware of as he came back to consciousness with a moan, eyes cracking open. His whole body blazed with agony, skin burning with phantom fire, and his ears were ringing.

"...Found him washed up on the riverbank..."

"...How..."

"...Not..."

"...News channel..."

Strange voices filtered into Superhero's mind as his hearing slowly came back to him, voices he didn't recognize.

"...Look... think he's... waking up..."

"...Careful..."

A hand on his shoulder made Superhero flinch, ice-cold adrenaline flooding him. Where was he? And more importantly, who was he with?

"Hey... can you hear me? Anybody home?"

Someone was shaking him lightly, and he let out an agonized groan, forcing his eyes to focus on the figure looming over him, barely distinguishable against the black night sky. What stood out to him most, though, were the unnaturally silver eyes staring down at him.

"Ah, there he is. Wasn't sure you were even alive," the stranger laughed. "I know who you are -- your reputation is rather famous."

"Bring him with us," a different voice said close by. "He might prove useful, if his superpowers are as great as everyone says they are."

There were some murmurs of agreement from people Superhero couldn't see through his cloudy vision, before he felt himself being picked up in inhumanly strong arms as if he weighed nothing.

Questions floated around murky thoughts, but exhaustion and pain dragged Superhero's mind back into the dark, and soon he passed out again.

The current, ominous end. But never fear! The characters will come back in a crossover story of Villain's Coffee Shop and the Vampire & Vampire Hunter series is coming soon!

⏪️ Back

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

@f1sh-bone @everynameistakencarrots @snaillamp

[stargazing-sapphire2]

Anya 'Gemini' Orlova

Full Name: Anya Mikhailovna Orlova

Date of birth: June 21st, 1980. Siberia, Russia.

Nationality: Russian

Call-sign: Gemini

Occupation:

-Russian Ultranationalists [Formerly]

-Task Force 141 [Currently]

Family / Relatives:

*Mikhail Sergeevich Orlov - Biological father (Deceased)

*Yulia Ivanovna Kuznetsova - Biological mother (Deceased)

*Dmitri Aleksandrovich Sokolov - Adopted father (Deceased)

*Irina Fyodorovna Sokolova nee Morozova - Adopted mother (Deceased)

*Yuri Dmitrievich Sokolov - Adopted brother (Status: Unknown)

*John Price - Husband (Alive)

*Emilia Price - Daughter (Alive)

Appearance:

*Hair color: Blonde

*Eye color: Grey

*Height: 5'7 / 170cm

*Age: 33-37 (OG and reboot timeline)

*Scars/Beauty marks/Blemishes: One scar across the side of her jaw, and a faint burn on her collarbone. A tattoo sleeve on the left arm starting from the shoulder and ending at the wrist.

*Faceclaim: Gaia Weiss

Affiliation(s):

-John Price

-Simon "Ghost" Riley

-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

-John "Soap" McTavish

-Yuri Sokolov

-Nikolai

-Kate Laswell

-Imran Zakhaev (Formerly)

-Vladimir Makarov (Formerly)

Backstory:

Anya was born on June 21st, 1980 in Siberia, Russia, to Yulia Kuznetsova and Mikhail Orlov, the latter being a Spetsnaz officer in the Russian military. The marriage was not a happy one, as Mikhail was frequently abusive to Yulia. It was only after Yulia became pregnant that Mikhail stopped being physical with her, although the emotional abuse only worsened. A few months after Anya was born, Mikhail was sent to prison for a litany of crimes he was convicted of, and would die there a few years later. Anya would never know him, which was a good thing.

In 1982, Yulia was diagnosed with a terminal illness, and knowing she would not have long to live, she turned custody of the then 2 year old Anya over to long time friends Dmitri Sokolov and his wife Irina, and Anya would form a close bond with their 12 year old son, Yuri.

"Never forget where you came from, for I will always love you", were Yulia's final words to her little daughter, before she would pass weeks later.

Anya's memories of her mother would eventually fade with time, but the knowledge would be kept alive due to stories from Dmitri and Irina, as well as old photos of Yulia they had.

Original Timeline:

*To be revealed in "The Devil's Gambit" story.

Reboot Timeline:

*To be determined

[rpf-bat]

2024 RPF WRITING RECAP

I wrote 46 fics this year, totaling 56,385 words. I completed 100% of Whumpuary (15 out of 15 prompts), and 85% of Flufftober (25 out of 30 prompts). I also moderated two events of my own (Lost Sunday, and the third annual Blood Mass). I’m really proud of what I accomplished this year, so I decided to compile everything I wrote this year into one masterlist!

🖤 = Blind Channel RPF

💙= Lost Society RPF

💛= Santa Cruz RPF

1) Hear The Silence Getting Loud 💙💛

Samy/Arttu + Johnny/Middy. 2,556 words.

Summary: Arttu and Middy's birthdays are one day apart. So, they decide to have a shared birthday party with all of their friends.

Samy has been silently in love with Arttu for years. He makes a pact with Johnny: he will confess his feelings at the party, if Johnny confesses to *his* crush, too.

Written for Arttu’s 31st birthday.

2) Where Your Treasures & Demons Are Kept 💙💛

Johnny/Samy, with references to past Johnny/Archie. 1,370 words.

Summary: Samy goes with Johnny, to clean out a storage unit that once belonged to Archie. He finds an old love letter that he wasn't supposed to see. Whumpuary 1/15.

3) You Ain’t Getting Out 🖤💙

Samy/Joel/Niko. 643 words.

Summary: Niko and his boyfriend, Joel, invite Samy to their home for a "dinner date". By the time Samy realizes something is wrong, it's too late. Whumpuary 2/15.

4) I Just Need A Place To Be 💙

Samy/Arttu, 863 words.

Summary: A depressed and very drunk Samy shows up on Arttu's doorstep just after midnight. Whumpuary 3/15.

5) Calling For Help 🖤

Joel/Joonas, 1470 words.

Summary: Seasonal depression has left Joel unable to function. He breaks down, and asks Joonas for help with the dishes he just can't seem to do. Whumpuary 4/15.

6) Shelter Me, Comfort Me 🖤💙

Samy/Joel. 1,583 words.

Summary: Joel is feeling glum, and invites Samy over to his place, for a drink and a movie. Samy is trying his best not to take advantage. Whumpuary 5/15.

7) Been Awake For Three Days 🖤

Niko/Aleksi, 479 words.

Summary: Niko is supposed to be preparing for an important interview, but his body just can't stay awake. Whumpuary 6/15.

8) Shout At The Devil 💙

Samy/Taz, 1464 words.

Summary: When a boating accident threatens to put Samy in an early grave, Taz is willing to do anything to save him.

Johnny is a witch, and he knows there might just be a way to give Taz what he wants. But, he also knows that the devil won't grant a desperate wish like his without a steep price. Whumpuary 7/15. Witch!Johnny AU Part 1.

9) The Taste Of Ink 🖤

Niko/Joonas, 825 words.

Summary: Niko recently got matching tattoos with his best friend, Aleksi. His fiancee, Joonas, is incredibly jealous. Niko suggests that that they spend his birthday getting some matching ink of their own.

Written for Niko’s 29th birthday.

10) Thank You For The Pain 🖤

Joel/Niko, 824 words.

Summary: Niko is eighteen years old, and just joined Blind Channel a few short months ago. Joel is shocked when he walks into rehearsal with a black eye. Whumpuary 8/15.

11) Knock ‘Em In The Teeth Now 🖤

Joel/Aleksi, 873 words.

Summary: Joel is enjoying a beer with Aleksi when an old acquaintance interrupts.

He never expected that he would have to physically hold Aleksi back from punching said acquaintance in the face. Whumpuary 9/15.

12) A Lonely Road 🖤

Tommi/Olli, 1,308 words.

Summary: Tommi and Olli are supposed to be driving south together to Helsinki. But, when Tommi falls asleep at the wheel, tragedy strikes. Whumpuary 10/15.

13) Pictures Of You 💙💛

Johnny/Samy, 906 words.

Summary: Samy wants to know why Johnny is so camera shy. It wasn't always this way. Whumpuary 11/15.

14) All A Boy Could Give You 💛

Johnny/Middy, 1,160 words.

Summary: Middy enlists Taz's help to find the perfect birthday gift for his new boyfriend.

Written for Johnny’s 32nd birthday.

15) Do You Wanna Start A Fight? (Just Tell Me) 💙

Samy/Taz, 962 words.

Summary: Samy leaves the tour bus to go look for his missing bandmates, and comes back with a bloody nose. Taz is the only one there to bandage him up. Whumpuary 12/15.

16) Stake My Heart 🖤

Aleksi/Olli, 1,519 words. ‼️HEED THE TAGS‼️

Summary: Two months ago, Aleksi got turned into a vampire. Tonight, he's got a Grindr date. What could possibly go wrong? Whumpuary 13/15.

17) One Small Step Away 💙

Gen. Samy’s POV. 866 words.

Summary: Samy dreams of an old friend. He doesn't want to wake up. Whumpuary 14/15.

18) My Mind Won’t Go To Sleep 🖤

Joel/Joonas, 889 words.

Summary: After waking up from a nightmare, Joel just can't seem to get back to sleep. He ends up knocking on Joonas' door. Whumpuary 15/15.

19) Steal Your Crown 💙💛

Johnny/Samy, 5085 words.

Summary: Johnny's band signs up to compete in a high school talent show. When a younger student named Samy announces that he's throwing his hat into the ring, too, Johnny's competitive nature brings out the worst in him.

When sabotage goes a step too far, can he fix it in time? Or will both bands be forced to forfeit?

Written for Lost Sunday 2024.

20) Can You Feel The Rain? 🖤

Akeksi/Olli, 1,130 words.

Summary: A lost dog wanders onto Olli's doorstep, and he decides it wouldn't be right, to leave her outside in the rain. But, soon enough, her dad comes looking for her. And oh no. He's hot. Flufftober 1/25.

21) Words I Thought I’d Never Speak 💙

Samy/Taz, 1,076 words.

Summary: While helping his boyfriend move some furniture, Taz discovers a two-year-old love letter, from the beginning of their relationship. Samy never had the courage to send it, but he meant every word. Flufftober 2/25.

22) I Missed Your Skin When You Were East 🖤💙

Samy/Joel, 798 words.

Summary: If sniffing your boyfriend's hoodie when he's away on tour is wrong, then Samy doesn't want to be right. Flufftober 3/25.

23) Of Goat Cheese & Guitars 🖤

Joel/Joonas, 1,084 words.

Summary: School is out, and Joel is (relucta ntly) spending his summer vacation at the farmer's market, helping his mother sell cheese. One day, he spots an attractive looking busker on the other side of the marketplace. Flufftober 4/25.

24) Birds Of A Feather 💙

Samy/Arttu, 579 words.

Summary: Samy wants to make a bird-feeder out of pinecones. Arttu thinks that sounds like a bird-brained idea. Flufftober 5/25.

25) It Ain’t Me, Babe 💛

Johnny/Middy, 639 words.

Summary: Johnny is Archie's boyfriend. But tonight, he's apparently too drunk to tell which blonde he's snuggling up to....and Middy isn't resisting like he should. Flufftober 6/25.

26) Fell In Love At The Rock Show 🖤

Joel/Aleksi, 763 words.

Summary: Aleksi gets cold at a music festival, and Joel offers him his hoodie. Is he flirting with him? Flufftober 7/25.

27) I Still Burn For You (Like The Sun Burns In The Sky) 💙💛

Johnny/Samy, 1,421 words.

Summary: Samy crashes Santa Cruz's midsummer camping trip. He ends up feeling hot and bothered, after watching a shirtless Johnny chop wood for their campfire. He tries to drown his unrequited feelings in alcohol...but what if they're not actually unrequited at all? Flufftober 8/25.

28) Neon Gravestones 🖤💙

Samy/Niko. 1,584 words.

Summary: Niko is perplexed, when Samy invites him to a picnic lunch in the middle of the cemetery. But, he quickly realizes that his friend needs a hug. Flufftober 9/25.

29) Bet On Losing Dogs 🖤

Joel/Joonas/Aleksi, 944 words.

Summary: Tommi is certain that Joel and Joonas are dating. So certain that he's willing to bet actual money on it. But, Olli disagrees. His money is on Aleksi being the guitarist's new boyfriend. Flufftober 10/25.

30) I Put A Spell On You 💛

Johnny/Middy, 1,269 words.

Summary: Johnny is a witch, and he knows exactly how dangerous magic can be. So he’s more than a little concerned, when he hears that his dear friend Middy is planning to cast a love spell. Flufftober 11/25. Witch!Johnny AU Part 2.

31) Autiotalo 🖤

Tommi/Olli, 620 words.

Summary: Joonas dares Tommi and Olli to spend the night alone in an abandoned house. The house is allegedly haunted by a witch’s ghost, but Tommi isn’t particularly worried. Flufftober 12/25.

32) Basement Eyes 💙

Samy/Arttu, 1,575 words.

Summary: A mischievous Mirko locks Samy and Arttu in his parents’ wine cellar. He’s not planning to let them out, until Arttu tells Samy the truth. Flufftober 13/25.

33) Two Princes 💙💛

Johnny/Samy, 1,586 words.

Summary: Johnny is a prince, and his family wants him to marry a princess. He would rather die than be with a woman he cannot love. And so, he flees his castle, and disappears into the woods.

In the middle of the enchanted forest, he meets a mysterious and sexy stranger, with a shocking secret. Flufftober 14/25.

34) Little Black Dress 🖤

Joel/Joonas, 924 words.

Summary: The last thing Joel expected to find in his building’s laundry room at midnight, was Joonas Porko in a dress. Flufftober 15/25. Mildly NSFW.

35) Check Yes, Romeo 🖤

Niko/Joonas, 1,320 words.

Summary: Joonas needs to know if his crush likes him back. And maybe a passed note in class, wasn’t the best way to ask him. But teenage boys don’t always make the smartest decisions. Flufftober 16/25.

36) All We Need Is The Sun 🖤💙

Samy/Joel, 1,225 words.

Summary: Joel asks Samy to take a vacation with him, somewhere warm and sunny, and far from home. The hotel room isn’t what Samy was expecting. Flufftober 17/25.

37) Anywhere That You Go (You’re Gonna Make It Glow) 💙

Arttu/Mirko, 1,585 words.

Summary: Johnny gives Arttu a bewitched coin, which glows whenever the person holding it, is standing next to someone who is in love with them. Arttu thinks it’s too good to be true. Flufftober 18/25. Witch!Johnny AU Part 3.

38) Needle And Thread 🖤

Joel/Niko, 1,016 words.

Summary: Niko picks up a new hobby during the Still Panicking Tour. His boyfriend, Joel, isn't quite sure how he feels about it. Flufftober 19/25.

39) Please Meow Back 🖤

Niko/Aleksi, 1,250 words.

Summary: Aleksi is a receptionist at a veterinary clinic. He thinks his job is boring…until a handsome stranger runs in just before closing time, and begs him to save his cat. Flufftober 20/25.

40) My Fire (The One Desire) 🖤

Aleksi/Olli, 1,013 words.

Summary: Olli attends a party at his university, hoping to run into his crush. Flufftober 21/25.

41) I Would End My Days With You 🖤💙

Samy/Niko, 918 words.

Summary: There’s a ring in Samy’s pocket, that once belonged to his late father. And there’s only one person on earth that he’s willing to give it to. Flufftober 22/25.

42) Your Hot Whiskey Eyes Fanned The Flame 🖤

Joel/Aleksi, 1,109 words.

Summary: It's storming outside their hotel room, and Aleksi can't sleep. To pass the time, he asks Joel to play a game with him. Flufftober 23/25.

43) Love Is Stored In The Potato 🖤💙

Samy/Joel, 1,089 words.

Summary: Joel's relationship ended a week ago, and he's crushed. Samy thinks he's found the cure, that will fix his friend's broken heart.

It's fried potatoes. Flufftober 24/25.

44) Blanket Thief 🖤

Tommi/Aleksi, 749 words.

Summary: Aleksi just spent the weekend at his boyfriend Tommi’s place. Tommi hogged the blankets the whole time. Now, it’s time for a little payback. Flufftober 25/25.

45) Somebody Fucking Kill Me (Before I Do It Myself) 💙💛

Johnny/Samy. 1,430 words.

‼️HEED THE TAGS‼️

Summary: Samy is slowly turning into a vampire, against his will. He begs Johnny to kill him, before he loses his humanity completely.

46) Animal I Have Become 🖤

Niko/Joonas, 2,044 words.

Summary: The band is enjoying a midsummer camping trip, when their friend is suddenly attacked by a wolf. Amidst the chaos, after the bloody and unconscious body is discovered, Joonas can’t seem to find Niko anywhere.

Written for Blind Channel Blood Mass 2024.