#fic: bird on the wire

[kleptopunk]

.Family Resemblance.

Felix and Dew are siblings and Vel's cousins. In 2076, all three are struggling with the Bakker Clan's instability and each of them deal with the inevitable implosion in different ways.

Read more about them and my developing Nomad lore in my prequel fic, Bird on a Wire.

[confuzzled-crow77]

What Could’ve Been… (JJK Fix-It Fic)

Synopsis: What if Gojo and Shoko had noticed Geto spiralling? What if their blue spring ended but they still stayed together, even in summer?

A/N: This fic is completely based off of @ziyuanyuan1113 artwork; every scene is from it, so please check it out - I hope I did it justice! I haven't emotionally recovered from Jujutsu Kaisen and I doubt I ever will, but in the meantime, here's this in a feeble attempt to erase it from memory! :')

Word Count: 2.7k

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“You should go first, Gojo.” 

The young man - boy, really - turned with his hand still on the doorknob and raised a skeptical eyebrow at his peer, teammate, and friend over the rim of his shades. Shoko crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, returning the pointed look without an ounce of humor. “You sure?” He asked with a small grin, but he didn’t try the doorknob. 

Would Geto come to the door? 

Would he open it with a smile and a quick knab at the bag he was holding? 

Gojo wished Shoko hadn’t told him about Geto’s less than stellar physical checkup results in a dark alley behind the school like it was top secret information. Every little nagging thing he’d grasped in the few days they’d been able to see each other had rushed back in a new light. 

What about Geto letting his hair fall in stringy clumps? There’s really no reason for him to keep it in a tight knot all the time. 

So what if he's more tired; they’re growing up and getting older, of course the missions are tougher. 

But Shoko had blown her cigarette smoke to the side and scowled lightly and Gojo thought for the first time that maybe there was something his Six Eyes had missed. 

“I’m sure.” Shoko nodded toward the door, urging him on. 

He sighed dramatically and turned the knob. 

It wasn’t locked. The door opened smoothly into a dark room; the light from the hallway poured inside, casting a thick bar on the wooden planks and dirty clothes. Gojo leaned his lanky frame on the door and peeked in; the heavy plastic shopping bag hanging from his middle and ring finger spun back and forth, clanking against the door like a bell. 

“Suguruuuu?” He called. 

Nothing stirred. The window blinds were shut air-tight. The nightstand beside the bed, piled high with covers, was cluttered. Everything seemed so… dead. He glanced over his shoulder at Shoko. She shrugged. He shrugged back. 

“Suguru?” Gojo hissed again. 

The mountain of blankets shifted the slightest bit, and he almost laughed. He propped himself off the door and skipped toward the bed. Suguru Geto’s inky black hair was splayed in a messy starburst over his pillow. 

“You awake?” Gojo whispered noisily, cupping his hands to his mouth. No matter how much he hopped up or scooted to the side, he couldn’t see a glimpse of his best friend’s face. “Pretty dark and gloomy in here, don’t cha think?” He stretched over the bed, his fingers grasping for the blinds’ chain. He precariously balanced on his tip-toes until he gripped it, almost ripping the blinds from their hinges as they snapped open. 

Noonday sunlight softened the room but fell like daggers on Suguru’s blanket-massed form. The man rolled around from facing the wall to shield his eyes from the window’s view, but was met with Gojo’s victorious pose.

“There he is! Shoko said you’ve lost a bit of weight, so I brought over some healthy, filling food to help: cookies, soda, and spicy chips!” Gojo tossed the bag from hand to hand as he spoke, pushing up his ridiculously round glasses at the end like he’d said something tremendous. Geto said nothing. 

Gojo’s arm holding out the bag slowly lowered as the silence stretched. He frowned at the eyebags Shoko had mentioned. He grimaced at the greasy hair and dead stare. His eyes wandered from Geto’s blank face and drifted to the nightstand; the picture frame had fallen - or maybe Geto had set it down. 

Why? 

Shoko poked her head in and passed through silently. As Gojo stared at the face-down picture frame and then to his friend, she kicked the dirty clothes into her arms and disappeared into the back of the room. 

Gojo blinked twice before the brilliant grin flashed back on his face; he pointed finger guns at the small mountain range of blankets. “Sugrrito. Burrigu. Sugrrigu. Burrigito… nothing?” His finger guns died too as he set the bag of soda cans and sweets on the ground with a clatter. The strongest sorcerer of the modern age sank to the floor and rested his head on the bed, right in front of Geto’s face, as if admitting defeat. 

For the first time, Geto spoke. “Nothing for now, Satoru.” His voice cracked a little from disuse and exhaustion; as if mocking his tired eyes and Gojo’s frown, he smiled in what was supposed to be a reassuring way. Gojo didn’t need the Six Eyes to see through it. “I’m fine, y-” 

“You’ve somehow risen to another level of bullshit than before,” Gojo muttered. He instinctively brushed some of the black tendrils of hair from Geto’s face, pushing them and the covers back over Geto’s shoulder. Now the sunlight streaming through the window reached his friend’s face and he could see whatever color remained in the inky depths of his eyes. Now, he really saw the long lines, the sickly paleness, the tiredness that oozed from every pore. 

How did I not notice this? 

Gojo’s fingers drifted from Geto’s shoulder to his arm, down to his hand that rested under his chin. He gripped it tightly, as if it would wake him up; if it did, if it would, he’d never activate Infinity again - there would never be endless space between them. Never. “What’s wrong? Tell me and I- we can fix it before… dinner. Before lunch. We always do.” Geto met Gojo’s eyes; twin slivers of aquamarine above the new moons of his shades. The gold light reflected in the jewel blue like the setting sun on the vast sea: too deep, too far. 

“Not always.” He still said it with that determined, warm, fake smile as if giving up were a beautiful thing. Gojo could almost believe it was, but he didn’t smile back; he leaned in even closer, his eyes wide and almost soft. 

“So that’s what this is. Last year’s mission. Riko and… whatever.” 

Geto shook his head the slightest bit. “It’s not just that, Satoru. What are we protecting as sorcerers?” Gojo didn’t answer in the pause that followed. 

If you don’t know, I don’t know. 

“Crowds that clap for a dead child,” Geto answered for himself. The words were almost sweet; they blended with the yellow light turning Gojo’s pure white hair to cream, weaving in between the soft clinking of dishes as Shoko washed them. The sugary blades sliced whatever was left of Gojo into pieces; that incessant clapping, like a siren that wouldn’t shut off, came to him in the early hours of the morning - he couldn’t remember much besides that of that day: just the clapping. Just the clapping and Suguru telling him that there was no point in making it stop. “The higher ups that use you as a weapon with a pulse. The infinite slog of curses that we’ll never get to the end of.” He looked down and sighed through his nose, still with that sad, small smile. “We can’t fix this by dinner, Satoru.” 

Gojo leaned his cheek on the back of their clasped hands, searching for the eye contact Geto broke. He said nothing for a long while. 

If you don’t know, I don’t know. 

But it was never, ‘If you can’t, I can’t.’ He looked at Geto’s smile and didn’t know how or why. He’d never know how a curse tasted, only the candy he gave his friend after. But Gojo Satoru never doubted for a second that they could turn the world upside down and inside out - one way, or another. 

“Maybe not by dinner,” he murmured with his cheek half smushed. “Maybe not tomorrow or next week. We’ll fix it, though. And if we don’t fix it, we’ll change it.” Geto huffed again, but he squeezed Gojo’s hand back. Now, Satoru had a reason to smile. “It won’t be like this forever; trust me, I’m not busting my ass every day for some mangy old men. Changing the world is a 50-50 split for your sake and mine.” 

That familiar sparkle, just a glint of candlelight off of obsidian but still there, glimmered in Geto’s eyes. He scooched closer. “How will we do it?” 

Gojo shrugged simply. “Don’t know yet. We could level the higher ups into dust, or reveal Jujutsu to the world and make it mandatory for cursed energy control, or maybe start a coup with people we like!” He pitched the silly ideas as just that: silly ideas with a dumb grin. It was a starting point, though. It was, ‘We could… we might…’ “I could even become a teacher, leading the next generation of sorcerers with my awesome lessons and homework assignments!” 

Geto chuckled softly. “That’ll have the higher ups quaking for sure.” 

“Sensei Satoru Gojo? HA!” Shoko cawed in the back, tying up a trash bag. 

Gojo grinned as he shot a glare at her, but quickly crouched back down when Geto squeezed his hand again. “Satoru, I don’t know if I can… go back to how I was before.” Gojo nodded immediately, but his thoughts lagged like an old computer. 

Will his dead eyes stay?

Is he going to leave?

‘No, no,’ he thought as he smiled. ‘Same Suguru, different dream.’ “Okay,” he replied. He didn’t need his Six Eyes to know Geto’s next smile was real. “As long as this Suguru will still eat my spicy food, I have no problem walking beside him throughout Heaven and Earth.” 

“I’m glad.” 

-~-~-

“A good shower and a better bag of chips freshened you up a bit!” Shoko remarked. She tapped her cigarette lightly; the gray ashes flitted down from the windowsill she sat on like shriveled snowflakes. 

Geto huffed a laugh. He sat criss-cross in front of her; his hair was tied up in the normal knot - messy strands fell around his face and it was lopsided, but he didn’t mind. Shoko’s steady hands, adept at crafting cursed energy into new flesh and stitches, couldn’t seem to get the hair tie to work how she wanted it to. It was almost satisfying. 

“I’m worried about Satoru,” he murmured. His eyes followed the gray ashes on their way down to the alley below his room. Noon had lost its peak and the shadows gradually grew and shifted through the window; he didn’t meet the eyes of the buggy cars on the distant highway, nor the gleaming skyline of the city. 

Shoko chuckled lightly as she took another draw of her cigarette. She turned to stare at the view, slowly blowing the smoke out of her mouth in a puff. “He’s just getting take-out, Suguru. I know it’s the universe’s duty to spite whoever says this, but what’s the worst that could happen?” 

“I suppose you’re right.” 

They sat in a comfortable silence, but Shoko didn’t miss how Geto’s eyes never met hers. She doubted that her friend was talking about Gojo terrorizing the poor noodle shop’s workers. 

“Here.” She held out her small box of cigarettes to him. He slid one from the top and slipped it in between two fingers as she sprang a flame from her lighter with a clean whisk. The tip of the cigarette burned like the horizon line during sunset before he pressed it to his lips. “You know,” she started as Geto blew a cloud out the window. “I’m okay with whatever you two idiots do, but if one idiot wanders away from the other and sulks, that’s not really doing anything, is it? It’s just waiting until something breaks, like walking on a fractured bone.” 

Geto sighed through his nose. “Then what should I do, Ireri? Go back to eating popsicles? Play basketball in the gym? Just forget?” He smiled fondly at her, as if she were already a childhood friend moving away. The shadows on half of his face seemed deeper than before, but the smile seemed the same as it had been a year ago. She rolled her eyes and jerked her head to the side at the room. 

“Cleaning your dishes yourself is a start.” She wagged her cigarette at him like a conductor’s wand. “I didn’t say go back to how things were. Just… turn around and go back to your idiot, is all. Then wander off together.” She leaned back on the frame of the window and crossed her arms as Geto mulled over her words. 

“And if the higher ups don’t let me turn around?” Geto��s eyes darkened. No. That wasn’t the problem. “If they don’t let Satoru…” A weapon with a pulse, is he? There is no going back to how things were because everything was always with him. 

Shoko blinked; the cigarette between her fingers sagged. “You’ll have solo missions, Suguru. Satoru will be away, and I’ll be lonely in my little med-den. But…” She groaned dramatically before spitting out, “You two are the most powerful sorcerers of the modern age, so it’ll turn out fine. Bleh, there I said it.” 

Geto chuckled as she stuck out her tongue and gagged. He rubbed the cigarette tip on the windowsill to put it out just as a holler echoed through the alley. 

“See? There he is: in one piece and with Tokyo intact.” Shoko waved back at Gojo who stood triumphantly at the mouth of the alley, holding up the take-out bags. Geto motioned for him to run and watched the white-haired blur streak down the street and barrel through the door to the building. He made to scooch off the windowsill and back inside, but Shoko caught his shoulder. “Suguru, no matter how blue eyed beauty acts, we know this isn’t some little crisis, okay?” 

Geto gently placed his hand over hers and removed it from his shoulder. “Okay.” 

“And we’ll figure this out with more than dramatic battle plans, okay?” 

“Okay.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

“Okay.” She squeezed back and together they climbed inside, just as Gojo kicked open the door.

-~-~-

Suguru snored. For the first time in… weeks, months, since that twisted day, his mind let him rest. 

Perhaps Satoru’s avalanche-worthy gurgling blared above the questions and memories. Maybe it was the presence of his two best friends on either side of him, lying in bed even though the day hadn’t yet been swallowed by night. Maybe it was the noodles and donburi in his stomach, or the empty soda cans rolling the slightest bit, pushed by the cool breeze coming through the open window. Maybe it was the plans for the future. 

Whatever the reason, he slept deeply. He couldn’t see the dawn of a new, better world for sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike with those eyebags, right?

-~-~-

Shoko was slowly being asphyxiated. Geto’s heavy arm laid directly over her chest as if he subconsciously knew she’d attempt to sneak away once he fell asleep. The twittering of evening birds, the echoing voices of people in the alley below, Geto’s snoring, Gojo’s whale mating calls, and the text typing of her phone all blended together into an annoying, homey symphony. 

‘HELP ME…’ To the best of her pinned arms’ ability, she took a selfie of the trio and sent it. 

‘Sorry, I can’t. I’m on a mission with Haibara. Glad to see “the talk” went okay.’ 

Shoko pouted at Nanami’s response. ‘started a plan to overthrow the gov. you’re doing the paperwork.’

‘All of it?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘No, thank you.’ 

‘If you come save me right now, ill vouch for you.’ 

‘I told you, I can’t.’ 

‘Your choice.’ 

‘No.’ 

Shoko glared at her screen. With all her might, she tried to sit up, but Geto’s arm only felt heavier. After a solid fifteen seconds of flailing legs and violent arm punching, she gave up and collapsed back down in defeat. Geto snored on. 

She sighed but smiled as much as she could at his peaceful face. From the corner of her eye, over the even puffs and pushes of her friends’ chests, she could see the picture frame on the nightstand. Someone had sat it upright - whether it was Gojo or Geto didn’t matter much to her - and the setting sun bathed it in gold and orange. The wood frame protected three smiling faces. She wondered for a split second if those smiles still belonged to the three people splayed over one bed. 

She didn’t really care. 

What was that one new song? 

Two idiots on a wire? 

She hummed whatever broken tunes she could remember until Gojo choked on his own spit and Geto startled awake because of it. 

Idiots… 

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[everything-is-as-it-was]

Hey all!

I just wanna do a little bitty promo for a fic @nobodynobodyno and I are writing, called Two Birds on a Wire!

It's a VERY slow burn, figuring-out-you're-gay-by-figuring-out-you've-been-in-love-with-your-best-friend-this-whole-time, angsty, right person but the wrong time, little kid!Dan and Phil, girldad!Dan, and also loooooooong term pining kind of fic :)

I just wanted to put it out there since I'm super super proud of it and I know my partner in crime is too! (She writes Dan's POV, I write Phil's. It's a great little arrangement.)

anyways if any of this piques your interest here's the link !!

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Two Birds on a Wire

Fandom: Helluva Boss Summary: After getting trapped with his ex-boyfriend in Greed, Blitz ends up saying a lot of stupid stuff that makes his life better in the long run. Warnings: Past underage sex, pregnancy, trans male pregnancy, mpreg, and kidnapping Word Count: 4,883 Ship(s): Asmodeus/Fizzarolli and Stolas Ars Goetia/Blitzo Buckzo

Archive link!

A/N: Another fic for my wonderful mutual(@lovely-number-7)! They give me so much inspiration for this and encouragement to keep going. I added some surprises for them so everyone is going into this fic on an even playing field, haha. I hope that you all enjoy it! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

Blitz’s day had already been going pretty terrible when he ended up getting into a fight with someone that had been very important to him over a decade ago.

Not only did seeing Fizz bring back memories of when they were in the circus together and everything that they had shared before the fire, but it now also reminded him of how awful the Loo Loo Land Fizzbot had been to him. The taunts and jeers from the back of the already sparse crowd still haunted his dreams and shot down his confidence when he was trying to cheer up his office or kids. Of course that was when the jester thought that it would be a great idea to pick on him and reference the stalkers that he had, which Blitz would never associate himself with.

After the fight, Striker had captured them to prove to Crimson that he was a worthy investment. Blitz had always known that being in his line of work would result in something like that happening to him, he just hadn’t accounted for Fizz being thrown into the same cage as him. At least Striker had finally gotten the sense to cater to who he was capturing instead of assuming that Millie wouldn’t chew her own leg off, beartrap or not, to save her husband.

He had been bound in normal rope, something that he couldn’t hope to wiggle out of because of the friction that it was causing on his skin and suit. Fizz, on the other hand, was bound in what looked to be duct tape so that he couldn’t do anything with his robotic arms and legs.

Even the memory of the fact that Fizz had prosthetics instead of his natural limbs made years and years of guilt come swimming back at him. He wanted to snap and fight back to get the feeling to go away, but he also knew that it would lead to nothing good for either of them. He had been trying so hard and for so long to better himself so that he could be a good example to his girls, but it was a slow going process. Being around the man that had started and ended everything in his life had regressed him back to where he had been fifteen years before.

Fizz started to whine and look around the cage for a way out. “Oh, chill out Jester,” Blitz spoke without meaning to. The words all just tumbled from him and into the open air without his mind even taking a second to process them. It was what had gotten him into the mess that was his life and would likely be what took him out of it as well. “It’s like you’ve never been tied up before.”

“Ugh,” Fizz grunted as he continued to try and pull at his bindings. “Sure, but not by a bunch of psychos.” He fell forward so that he smacked into the hard metal floor of the ground, “Arg! And a piece of shit.”

Blitz narrowed his eyes at the man that was once his best friend as he tried to figure out what he was talking about. “Fi- Okay… okay, am I the psycho or the piece of shit?”

“Both,” Fizz snapped.

“Ah, that checks,” he sighed. He should have known that even when they were in a dangerous situation Fizz wouldn’t be open to listening to him, just as he hadn’t been for years. He had tried so hard after the fire, when they were both trapped in that satanforsaken hospital, and then again through letters for nearly a decade and a half afterwards.

“How is this happening?” Fizz whined as he straightened up again. “I was just supposed to grab some gas station milk and rehearse some juggling!

Anger boiled inside of him. Blitz had been in situations like that more times than he could count and he had never spent as much time whining as Fizz had. They hadn’t even been drugged or interrogated yet, they were just waiting for money to exchange hands. “Oh relax. I’m sure your big royal chicken isn’t going to let anything happen to his peppy little fuck doll.”

“Oh, playing that card, huh?” Fizz snarled. He had just as much anger and vitriol as he had back when they were snarling at each other in Ozzie’s. “Okay, well what about you? Seems your taste has gotten more… regal, lately?”

Again, his brain spoke before his mouth could. “Stolas and I aren’t like that, alright? We might have been able to try out dating if you hadn’t fucking shamed him in front of countless people at what was supposed to be our first date.”

“First date? I knew that you were bad with that whole romance thing but I didn’t consider the fact that you only take a guy out when he’s been railing you into the mattress for months first,” Fizz snarked back. Gone was the boy that looked up to Blitz with all the earnestly of someone that was the golden child of the circus. He no longer had that compassion and tenderness that Blitz had fallen for all those years ago, at least not for the very imp that had protected that in him.

“I don’t think you know what you’re talking about,” Blitz seethed. He had worked so long and so hard to try and make his relationship with Stolas healthier for the sake of their children. He knew that he was bad at picking partners and starting things off, the fact that Verosika still hated him for using her credit card to pay for the twins medical bills when they got the hellflu. Fizz didn’t have the right to mock him for his romantic relationships when he was the one that had damaged Blitz into making bad decisions in the first place, though.

“I think that I do!” responded Fizz. “I was the first guy to earn a date by pounding you into the mattress for months, remember?”

“You know, that’s not really a claim to fame,” Blitz snarled. “Not that you really need anything else to boost your notoriety, right?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His cheat was heaving with the emotion that was spinning through him like a bullet. He knew that feeling very well, he had gotten shot more times than he cared to admit in his line of work. When it was an emotional bullet instead of a literal one, the pain was so much more intense. A literal bullet would pierce the skin where it had been shot and then destroy the nerve endings in that specific spot, echoing the pain from that location. A metaphorical bullet, on the other hand, tore through the entire body all at once and lit every single nerve on fire. He could feel it twisting and ripping at his heart, making memories from a long time ago arise in his mind the way that an exorcist blade might on a sinner.

Blitz focused on what he was doing instead of saying something. If he kept talking then he was going to say something incredibly stupid. He couldn’t afford to do that when he was surrounded by people that very obviously wanted to use him for their own gain. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had already sent a message back to Stolas letting him know that Blitz had been captured, or if Stolas had been able to feel it the same way that he had with the demon hunters.

With thoughts of his Goetia lover rattling around his mind instead of the memories of what had happened that fateful night of the fire, he was able to focus. He jerked his foot backwards on the rough metal floor of the cage that they were in and removed the knife that he stashed there for moments such as this. He picked the blade up with the edge of his fingers and then turned it around with amazing dexterity, something that he had picked up when he was in the circus, not that it had done him any good. Maybe he could have gotten a job at that cat-themed gambling place if he had just been a bit older when he applied.

He deftly cut through the ropes that were binding his hands and then did the same to the ones on his arms and legs. “What was that supposed to mean, Blitzo?” Fizz demanded again, as if he couldn’t see that Blitz was trying to get them out of that cage so that they never had to face each other again.

He knew that he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut and protected the little pocket of joy he had carved for himself with his own claws and teeth, but he couldn’t. “Oh, nothing. I’m just glad that you managed to find someone that you could knock up and not want to abandon this time around,” he replied. 

“What in the ever loving fuck is that supposed to mean?” Fizz demanded as he turned around towards Blitz.

They didn’t get the chance to keep fighting about what he had said because Striker was there at the cage, grasping at Fizz and threatening him. Blitz had seen how ruthless he was when he had been preparing to take down Stolas, so it was a surprise to everyone there that he didn’t just perform the kill immediately. Part of him wanted to be grateful to Crimson for reminding the bigot that they were a valuable asset that had to be returned in one piece, and the other half of him was so angry that he could barely see straight.

Blitz felt like an idiot, talking about the pregnancy that he had detected from Fizz’s goading earlier and putting his ex-boyfriend in trouble because of it. He knew what it was to be a child that grew up without a parent and to raise a child without the other half of one’s heart, he would never do that to someone else. He hated Fizz with every fiber of his being for what had happened during the fire and afterwards, but most of his heart was just clinging to that anger so that he didn’t have to feel the alternative. Somewhere deep inside of him, in a place that he had buried and decided to never return to, was the sorrow that tried to choke him out every second that it got.

He could barely think about the guilt that he was feeling over that. If he had any luck left in him then they wouldn’t have to worry about Striker or Crimson in a little while. He supposed that being a Prince of Hell and a Sin meant that Ozzie would be able to hire good security for his lover when he found out what had happened. Stolas didn’t have that luxury since he was one of seventy-two Ars Goetia and often ignored by his family, which was why he had resorted to using Blitz as a bodyguard even though the imp wasn’t very good at that. 

He had to get them both out of the warehouse or he would never forgive himself. He knew that he still held resentment for Fizz, but that was only there because of the massive swell of love that existed for his childhood best friend. So he flipped the knife around his front when he had finished cutting the ropes around his arms and sliced it off his legs as well. He worked silently as he got the sharp blade through the duct tape and let Fizz be free as well. He did something convoluted and stupid to get them down from the cage, but it also managed to distract all of the goons around them so that several of them were fighting each other.

While they were working together, Blitz learned several things about his ex-best friend that he never thought he would have been given the chance to. Fizz was incredibly flexible, likely because of the prosthetic arms that he had gotten after the fire at the circus. He was still able to do everything that he had when they were kids despite the fact that they were nearly thirty, which shouldn’t have really been a surprise. Despite the fact that he had bionic limbs and had been famous for over a decade, the bastard knew nothing about fighting.

Blitz had to pull the slack for both of them because while Fizz was able to avoid getting shot pretty well, he couldn’t shoot anyone else to literally save his life. It ended up working out well when Fizz picked Blitz up and used his stretchy arms and flexibility to help the other imp get some of the harder shots, which resulted in them finding the window that eventually got them out.

After another explosion and some acrobatics that he hadn’t done for years, he managed to get them to a point where they were both safe for the time being. He let out a low breath and nearly collapsed as the adrenaline began to melt from his body. “I know that you hate me, but can I borrow a phone from you so that I can call my girls?”

“I want to talk to you about that before I let you go,” Fizz shook his head. The world around them stank like burning rubber and melting metal from the fire that they had started on the junkyard, but it felt oddly poetic in some way. Their entire relationship had gone up like a trash fire so they might as well talk about it while surrounded by one.

He had always known that it was a possibility that he and Fizz would have this conversation one day. He had known the second that the doctor came in with the confirmation that the pregnancy had lasted through the fire, he had known the second that the test had come back positive, he had known the second that they had decided one time without a condom would probably be fine. “What did you want to talk to me about?” he finally managed to make his voice say.

“What did you mean when you said that I got someone pregnant and then abandoned them? This is my first time having a kid, Oz and I were really excited when we found out,” Fizz said quietly. He looked so forlorn and scared when he did it, that it actually made Blitz’s heart ache in his chest.

He turned his head to the side and tried to blink away the tears that had gathered there as he explained. “You know how we were dating back when we were sixteen and we thought that one or two times without a condom would be okay? Well, I got knocked up. When I tried to tell you I got sidelined or told to fuck off every time. I thought for sure you knew.”

“Why would you think that?” Fizz asked, holding his hands out to the side of him like Blitz had told him that he thought the living world’s moon was made out of cheese. He knew that his ex-best friend would react to that situation in that specific way because it had happened when they were thirteen, the first time that they had gotten drunk together.

“Because I tried to tell you a dozen times! I mean, the first time really didn’t work because I passed out at your party and then when I woke up everything was on fire,” he sighed.

Fizz tightened up when he heard that. “You passed out? While pregnant? Were you okay?” he asked.

“I mean, I’m okay now. At the time I was actually really anemic, having them almost killed me,” he shrugged. “But I did try to tell you about the twins, Fizz. I wrote you letters after the security gave me a bruise on my ass because of how hard they tossed me out of the hospital.”

“No one ever told me that you came to visit while I was in the hospital,” the other imp whispered. He had tilted his head down for the first time since the explosion, staring at the green flames still licking at the trash below them. It was beginning to peter out already as it had consumed everything that wasn’t just melting. He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his one usable arm around them, his tail completing the circle. “I wanted you to visit me so badly. I was so scared and I didn’t understand why you ran away from me after you had seen me.”

“I didn’t really see you,” Blitz shrugged. He tilted his head forward and dug his fingers into his eye socket. He was able to see the absolutely disgusted face that Fizz gave him before he marveled at the glass eye. It had enough tech in it that it could help widen Blitz’s peripheral vision and give him his depth perception back, but it didn’t have anything high-tech. If he had wanted that then he would have had to go with VoxTech because Asmodean prosthetics tried to focus on actually being usable. “See? My eyes were totally fucked for like a week after the fire, I had to make the nurses give me an extra ultrasound so I had a chance to see my own babies since I couldn’t when they checked the first time.”

The other imp was quiet for a while longer, Blitz knew why. He had put together towards the beginning of their conversation that Cash and Mammon had worked to keep the two of them apart, especially since Cash was the one that had originally told Blitz that the fire was his fault and that Fizz didn’t want to see him. Both the older imp and the sin had to know about the twins and had kept Fizz from that knowledge on purpose.

“So you were pregnant and tried to tell me, but they didn’t let you because they wanted to keep exploiting me,” Fizz finally said the silent part out loud. Blitz had known that Mammon was abusing his best friend since he had attending the first show he had to work in Loo Loo Land. The robots were made poorly because of the demand for them, which meant that they only resembled his friend to some extent. He knew that none of that money was making it back to Fizz, at least to some extent, because otherwise he wouldn’t have kept working for the bastard as long as he had.

“Yeah, pretty much. I’ve been raising both girls on my own for a long time, there’s a lot of shit I wished you had seen and even more that I’m so glad you didn’t,” Blitz said. His pregnancy had been a fucking disaster, what with him being out on his own and absolutely covered in slowly healing burns for the entirety of it.

“What do you mean by that?” Fizz asked. It seemed like that was what he was asking most often, likely because Blitz was telling him something convoluted and overwhelming. He only had to ask for clarification when Blitz could actually get the words he needed to say forced out of his mouth.

“Well, it wasn’t pretty after I had the girls. I was mostly working odd jobs that were part time so that I could be home with them for the majority of the day. I even had to take up doing maintenance of my building so that my landlord would drop the rent to something that I could actually afford. Stole a lot too, usually baby clothes and formula because your kids sure know how to eat, Fizz. I guess that’s the one thing that I’m actually grateful that Cash taught me how to do,” Blitz rambled on.

While they talked, he shimmied towards the main part of the crane that would let them travel downwards. Fizz followed after him, coming down to the ashy ground as well despite the injury that he had on his arm. It felt almost like the fire had never happened and they had never been separated for those long fifteen years. He wondered what they would have been if they had that time instead of what they had received instead. They might have turned into what Blitz’s parents had been like, in love once upon a time but miserable and together only for their children. Perhaps it was for the best that they had been separated, so they could both grow as people and become better for their children.

They reached the bottom of the crane without either of them falling and then embarked further on their journey as they tried to get out of the junkyard. The fire had thankfully turned into nothing but warmth and foul smoke by the time that they actually descended and hadn’t caught the entire place on fire.

Thankfully, Blitz was used to his van giving out and stranding him wherever the most recent part had chosen to break. He was used to having to walk through cramped, foreign city streets until a payphone was found. He slipped into it and rigged the machine by hitting it in just the right places so that the coins inside jingled but didn’t fall, which was something that could only be done in greed. He rested his head against the grimy box as he listened to it ring a couple times before someone finally picked up.

“Blitz? Are you alright? Oh please tell me that this is actually you and not another one of those kidnappers trying to taunt me,” Stolas rambled. Blitz should have known that he was going to be an absolute mess when they were able to talk to each other again, but it still warmed his heart and the lower half of his belly to know that he had someone who cared that much about him. The part of his brain that carried Stolas’ voice with him like a protection ward told him that the only reason his lover hadn’t come to break him out the same way that he had when Blitz had gotten caught in the living world was because the politics in Hell were more complicated.

“I’m alright, Stolas. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to get us out of there? I hope that you didn’t pay those fuckers any of your money,” Blitz said.

“I was preparing to, darling, if I’m being totally honest,” Stolas replied. He sounded a little sheepish when he spoke and Blitz could almost see the blush covering the lower half of his face. In the background, the imp could make out someone else talking but couldn’t quite discern what the words were. He just knew that the tone was familiar. 

“Stolas! What they were asking for was totally fucking ridiculous and you know that Striker still has a shit ton of money from when Stella tried to have you killed,” Blitz scoffed. The memory of how injured his boyfriend had been after that incident still made his entire body feel as though he had been doused in ice water. He hadn’t been able to go to the hospital because of the trauma that he had from his first pregnancy and post-fire, which meant that he had to deal with a lot of things completely on his own on top of battling the guilt at not being there to defend his partner. He couldn't wait until their case got through the courts of Hell and they were able to put the bitch in her place by taking Via from her and giving her nothing in return during the divorce.

Stolas chittered in that way that he did when he was blushing and preparing to say something mushy, “There’s no price in the Nine Rings that’s too high when it comes to making sure that you’re safe, my dear. Both of you.”

Blitz’s hand moved down to the bottom part of his stomach, which was already beginning to swell with whatever baby had been implanted in him some months ago. He and Stolas hadn’t even been aware that it was possible for a member of the Ars Goetia and an imp to reproduce, so they hadn’t been as careful as they could have been. That was, of course, what had gotten him into trouble with his twins back when he was nineteen with the very imp that was standing outside the phonebooth. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it either time, though. The only thing that he did regret was being the first to do it because the absence of knowledge about how that worked made them both worried. They had no idea if Blitz could handle delivering an egg, like what Octavia was born in, or if he would go into labor and deliver live babies the same way that he had with his twins. There were a lot of questions and very few answers to be found, which had to be half of the reason that Stolas was so worried about the kidnapping.

He couldn’t help the smile that crossed over his face as he said, “I’m okay, Stolas. You know that I can handle this kind of thing.”

“But we don’t, Blitzy,” Stolas replied. “You could have been very hurt if your balance was off when you were trying to do one of your action hero moves. Let me know where you are and I can portal you right home.”

“Are you with Ozzie right now?” Blitz asked. It was awkward to have to refer to the man that his ex-partner was now embroiled with, but it was important. Stolas had said that he was going to request an Asmodean crystal for Blitz so that they could make their relationship official. If it was known that a Goetia was allowing his lover to use such a powerful magical artifact without permission from Paimon, the leader of the Ars Goetia, then they could both get in serious trouble. Blitz refused to give up his work even if he was just manning the office with his eldest daughter until the baby came, in whatever form that was.

“I am, in fact,” the other replied. “Why?”

Blitz went quiet for a while. He let out a low breath to try and settle the nausea in the back of his throat. He was glad for the pregnancy, for once, because it allowed him to blame that feeling on the fact that he was growing another being instead of it being about the idea of telling Fizz. That was stupid anyway, since he had already told the other imp and the reaction that he had feared didn’t come to pass in the way that he had feared it. 

He straightened up in the phone booth and then waved at Fizz to make sure that the other was okay. “I want you to bring me and someone else to their palace. I, um, I finally told the twins father that they existed and I think that we should discuss when they’re going to meet for the first time.”

“Do you think that he’s going to try and fight for custody?” Stolas immediately asked.

“I don’t think so. And you know my feelings about how custody should work,” Blitz replied. Via had been very worried about what would happen to her when her parents finally settled in the courts. She didn’t want to have to go stay with her mother every other week, not when the woman had soured so completely since Stolas had cheated on her. Apparently her bad attitude had now transferred to being directed at her daughter instead of being reserved only for her ex-husband. They had managed to work in a clause that Via would get to choose where she wanted to go and who she wanted to be with. She wouldn’t get carted around based on the whims of her parents or a court system, she would have autonomy for who she got to be with.

Stolas agreed after a bit more poking and prodding, then got the coordinates that he needed from Blitz. The portal opened and they were permitted to step through onto the plush carpets of Ozzie’s mansion. It was decorated the same way that everything else in Lust was, with massive windows that let in the hazy pink light and blues thrown just about everywhere. 

As soon as they were safely through the swirling bit of magic, Fizz launched himself off the ground and into his boyfriend’s arms. Blitz could barely even think about being jealous or envious of what they had because his own boyfriend was smothering him with affection. He knew that things were going to be okay, even if they would be weird and out of the ordinary. He hadn’t been loved the way he wanted during his first pregnancy, but he was getting it now. And Fizz would get to know what it was like to watch his children grown in the belly of the man he loved, even if that had to be with his third child and Ozzie instead of his eldest girls and Blitz.

[weanwinwhester]

I need NEED need a detailed/casdean canon compliant or consistent or whatever FIC of Bird on a Wire, because god help me if that isn’t them, if you haven’t seen it go watch it bc i’m sure Deans seen it, PLEASE i’m begging into the void rn please

[deacons-wig]

Last line tag meme

Last line tag meme - tagged by @chocochipbiscuit

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or the last wip you drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

He knew too much of that woo-woo shit now, against his will.

From my new Cyberpunk fic, Bird on a Wire. Vik Vektor getting tarot readings via text from his landlord and making Decisions based on them that will Radically Alter the course of his life, whoops!

Thanks for the tag Choco!! Haven't done one of these in a while.

Tagging @wildwildwasteland @catboyrights @salamanderpie @totally-not-deacon @ragedaisy @ghoulghostly @vcaudley @threewhiskeylunch @butchzambo @laetan @wishing4nuclearwinter @newvegascowboy

[apricusapollo]

wip wednesday

thanks for the tag @ad-astra-per-aspera7 <33

chapter 2 of hoax is the only wip I have right now and I haven't touched it for So Long lmao

Maybe it’s because of Regulus’ desperate voice or maybe it’s something else, but Sirius lets out a shuddering breath and slowly opens his eyes again. He’s staring right into Regulus’ eyes, but he looks like he can’t see him there, like he’s trying to do it but failing.

“Come on, Sirius, don’t– don’t give up now, come on.” Regulus pleads, his hands shaking as he tries to brush the curls out of his brother’s eyes.

“I’m tired.” Sirius replies quietly, more tears rolling down his cheeks at the pained expression on Regulus’ face. “I tried, Reggie, I tried so hard–”

tags !! @im-still-tryin-to-find-it @signofthereads @writteninverses

[kelp-my-beloved]

best feeling ever

[cxrsed-angel]

Knuckle Deep in the Backseat (Joel Miller x Fem! reader smut)

rating: 18+

word count: 3k

summary: Joel convinced you to learn how to drive and offers to teach you, but ends up in the back seat with you.

warning: Smut, age gap (Joel is in his 50s, reader is in 20s). Fingering, dirty talk, Daddy kink, pet names, car sex, established relationship.

A/N: Title is inspired but causal by Chappell Roan but the fic has nothing to do with the song. This actually was in my draft since last year and was "finished" but it needed work lol.

The sun is barely up bit its still too bright, and the birds are chirping too loudly. You can feel the crisp fall air as you stand outside. You hated being up this early. You don’t even remember how Joel got you to wake up this early. Joel knew you weren't a morning person, but he had convinced you with shitty coffee to practice driving after finding a couple of gas cans. Said it might come in handy, and he doesn’t want you to be unprepared. The thought was sweet, but waking you up at 7:00 a.m. wasn’t. You figured it would be later in the day like 12pm not the ass crack of dawn. You followed him to the truck, your eyebrows frowning due to how early it was. 

“Good morning, baby. ‘You ready to drive? I woke you up ages ago. What took you so long?” 

Joel greets you with a big smile. He's leaning against the old truck, way more energetic than you are. Over the years, he’s gotten used to waking up early, which you didn’t understand. You hated how chipper he was in the morning; you couldn’t relate. You’d be lucky if you rolled out of bed before noon. 

You walk up to him, flipping him off before taking the coffee from his hand. He laughs and watches as you take a sip of coffee. You walk to the driver's side of the car, and he follows behind you. You watch as he opens the door and starts hot-wiring the car to start it. 

You see him standing next to an old four-door black truck, holding the coffee he had promised, smiling. “You know I used to have a truck like this; it was black—” You nod, staring at him, not really listening to him go on about his old pre end of the world truck he used to own. You're still trying to wake up, zoning out a bit. You stare at him briefly, and he realizes that you haven't been listening. 

He stops rambling about the mileage he had on his old truck and the deal he got on it. “You ever drove one of these before?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. You give him a deadpanned stare, narrowing your eyes, 

“And when would I have driven one of these, Joel? Considering most cars stopped working about 20 years ago.” You knew you were being cranky, but you didn’t appreciate being up before noon if your life wasn’t depending on it.

He looks up from hot wiring, mumbling under his breath, “fucking smart ass” You roll you’re eyes and watch as he continues messing with wires until you hear the car turns on; you stare at him as he walks around.

 His ass looks particularly good in his jeans as he walks around the truck to get into the passenger seat. Normally, you would try to make your staring more subtly, but it was hard since you’re barely awake; he just looked so good. The greying hair, his pretty brown eyes, the wrinkles around his forehead from frowning for the last 20 years, the cuts around his face, his muscles peeking through his shirt sleeves. You’re broken out of your trance when you hear his deep Texas voice that had lured you out here in the first place. 

“Are you gonna stand there and check me out all day, or are you gonna get your ass in the car.” 

You stop daydreaming, his words snapping you out of your semi-dirty thoughts. You walk to the car and get into the driver’s seat. You’re sitting in the driver's seat as he asks, “Ok, so tell me what you remember.” 

“Well, not much, considering the last time I was in a car that worked, I was a toddler,” You answer again sarcastically, rolling your eyes, still cranky and grumpy. 

Joel turns his head to look at you, narrowing his eyes at your snark. He knows it usually takes a good 30 minutes or so for you to be yourself when he woke you up early, but today, you seemed extra grumpy. 

The first time Joel woke you up early in the morning, you gave him short responses or cursed him out every other sentence all morning. It was earlier on when he met you. Joel thought you were pissed at him or that he did something, so he responded back with short responses and attitude, which led to a lot of tension the rest of the day. But after a couple of weeks of early morning runs, he saw that that was just how you are, and he eventually got used to it. He also realized that if he gave you coffee and was patient, you’d eventually wake up faster. Still, it didn't work every time, and it seemed like this was one of those mornings where you were extra cranky and a pain in the ass. 

You take another sip of his coffee and sigh, realizing you were being too bitchy; you hand the coffee back to him. “I’m sorry. That was a bit much. I’ll tone it down. Promise.” 

He looks at you as he puts the coffee in the cup holder, unsure if he believes you. He replies dry and sarcastically. “I'm sure you will.” He starts talking about something, but honestly, you weren’t listening, too lost in those brown eyes of his to focus on what he was saying again.

 You see him motion to the thing with numbers above the steering. You know it's probably important, but you're far more interested in how good his hands look as he gestures to the different parts of the car. Fuck why did he have to be so hot? 

“So, um, 20 years ago, you would’ve had to take a test and worry about a lot of different rules of the road and deal with people riding your ass, tailgating, and a lot of other shit, but um, now I guess the important thing is just getting somewhere as fast as possible isn't it? You’d probably not gonna drive often, but it's good to know.”

You nod, paying attention to his words now instead of all the dirty things you want him to do to you, trying to focus on getting ready to drive. 

“Alright, you feel those two pedals down there. The one on the left is the brake, and the one on the right is the gas; you only want to use one foot while driving; you can really mess up the car if you press both at the same time. See these here are your shifts to D for drive, P for park, R for reverse.” He pauses, thinking about anything he might’ve missed, but he remembers you weren’t gonna be driving like he used to, “Thats all you really need to know.” 

You watch as he explains everything to you. He tells you to put it into drive, and the car starts moving forward slightly. You shakily put your hands on the wheel, gripping it tightly, and press down the gas pedal, nervously chewing on your lip. He guides you through an old road that wasn’t too overgrown or hard to navigate. After a few minutes, you feel like you're starting to get the hang of it. You feel Joel place his hand on your thigh, resting it there. You look over at him slightly, wondering if you have messed up or done something wrong. Still, he says nothing about letting you drive, resting his hand on your thigh, and occasionally squeezing it. 

“Am I doing okay?” you ask quietly as his hand continues to rest on your thigh, slowly rubbing further up your thighs.  You feel his hand creep up higher and the air in the truck getting hotter as his hand makes you feel warm. You lose focus on what you are doing and feel the car drifting off the road as his hand reaches further up your shorts. You feel the arousal building in your core. 

“Doin' great baby, just try to keep the wheel straight; you're drifting sideways a little.” He leans over you, grabbing the wheel to make it straight before letting you take over again, “Atta girl, see, you're doing perfectly.” 

His hand lightly squeezes your thigh reassuringly. You swallow hard, trying not to let his actions and deep voice affect you, trying to focus your attention back on the road. But that went out the window once you felt his hand rub the place you needed him most through your pants. 

“Joel,” you whisper his name. It comes out more of a moan than you intended; he leans over the gear shift, kissing your neck and sucking on your skin. You close your eyes, feeling your body getting hotter and your heart beating faster. You had forgotten you were supposed to control a vehicle until he moved his lips off your neck. 

“Focus on the road, baby; after all the shit I’ve been through, I don't wanna die because you drove us into a damn tree.” 

You open your eyes, listening to him, and focus back on driving. At least you try to, but you fail once his fingers start unbuttoning your jeans. His hands go down your pants and slowly caress against your pussy over your panties. You feel your face heat up, getting wetter, more turned on by his fingers teasing you. 

You don’t know how you’d manage to drive this much without crashing the truck, but you lose what little self-control you have left when Joel moves your panties to the side. Your foot moves off the gas pedal, the car stops, and you can't take it anymore. You close your eyes, feeling yourself get wetter. 

“Joel! I can't–ah– I need you please, please, please, I need you,” you beg and whine to him, wanting him to do more, but all you hear is his deep voice laugh at you as he removes his hand from your pants. 

“All of a sudden, you have manners, and bein’ polite.” he mocks you as he moves back into his seat, watching you get a bit mad.. “What happened to all that attitude and snark you gave me 10 minutes ago.” He continues as you look at him, your face flush and hot. No way you continue with this driving lesson after feeling his fingers against your core. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I won't be a pain in the ass anymore.” You try to apologize, hoping he’ll accept it and put his hand back. You look at him with soft eyes, practically beginning him to fuck you. 

He looks at you for a few minutes before shaking his head and giving you a smirk, not being easily won over by your apologies or the 180 in your attitude.

“What?. You think a few sorrys gonna have me forget how much attitude you gave me for no reason?” You frown as he continues, “No, sweetheart, you’ve been an extra wiseass this morning, and I don't think you deserve it.” 

You shake your head to apologize again, hoping to convince. “Joel… Please, I said I was sorry. You know I’m not a morning person, and I never mean it.” He doesn't say anything as he looks at you. You can tell he’s debating whether to drive back to Jackson or go to the back of the truck. “Alright, fine baby, get in the back. But I ain't letting you get that easy,” he grunts in a deep Texas voice. You smile, glad he had given in. 

You unbuckle your seat belt and crawl into the truck's back seat. You're about to leave the car, but Joel places a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. 

 “You gotta put it into park, darling, or we’ll go rolling into a tree.” He gently reminds you as he opens the passenger door. 

You glance at the gear shift, remembering you were supposed to be a driving lesson that had taken a turn.

 “Oh, right.” You sit back in the driver's seat, putting the gearshift into P. You couldn't turn the car off since it was hot-wired, so you watch as Joel reaches over and pulls another small lever thing up, not exactly sure what it is for. 

“The emergency brake. Just to be safe.” 

 After parking the car and making sure the car wasn't going to roll backward, You hop over the console and crawl into the back seat, waiting for him to join you. You watch as Joel gets out of the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. Your eyebrow frowns slightly, confused as to why he was not hoping into the backseat with you. “Aren't you- where are you going?”  Your frown confused why he wasn't hopping over the seat like you. He smiles at you before closing the passenger door; he opens the back seat door, closing it behind him, and climbs in, sitting in the middle seat, getting into the backseat,

 “I ain't as young, and with my bad back and knees. There's no way I’m hopping over the console and crawling into the goddamn back seat like that. My knees are already bad enough.” 

You smile as he sits next to you, forgetting about your age difference, “Guess thats the con of dating an old man, huh.” You joke as he grabs your hips, gently pushes you down on the back seat, and unbuttons your jeans, hovering over you as you lay on your back. 

“Yea, but who's getting in the back seat with said old man and begging this old man to fuck you.” 

You laugh for a bit at his very valid reply. You feel him pull your jeans down and your underwear all at once. You sit with him as he tosses your clothes to the backseat floor. He moves a bit to sit on the seats, pulling you next to him, and his rough hands grab your hips. You feel him rub up your thigh with one and place his index and middle finger on the other hand against your lips. You open your mouth, sucking on them, gazing up at Joel. 

Joel lets out a groan under his breath as he looks at you, “Fuck sweetheart, look so pretty sucking on my fingers.” His praise gets you wetter as he takes his finger out of your mouth and slowly pushes them inside you. He starts off slow but gradually increases his speed as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot deep in you. You shudder under his touch, grinding against his fingers. 

“Fuck baby, you’re soaking my fingers.” he drawls out as he continues fucking you with his fingers. You whimper at his words, hearing the sounds of your wetness as his finger fuck deeper into you. You grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, clenching around his fingers as you get closer to your release. Your moans grow louder as you feel his fingers rub against your clit.

“Yes! Yes! Daddy, I’m so close!” You feel the pressure building, your breath gets shakier, and your moans get louder, filling the old truck, until you feel his hand cover your mouth, muffling you’re growing moans. He leans over, hovering over you more, his fingers stopping inside you.

“You need to shut the hell up before you attract a whole hoard of clickers.” His stern tone still turns you on more, his eyes staring into yours intensely. Making sure you understand him, you give him a nod with glossy eyes staring back at him. 

He slowly started moving his finger again, curling up as he reached the spot each time he slid his finger inside you. Your eyes roll back as you move your hips against his fingers. You felt his hand come out of your mouth, and you bit your lip, trying to surprise your moans. You feel you’re self getting closer, your brain getting fuzzy as his fingers move faster.  

“Is this what I have to do every morning, gotta make you cum on my fingers, then you’ll be nice?” He taunts you as you continue moaning. Your lips desperately clash with Joel’s messily making out with him. Joel’s other hand spreads your thighs further as he continues to finger fucking you. 

You nod absentmindedly, leaning your head against his neck as he continues fucking you with his fingers; his thumb rubs your clit and brings you over the edge. Joel knew, too. He knew your body like the back of your hand, even outside of sex. He always knew when you were scared when you were pissed. 

“You’re close, huh I can tell. You wanna cum, sweetheart? You’re gonna cum on daddy’s finger?” He asks softly as he sits beside you, fingers moving deeper inside your dripping cunt. 

You immediately nod, “Yes, daddy, please, please. I’m so close.” Your release slows as his fingers pull out of you. You feel your orgasm fading and your eyes open, looking at him disappointed, watching as he puts his two fingers in his mouth, tasting your wetness. He gives you a slight smirk as she shakes his head. 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure you deserve it, after how you were this morning, all those smart-ass remarks after you asked me to teach you to drive.” He slowly traces his finger over your clit, teasing you as you whine against him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be nice!” you apologize frantically, hoping he’ll move his fingers again. Joel smiles before he slips his finger inside your aching pussy accepting your apology, and moves his finger again, the arousal building again. Your moan grows louder as his fingers bring you to your release. He brings his lips to your mouth, sloppily kissing you to quiet your moans. You moan against his lips. 

“As pretty as those moans are, you really gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Once we get back to Jackson, you can be as loud as you want. Okay?” 

You nod, knowing he’s right. You really don't wanna lure a group of infected or clickers with your moans. In this situation, you’d rather not die mid-sex from clickers. you close your eyes, feeling his fingers move faster. He brings his other hand onto your clit, rubbing it slowly.

“I know, I know but-fuck baby, I’m close, I'm so close.” The sounds of your moans and your wetness from your entrance fill the rundown truck as you get closer to your release. 

“Come on baby, atta girl, soak my finger, baby.” He coaxes, his voice guiding you through your orgasm. eye closing as you dissolve into pleasure. you gasp before moaning his name repeatedly. “Joel Joel Joel fuck daddy!” His hand comes over your mouth again to keep your moans quiet. You feel your stomach twist, your wet pussy clenches as you feel your climax. you move, laying your head on his shoulder as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm. 

You feel him remove his fingers from you. you breathe heavily, coming down from your high. Just you open your eyes; Joel puts his dripping fingers in his mouth. You watch desperately as he moans at your taste. He smiles, laughing slightly at how you look at him still recovering but, obviously still wanting him. He leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead, and looks at you.  

“You better?” you nod silently. “You awake?” you nod again, feeling a bit weaker between your legs than before you had entered the truck. Joel laughs, gently giving you a soft kiss on your lips. “Good, now get back in the driver’s seat and take us home so I can fuck you. ” 

You nod, getting up and hopping back into the front seat. You look back at Joel, watching him get into the passenger seat. He starts the car again, and you start speeding back to Jackson. 

“You know, maybe you should give me an orgasm in the morning every day to wake me up.” you smile, making a joke but also being serious. 

Joel shakes his head at your words, laughing a bit. His hand comes back to your thigh, rubbing it. “Just focus on driving the damn truck first.” 

[moongreenlight]

“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

[kleptopunk]

my partner doesn't write but they SHOULD.

they are so good at plot and character motivation, they've basically saved chapter 6 and 7 of Bird on a Wire by helping me Tetris together all the elements i wanted in play while pointing out where things were getting convoluted.

the key is focusing on Vel and what they're willing to do in NC, and where they draw a line, and why they draw a line. focusing on the difference between wiping out a bunch of scavs to keep the family safe and wiping out a bunch of scavs for money. They're having to face what it means to be an individual (in the toxic, Night City sense) for the first time. and how they keep encountering people who don't draw lines where they do, and how they find comfort in Vik's kindness because of it.

Thank u bby, you get a whole acknowledgement page when this is done. <3

[nickeverdeen]

Hey, could I get an imagine with Ekko x introverted!GN!reader who looks scary, serious and cold at first glance, but is actually just socially awkward and very geeky and silly once you get to know them? Like, they're very creative and love coming up with stories, as well as infodumping about random stuff they're into at the moment, like criminology or extinct animals.

Thanks!

Unmasking the Introvert | Ekko x gn!reader

Pairings: Ekko x gn!reader (romantic)

Type of fic: I’m not sure

Warnings: None

Summary: Ekko is slowly getting to know your true side

—————

Ekko had always been intrigued by you. From the first time he’d caught a glimpse of you in Zaun, he’d pegged you as the silent type, intense with that don’t-mess-with-me aura. You were usually found in the corner of any room you entered, often watching others with a gaze that could cut through glass. Most people didn’t get close enough to try talking to you, content with spreading rumors instead: some said you had a secret criminal past; others thought you might have alchemical powers that could hypnotize anyone with a glance.

But Ekko didn’t buy it. He knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving. So, he decided to talk to you himself, casually striking up a conversation at the Hideout one day after he’d noticed you tinkering with something in the corner.

“Hey, whatcha working on?” Ekko leaned over your shoulder, watching as your hands deftly tightened screws and adjusted wires.

Caught off guard, you jerked slightly, glancing up at him with wide eyes. But you quickly masked it, pulling up that familiar guarded expression, making Ekko smirk a bit. He wasn’t easily intimidated.

“Just… something I’m building,” you replied coolly, your voice steady but your eyes shifting nervously. “Helps me think.”

Intrigued, Ekko leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Mind if I watch?”

You didn’t answer immediately, but after a brief pause, you nodded. As he watched, you slowly began explaining each piece of machinery, your voice growing a bit stronger and more assured with each word. After a while, he noticed the hardened look in your eyes beginning to soften. By the time you’d finished the explanation, your whole demeanor had relaxed just a bit.

A few days later, Ekko bumped into you again, and you couldn’t help but launch into an animated explanation about something random you’d been reading about—extinct animals. Before you knew it, you were on a full-blown tangent about the Moa bird, a giant flightless bird from New Zealand that had been hunted to extinction centuries ago.

“They were enormous, like ten feet tall, with these long necks! And did you know their legs were so powerful that one kick could shatter bones?” Your eyes lit up as you spoke, hands gesturing wildly. “It’s kinda sad… but also fascinating how ecosystems just change when one creature disappears.”

Ekko just grinned, genuinely enjoying the infodump. He’d never expected that someone as intense-looking as you could be so endearing in such a nerdy way. “That’s cool, I didn’t know that. What got you into extinct animals?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I just… like learning about things. And sharing them, even though I know most people think it’s boring.”

“Boring? Nah, I think it’s cool. You got any other fun facts up your sleeve?”

You blinked in surprise, before diving into your latest fascination—criminology. He listened as you passionately detailed the science behind forensic psychology, your eyes lighting up as you explained how criminals are profiled. At one point, you started mimicking a detective’s voice, spinning a little story about a fictional thief in Zaun who’d slipped through the Enforcers’ hands multiple times.

Ekko laughed, “You’d make a great storyteller. Ever thought of putting all these ideas into a book or something?”

The suggestion took you aback. “I don’t know… I just think people wouldn’t really get it.”

“Bet they would,” Ekko said with a reassuring smile. “And hey, even if they don’t, I’m all ears.”

Over time, your quiet bond grew stronger. Ekko made a habit of stopping by to hear your latest “random obsession,” and you found yourself looking forward to sharing with him, little by little letting go of the intimidating front you put up for the world.

One night, he found you on a rooftop, writing notes in a worn-out notebook by the light of the moon. You looked up as he approached, giving him a slight nod in greeting, but he could see the glint of excitement in your eyes.

“What’s on your mind tonight?” he asked, settling down beside you.

You paused for a second, before leaning in and saying, “Alright, so imagine this: a heist, set in Piltover, but the thieves are all masked vigilantes from Zaun… and they have this backstory, see, where they all have these ridiculous alter-egos…”

And as you spun your tale, Ekko watched you with a smile, feeling lucky to be the one who got to see you like this: genuine, animated, and maybe a little silly.

[everything-is-as-it-was]

omg whats your two birds on a wire fic about???? (im drawn to regina spektor like a moth to a flame shes one of my fav artists of all time)

Ahaha glad you asked!! It's a collaboration I'm doing with @nobodynobodyno who's the author of this incredible fic. It's a slow-burn (based on the movie Love, Rosie) and in the beginning stages but I'm super excited about it!

Here's the link if anyone's interested to read it :)

[sissytobitch10seconds]

[ervotica]

𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞. [𝐟.𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when you think finnick’s in danger, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect him. or, that time the mutts impersonated your fiancé and you lost your shit.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: canon level violence, finnick is cute, reader is traumatised and also crying. overall not my best writing but it’s something.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: apologies for my absence guys, life has been kicking me in the ass of late. here’s an apology fic, i know it sucks i am very rusty in the writing department. love ya🫶

Finnick has been gone for ten minutes when the birds start circling; he’s disappeared into the trees, aimlessly digging when the sounds of flapping wings and voices hit the group’s poised ears.

You’re stumbling into the undergrowth at the first threat of danger, the breath quick to steal from your lungs as his voice rings in your ears.

“Y/N? Where are you? Help me!” Finnick’s voice calls, low and pained and drawn out terribly. Every sensible explanation dies, shrivels up and blackens in your head and you’re running towards the sound, swatting leaves and fallen branches out of the way.

“Finnick!” you shriek. “Finnick!”

Your heartbeat thumps in your own head, blood rushing and pounding when you trip and stumble your way further into the trees.

Peeta and Johanna are behind you, their grappling hands doing little to stop you on your rampage.

“They’re jabberjays, it’s not real!” Peeta tries to coax you down but it’s no use, you’re in a blind panic.

“Finn!” you scream for him again. “Finnick!”

Every awful scenario floods your head at once, of Snow and the Capitol and the torture they could inflict on him. It’s the only way to hurt you, hurting him, and Snow knows that.

Your cheeks are hot and damp with tears as you spin, frantic and wide eyed and desperate to catch a glimpse of Finnick; Johanna seizes you from behind, pushing you down to the ground and holding you there. When you thrash and lift your head, her hand clasps the back of your neck and forces your nose into the damp floor.

“It’s not real!” she growls.

He’s still screaming. Screaming for you. It hurts your ears and grabs your chest with white-hot panic, pure and unrelenting.

By the time the hour’s up, you’re limp, breath ragged and laboured. Johanna manhandles you up until you feel the bark of a tree digging into your back; you hiss and push her away indignantly. You have this far away look in your eyes, glazed and unfocused, only snapping to attention when a pair of footsteps bowl through the trees and crouch next to you.

“Finn,” you whisper, trembling as he wraps thick wired arms around you and pulls you flush to him. His pulse is fast and hard like a drum pressed to your cheek, his chest heaving as you climb him.

“It wasn’t real. I’m fine, we’re fine.”

You gasp and wheeze and clutch at him like he might slip away, a fist in his sandy hair, your shoulder wedged under his armpit. His grip is like iron around your waist and his breath is warm and comforting on the juncture of your shoulder.

“You’re okay,” you mumble, repeating over and over as though you’re trying to convince yourself.

“I’m okay. Look at me,” he demands. His hands are warm. “It wasn’t real.”

“Not real.” You rake fingernails across the nape of his neck, squeezing to keep him close. Your breath is ragged. “We’re fine.”

“There’s my girl.”

[everything-is-as-it-was]

absolutely shameless self promo:

This one is my child. It's purely self-indulgent. Plot is loose. I yap way too much lmao.

This one is a brand-new WIP with @nobodynobodyno! Based on the movie Love, Rosie and is a major slow burn.

The last one is my only completed fic- 14,000 words of essentially fluff & one-shots in greece.

ok that's all bye!

it's eleven of the clock i need a fic to last me until at least one am got any rēcssss 〰️〰️〰️〰️

SOZ SOZ I’ve got nothing tbh my brain is empty I keep sneezing n that’s it

THO pls phansters give recs