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tojiscrack · 10 months

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•°. *࿐ 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄

tw: swearing, mention of nipples, arguing (counts as bantering), just chaos tbh

pairing: satoru gojo x reader

notes: the way i was bawling my eyes out for the new jjk ep that came out today whilst also trying to simultaneously stay happy for my husband’s birthday. had to distract myself, so here’s my gojo!birthday post! enjoyyy <33

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・

certain events were taken very seriously in your household. it would be extremely unnatural if you missed something as simple as the first day back to school or the last day of school, even.

to be fair, as much excitement as you held for little events such as those, your partner’s excitement was enough to accustom every other member of your house (there were three of you, excluding satoru gojo).

seriously: he had only recently thrown a child-like tantrum because you’d forgotten the anniversary of your first sparring session three years ago — who even remembers shit like that? what happened to the normal, memorable events like valentines day, mothers day, or fathers day?

or birthdays.

now that was one you took extremely seriously. that was one you’d understand if satoru threw a tantrum over forgetting something as important as the day commemorating the year the world turned upside down by the birth of satoru gojo himself (it would have been nice if you were given a warning — putting up with him was forced labour, you firmly believe that you deserve to be paid).

and getting a gift for satoru was easy as pie. the man was so full of sunshines and daisies that he accepted nearly everything. it came to a point where you’d been under the impression that he was simply pretending for your sake, that you tried giving him one of nanami’s weird old pointed shoes during his 17th. needless to say, he was not pretending to like your gifts, and that was proven very well when the strongest sorcerer in the world held up the pair in one large hand, teary eyed with his lips wobbling.

drama queen, you thought in your head.

this year, you had much planned: the dinner table where you usually forbid a number of more than four candies or sweets were now filled with enough to diagnose him with diabetes and at least twenty cavities.

that was not all.

sometime last month, satoru had bought a pretty, blue dress for tsumiki (no special occasion, it was ‘speaking’ to him, apparently — his words, not yours) but it ended up being a size too small. you, wisely, suggested returning it, but the idiot came up with something… unique.

“just let megumi wear it!” he’d said with a giant grin.

megumi did not take that too well. despite the fact that you were already on his side, scolding satoru for constantly teasing the innocent boy, megumi had run back into your shared bedroom and returned with one of your own pretty blue dresses.

satoru looked down at him, his opaque, round glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose to reveal his scarily-blue eyes.

“oh?” he’d said, brows raised. “i mean i see why you’d want to wear that one, but —"

“i don’t want to wear it, creep,” snapped megumi, dropping the dress at satoru’s feet. the height difference was comical, megumi barely reached higher than the snow-haired man’s knee. “it’s for you.”

your eyes narrowed.

“now wait just a minute —”

“i’ll wear tsumiki’s dress the day you wear that one,” scoffed megumi, who knew very well that satoru would never stoop that low. he did not wait for another response before walking away.

you and satoru watched him leave; you looked at satoru, who shrugged at you, and before either of you could blink, megumi was at satoru’s knees again.

“wha—”

kick!

“ow!”

the dark haired kid ran off without a word, leaving satoru to rub at his knee with his glasses askew on his face.

“the kid can seriously kick, huh?” he grunted, bouncing on the heels of his feet as you had approached him with a scowl.

“that’s what you get for even saying such a stupid thing,” you told him as you pinched his arm to stop him from bouncing around. his face came to level with yours and you took the opportunity to fix his glasses before flicking him on the forehead. “put my dress away.”

satoru grinned at you.

“i’ll skin you alive if i see you in that.”

“i paid for it.”

“and you’ll do that again if you wear it.”

so that brought you to the present day, where you found yourself actually pleading with megumi to… wear the dress.

“no,” he said, glaring at you (a rare sight, because despite your obvious similarities in humour with satoru, megumi still preferred to side with you in every situation). “it’s ugly.”

“you didn’t say it was ugly when tsumiki said she liked it.”

“tsumiki’s —” started megumi, looking at you as if you’d grown three different heads. “tsumiki’s a girl! why is — what’s wrong with you people?”

“it’ll look funny!”

“exactly.”

“he’ll be here in a couple of minutes, megumi. just for a minute… please?” you reasoned, hands clasped in pleading. “i want to make sure his birthday is perfect.”

“at my expense.”

you stared at him. “why does a kid like you even know those words?”

tsumiki had walked in the room by that point, a party hat sitting on top of the braids you had expertly done for her that morning.

“he reads non-fiction books,” she answered your question easily, placing her own wrapped gift on the table with very little room due to the pastries and goodies.

“of course,” you sighed. “because that’s so normal for a seven year old kid. you know, forget the dress. want me to take you to a doctor instead?”

“you’re not normal either,” megumi shot back grumpily.

“i am!” you argued back, unaware of the fact that satoru was now in the process of unlocking the door. “aren’t i, tsumiki?”

the girl, though hesitant, nodded enthusiastically. you’ll take it.

“see, megumi? i’m norm�� what are you staring at?”

megumi’s face had paled, his pupils growing smaller and smaller with whatever view behind you he was met with. your eyes darted to tsumiki, who also looked visibly shocked, but you knew her well enough to analyse the fact that she also looked very… amused.

what was so amusing?

“I’M HOOOOME!” sang satoru, his voice smooth as silk and loud as though he’d spoken through a megaphone.

but satoru wasn’t that shocking. satoru was just satoru. satoru was…

you turned around.

satoru was wearing a dress.

your dress.

the one you’d forbidden him from touching.

the one you’d explicitly threatened him with.

the one he knew was off-limits.

the one he had now stretched and ripped due to his broad shoulders, his muscular frame, his tall body.

satoru seemed blissfully unaware of the issue at hand, pouting as his blue eyes darted from you, to megumi, to tsumiki.

“what, no birthday songs? you know i love your singing, y/n —”

“is infinity on?” you asked slowly, voice shaky with frustration.

satoru blinked.

“huh?”

“is. infinity. on.”

“i mean — yeah — but —”

“okay,” you smiled, walking over to the table and presenting all the treats you’d bought for him. you picked up a cinnamon roll with your bare hands, ignoring the way the sugary icing was now dripping down your skin.

“oh! those for me? i knew you’d come through! remember that shoe you gave me back when —”

splatter!

it was a good thing you were known for hitting your targets every time: satoru’s — your — dress was now tainted with the mess only a delicious cinnamon roll could cause. it dropped to the floor after sliding down his front for a good five seconds as you, him, and the kids watched with interest.

he stared at the wasted treat, mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the disaster. he looked back up again, ready to protest when he found you holding another one of his treats: it was kikufuku — edamame and cream flavour, also known as, satoru gojo’s favourite.

“hey, wait —”

smack!

square on the nose. target hit. mission… accomplished? no, not quite yet. that was not enough compensation for your previously, well-crafted, beloved dress.

the idiot tried catching it, only for it to slip between his unnecessarily long fingers and fall sadly onto the wooden floor.

“no!” he shouted dramatically, voice cracking with despair. “that was —”

“your favourite?” you finished off, head tilted mockingly. “i know. that was my dress.”

satoru shook his head vigorously; it would have made you laugh if not for the fact that the dress he was wearing belonged to you.

“it still is!” he stated desperately.

“it’s not even a dress anymore you stupid man-child!”

“i know it looks a little… weird —”

“just weird?”

“and… a little ripped —"

“a little?”

“but it’s still yo— put my kikufuku down right now!”

the next five minutes had been an unpleasant sight for all: you were trying to get him out of your ruined dress, he was trying to get his favourite treat out of your hand, not to be tragically wasted like the previous one. tsumiki had made one or two attempts to calm all the tension down, but megumi had hissed at her to stop interfering.

tsumiki knew it was because if the arguing had been an issue of the past, megumi and his claim that if satoru wore your dress then he’d wear tsumiki’s small one, would be an issue of the present.

satoru, with his arms wrapped around your body (somehow) to prevent you from grabbing another one of his goodies, looked over his shoulder to send a menacing glare to megumi.

“you’re not off the hook either, mister,” he said loudly, “get the dress on.”

you pushed satoru off of you with an impressive amount of strength seeing as he practically towered over you and bested you in physical strength any day.

“no, forget it megumi. he doesn’t deserve to see you in a dre—”

the rest of your sentence had been muffled by satoru’s large hand slapping over your mouth, making you stumble back in surprise and anger.

“ignore her megumi, put the damn dress on.”

you pulled at his already-dishevelled hair sharply. he bit back a high-pitched scream his inner girl had wanted to release.

“he doesn’t want to anyway, he’s not gonna listen to you!”

satoru tried pushing you with his chest away from the dinner table so it would be easier to hold you back. he’d decided that you wouldn’t give up on this, therefore creating some space between you and his beloved sugary treats would be ideal in this scenario.

“oi, i did what the little brat wanted me to do,” he hissed with fury. his hands closed around your wrist, he looked over his shoulder at megumi again. “and i feel like shit right now —”

“— no swearing in front of the kids —”

“— i feel like poop right now,” satoru obediently corrected himself without looking back at you. “now do your dad a favour and put the dress on —”

megumi gave him a look of disgust and did not hesitate to share his thoughts.

“ew you’re not my dad.”

and sometimes you genuinely believe that satoru has some mild form of adhd, for his attention diverted quickly from his physical battle with you to the random one picked up by megumi.

“what the hell?”

but it still seemed as though one side of his brain was still working, he hadn’t let go of your wrists just yet.

“oh my god,” you sighed, looking over at tsumiki as though she could help you in any way: the young girl shrugged, fiddling with the little bands that went round her face in order to keep her party hat in place.

“pause, this is getting really serious right now and i don’t like it,” said satoru, and then quickly turned his head to face you with a glare. “not that you wasting my food isn’t serious.”

you struggled with his iron-tight grip on your wrists.

“i paid for all of that,” you reminded him charmingly.

“and i paid for this dress.”

“and you also wrecked it,” you snapped, eyeing what once used to be your beautiful blue dress that now looked like something you’d seen peasants wear in a movie.

“i’ll buy you a closet full of dresses if that’s what you want!” satoru argued back.

“i don’t want a closet full of dresses,” you retorted, and then paused, looking up thoughtfully. “but i’ll hold you to that.”

satoru blinked at you, confused; you shook your head and focused.

“i want that dress!” you demanded angrily, the battle continuing despite yourself. “and you didn’t heed my warning, so your kikufuku and everything else i bought you gets it.”

“you’re evil —”

“and you look like a fool!”

satoru did not deny that, so with his eyes still trained on you, narrowing them slowly, he exhaled through his nose.

“megumi, i won’t ask again. wear the dress.”

before you could go for the dinner table again, satoru ducked and lifted you by your waist, using his long legs to make large strides towards the couch. you protested, your hands had instinctively held onto his shoulders, and without them, you could not fight back. you opted to dig your nails into him instead — he hissed but made no complaints as he continued to quickly jog you over to the couch.

“megumi!” you called out loudly: the boy still remained where you had last spoken to him, by the chairs of the table with a party hat he’d been fiddling with beneath his chin. “don’t —”

you were interrupted by your own gasp when your back harshly met the soft cushions of the couch. you did not have to focus that hard to hear megumi’s quiet ‘wasn’t planning on it’.

“one down, another to go!” cheered satoru, way too joyful for your liking.

your gaze hardened, taking a cushion and dashing it at the back of his head with as much force as you could gather. of course, you never missed, but it did little to stop satoru from approaching megumi (other than the offended look he sent you in that ridiculous dress you tried so hard not to laugh at).

megumi remained stagnant, his glare hardening with each step satoru took to get closer to him.

“clown,” muttered megumi, jumping off of the chair he’d been sitting on and running to his room.

“oh, good plan!” satoru called after him with a smile. “you go and get the dress and i’ll stay and wait here!”

tsumiki coughed nervously. “erm — i don’t think he’s going to get th—”

she cut herself off when she saw you get back up and charge towards satoru. he turned around a second too late, you’d pushed him back and grabbed a handful of random pastries and sweets, throwing them at him without another thought.

“you’re gonna have to use hollow purple to stop me,” you said over his shouts of protests.

“jokes — jokes on — oh my god, no! — jokes on you, i — stop! — could just use infinity!”

“what’s the point? the food gets wasted anyway, genius.”

the food war (and physical battle, when satoru had decided that enough was enough and the only way to pacify you was to beat you in a clash of strength) had gone on for at least another ten minutes. you were growing exhausted, but satoru? satoru, that monster, was still fighting you as if your attacks were nothing.

stamina now seemed like water on a dry desert for you.

but you refused to give up.

“i can see your nipple, you pervert, ew!” you shouted from underneath him.

it was an odd mix of your limbs. you were trying to flip him over but the stretch his body when you twisted his torso somehow only caused the fabric across his chest to tear, revealing one of his nipples.

“you see it every night,” satoru shot back with a grin.

you wanted to slap the smug look on his face badly.

“that’s why i tell you to stop sleeping shirtless every night —”

“why are you complaining? any other woman would be glad to —”

“what are you guys doing?” tsumiki’s soft voice interrupted you like the smooth spread of butter on toast.

the two of you looked up; your jaws dropped.

tsumiki had taken the time that you guys spent fighting to change out of her simple, regular dress and put on one of the new ones satoru had bought for her sometime last week. it was a similar shade to the blue he’d wanted megumi to wear (for some odd reason, the weirdo?) but was definitely much more flattering. much, much more prettier.

and it was her size.

“get off of me, you —"

“— no swearing —"

“you woman fetishise-r —”

“what’s that?” asked tsumiki, as you both got to your feet and dusted yourselves off.

“yeah, what’s that, y/n?” satoru cheekily repeated, staring at you as if he needed the answer or he’d die a sad and painful death.

“it’s —” you began sharply, trying not to kill him with your death stare before looking back at tsumiki with a smile, “it’s not important. the real question is: what’s that?”

“…it’s a dress,” said satoru unhelpfully. he was looking at you as if you had discovered new learning difficulties.

“another peep out of you and you’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” you threatened him quietly.

you did not need to look at him to know that he was pouting like a kicked puppy. at least he was mute, but not for long, it seemed.

“you’d do that to me on my birthda—”

“i’ve done a lot to you today, don’t push it,” you said, still eyeing tsumiki’s dress with obvious amazement and interest. you approached her, bending down to her height and tucking back some of the flyaways on her head. “it makes you look like a princess —”

“and it stopped you guys from fighting,” she smiled… like a princess.

satoru glared down at you, well aware that you could not see him.

“yeah i’m still not done with her —”

“i’ll make you sit in the naughty chair, gojo,” you said menacingly.

he wanted to let out a long, exaggerated sigh, but the sound of tsumiki laughing at your… mutual banter (?) had drawn his attention away from your backside to her and her new dress.

“ah,” sighed satoru, rubbing the back of his neck, “still wanted to see megumi in a dress.”

“can it, gojo.”

“i did!” he responded, sounding like a child getting scolded by their mother. he looked down at tsumiki and brushed her party hat aside to ruffle her hair (though not enough to mess her neat braids up). “i mean — you look so pretty with it on, i just wore this stupid dress for nothing now.”

“mhm,” you nodded, rising to your full height to raise a brow at him.

he shrugged, picking up an unwrapped lindor bar from the table. “can i at least get a picture of myself?”

“no,” you rolled your eyes. “your entire thought about putting megumi in a dress was just plain dumb, satoru.”

tsumiki blinked up at you. “but you spent all day trying to get megumi to agree to —”

your eye twitched as you felt satoru’s amused and interested stare directed at your cheek. you refused to look back at him.

you loved tsumiki, you really did. but just like any other kid, she had a tendency of speaking about something when it was very clear that it was simply not required. in other words, she spoke to make matters worse for you — unknowingly, of course. it stung a little more seeing as being proven wrong against the smug bastard that is satoru gojo is enough to make you want to jump into a big, black hole and never return again.

the idiot was just that cocky.

“a dumb idea, huh?” you heard him say.

you closed your eyes, as though they were the source of your hearing.

“mhm…” you hummed, irritated.

“that so?” said satoru, and when you did not respond, he took it as an opportunity to go on, and on, and on.

“aw, you did that for me?”

“just for me?”

“and she spent all day doing that, did she?”

“of course she did, look at all those treats for me!”

“i mean — not out of the ordinary for her to be bugging megumi but for me?”

“you know what?” you interrupted him loudly. you faced him with a frown. “i want a divorce!”

satoru stared down at you, glanced at tsumiki, before blinking down at you again. he raised his snow-white brow at you, acting as though you’d said something that deserved ten years in jail.

“we’re not even married!”

“and whose fucking fault is that?”

“language!”

“happy birthday!” you stated angrily, reaching up and kissing him on his cheek before storming out of the room, unaware of the dazed look he sent after you, unaware of the pink dusting his cheeks, unaware of the dreamy sigh he let out when the door slammed loud enough to shake the rest of the house.

soon, that argument could never be used against him, especially not by you.

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suicideenthusiast · 5 months

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// I've noticed a rise in the BSD rp blogs role-playing lots of serious angst like overdoses or sh or anything of the sort. This doesn't trigger me specifically but please add tw tags to those posts if they're not just brief mentions! Anyway, it somehow got me thinking of my personal experiences including dr!g add!ction, so, here's a few tips on how to take care of yourself after taking more than the recommended dose. TW: sharing somewhat traumatic experiences, p!ll and dr!g mentions, vomiting, fainting, relapse, overdoses

These are all personal things that help me so they may not help for you. Also, shoutout to my friends for helping me with my recovery! As well, yes, do call someone if you are truly worried, but there are many who don't have the courage to do so (which is just like how I was,) and I'm helping those people too!

1. Calm yourself down. This doesn't necessarily have to be all deep breathing, but just think of something peaceful or try and put your focus on something else for a moment.

2. Once you're sure your mind is calm and your heartbeat seems somewhat stable, eat and drink water!! Eating doesn't have to be a full meal. Usually when I relapse, I eat "lightweight" food because I have a loss of an appetite, like grapes (on a stick!), fruits, a single size chocolate bar, etc. Water, doesn't have to be a lot but also at least a glass! Gingerale also helps me for some reason. Any drink or food with calories helped me as well!

3. DON'T force yourself to throw up. Some may "encourage" their body by eating too much food or something, but I wouldn't recommend this. Let that naturally come to you. And it's fine if you don't throw up either!

4. Lay in a stable, comfortabe area to you like your bed if you feel nauseous. Try and go back to a non-athletic, calm activity but if you're going on your phone turn your brightness down a bit.

5. Let yourself fall asleep if you feel like it. Overdoses are actually extremely painful and rare, so if you are not feeling lots of pain, there's a good chance you won't die. (Speaking from 3 UNINTENTIONAL overdoses here.) You will feel icky when you wake up, though. That's okay! No need to be ashamed. Just try and get a break from labour like work or school in that case and make sure to eat and drink water after. If you wake up from an overdose and already take meds, be careful taking them because they can worsen after effects.

Here's a kitty to make you feel better <3

#tw overdose #tw sh #tw relapse #tw addiction #tw pills #tw drugs #bsd rp #bsd roleplay #bsd rp blog #bsd dazai #bungou gay dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu bsd #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs roleplay #mental health

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letmeinuroceanswim-blog · 2 months

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DBD Ghostface x Fem!Survivor reader SMUT

this is NSFW, so minors DNI!

obviously TW:

slight non-con, knife riding, mentions of blood, swearing, degrading, name calling, rough man-handling, p in v, fingering, masterbation, oral.

ALSO IM BRITISH SO PLEASE DONT COME FOR ME FOR THE SPELLING OF WORDS LIKE ARSE! I’m not saying ‘ass’, sorry lol

—————————————————————————

You laboured alone on the final generator, sweaty hands working delicately to clasp the wires that sparked to life every so often.

Already, two other survivors had been sacrificed to the Entity, which only made your nerves spiral out of control. It was just you, and one other person.

Only, you had no idea where that other survivor was. And it had been quiet, too quiet, for a long time.

You briefly glanced around, the street you came to know as Haddonfield eerily empty. The distant hum of generators that had already been completed whirred in the distance, but there was still a silence that created a lump in your throat. The street lamps flickered, reminding you to focus on what you had to do to get the hell out of this trial.

You turned your attention back to the generator, twisting and pulling the compartments with a sense of urgency, the knee you used to bend on aching.

You put in a lot of work, the generator getting louder and louder the more you repaired it - only until;

a blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the street.

A shiver ran down your spine and rattled you enough to jump away from the generator. That scream signalled, to your horror, the obvious. Your breathing suddenly became erratic and your palms became sweatier than they was before.

It was now a race for the hatch.

You cautiously walked down the street, scouting as far as your eyes would allow you to see with your hands shaking.

You hated searching for the hatch. You absolutely loathed it. It was just a reminder that you was all alone, alone with the killer, that was looking for the exact same thing.

You turned your attention to one of the houses, making your way to the entrance with sweat beading down the side of your head. Your mind started to race.

‘What if the killer has found the hatch and is waiting for me to find it so they can surprise me?’

‘Should I wait for them to close it and wait by a gate?’

‘What if they find me before I find it?’

You couldn’t silence your mind. You just had to force yourself to move one foot in front of the other. You listened closely, trying to decipher if you could hear it before you saw it.

You had appeared at the entrance now, your hearing sharpening the more you stepped into the house.

For a second, you could of sworn you heard something.

‘Is that it?!’ You thought, stopping in your tracks to attemp to make it out. Your eyebrows furrowed. No, your senses had deceived you. It wasn’t the hatch, but rather some sort of flapping, as if there was a long cape moving against the wind…

‘What the hell?’

Unfortunately, you had no time to wonder about it, because as soon as you had figured it was not the hatch, a gloved hand found it’s way to your mouth, and your back had been slammed against a strong chest.

You yelped into the gloved hand, and practically screamed when a knife had been pressed against your throat.

“And where do you think you’re going, doll?”

A hoarse, muffled voice whispered in your ear, almost mocking you.

Your heartbeat was now loud in your ears, and you started to struggle against his hold. You knew it was useless, but it didn’t stop you from squirming.

Ghostface chuckled darkly in amusement at your feeble attempts to escape, enjoying the terrified look on your face.

He gripped you tighter against his body, and pressed the cold steel of the knife closer to your throat threateningly.

“Aww, such a cute little thing, you best stop that squirming or else I’ll slit your throat right here.”

You whimpered and stopped abruptly, taking his threat seriously.

Ghostface chuckled again as you obeyed him, his hand still tightly grasped against your mouth.

“Good girl, finally using your brain and staying put.”

He could hear your heavy breathing, the terror in your eyes clear as day, only serving him more amusement.

"Are you going to scream if I take my hand away from your mouth?" He asked, his voice low and calm. As he asked this, his grip on the knife got tighter, which did not go unnoticed by you, and only urged you to shake your head.

Ghostface smiled under his mask.

"Good girl." He said, slowly removing his hand from your mouth, but keeping his arm wrapped around your body to keep you in place.

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it? I don't want to have to hurt you, princess. I just want to have a little fun with you."

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Why? What do you want from me?” You questioned, not bothering to hide the shakiness in your voice.

He chuckled, keeping you tightly against his body as he started to slowly let the knife in his hand drift down towards your shorts.

"What do I want from you? Hmm… entertainment, I suppose. And your company. We're gonna have so much fun, doll."

You caught on to his insinuation, and your eyes widened.

“If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll let you get the hatch. That’s what you want, hm?”

You heard the knife cutting the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

“You’ll just need to be on your best behaviour, dear. Are you gonna be a good girl for me, sweetheart? Are you gonna be a defiant bitch?”

The tip of the knife pressed against your hip, and you frantically shook your head again. The pit in your stomach made you want to be sick.

The knife had made quick work of your shorts, the tattered fabric now falling off of you and leaving you in your underwear. The air nipped at your bare skin, and you felt more exposed than ever. The knife trailed up your now exposed waist, leaving goosebumps in it’s path.

Ghostface hummed in a pleasing tone, his grip loosening, but still firm enough to ensure you wouldn’t be going anywhere. His chest was still pressed hard against your back, but he adjusted you so that you could now see his emotionless mask over your shoulder. The mere sight of it made your legs tremble from underneath you, which only increased as his hips were now against your arse.

”You’re being so good for me already.” He purred, switching the knife from his right hand to his left, so that the knife was pressed against your throat again as a silent threat that if you tried anything, you’re dead. “I’m so excited to hear what sounds you make.”

You whimpered, feeling utterly helpless and at his mercy. Which you was, and you sensed more dread was to come.

He shoved his hand down your underwear invasively, causing you to yelp in surprise. Ghostface laughed at your reaction mockingly. “Oh? Is is that easy to elicit a reaction from you, sweet girl? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

His fingers easily found your clit, and he wasted no time in rubbing circles on it with a lick of his lips (which you could not see, of course). You bit your lip, attempting to hold back any moans that may of escaped you, not wanting to give him any satisfaction as a mild method of defiance. However, he quickly caught onto this. He pressed the knife harder against your throat.

“Nuh uh, you better let me hear those pretty little sounds coming out your mouth or I’ll make you scream in some other way, doll. Come on, I wanna hear how I’m making you feel. Be a good slut for me yeah?”

He started rubbing your clit a bit faster, forcing a moan out of you much to your dismay. Despite his threat, you did not want to give him a reaction. Even though you were shit scared, you wanted to cling onto that little bit of dignity you had left.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Ghostface murmured, continuing his face paced circles. Your dignity slipped away, the moans and whimpers pouring out of you the more he abused your clit. Your body was betraying you. Him rubbing you like this was making your pussy wet, and your nipples hard. The sensation of his fingers working his magic on your clit alone was starting to create a small but noticeable pressure at the pit of your stomach, longing for more stimulation.

“Such beautiful sounds. You’re getting me all riled up here.” He whispered, his hard on becoming more and more apparent by the tightening of his pants. You could feel it pressing into your arse, which did not help the wet pool staining your underwear.

“Jesus, look at you. You fucking slut, you actually are enjoying this, aren’t you? You look so fucking good like this, cheeks all red, nipples standing at attention, fuck.” He growled, his cock begging to be released from its confinement.

Without warning, his two gloved fingers slipped inside of you, causing you to gasp and become weak in the knees. Just by inserting the fingers inside you, he could hear how wet you were, which only made his cock twitch.

“You ARE enjoying this. Fucking hell, you’re so wet. Is that all from me just playing with your clit?Fucking whore.”

He pumped his digits in and out of you, his own breath becoming heavier the more you moaned, his eyes watching the way yours closed and opened as if you was in a trance. The noises your cunt was making only made your cheeks flush even redder, almost disgusted that this killer was making you this way, a moaning, wet mess.

Your legs were becoming way too weak to keep yourself up as his fingers curled inside of you, scarping your g-spot and adding to the pressure that was rising in your stomach, threatening to be released.

“I-I can’t..”

“Oh sweet girl, have your legs turned to jelly?” He chuckled, his fingers picking up the pace.

You whined, finding yourself holding onto his strong arm still wrapped around you for some sort of support.

“P-please, I can’t stand any longer.” You whimpered out.

Ghostface hummed in thought while he took his fingers out your dripping cunt, and pushed them inside your mouth so you could taste your own juices.

“If you can’t stand any longer, then get on your knees.” He ordered, his fingers still in your mouth. You could feel his eyes on your flushed face, hair stuck to your head, your own juices smeared on your face as his fingers hung out your mouth. “Go on doll, on your fucking knees. Don’t make me ask again.” The knife, that you had forgotten was even there, pressed against your throat, and you wasted no time in obliging. You shakily started lowering to your knees, your back still facing him.

“And don’t even try to run.” He gripped the knife tighter, still at your throat, and circled in front of you so that you could now see him fully, the said knife never leaving your skin.

“Fuck me, sweetheart, if I didn’t have any self control I’d fuck you right now, with you looking like that.” You could practically see his cock bulging out of his pants from under his cloak.

He bent down to your height on the floor, and tilted your chin up using the tip of the blade so that you was staring into the black, soulless masked eyes. You wished you could see his expression, so that you could have some sense of what he planned to do next.

In one swift motion, he had cut open your top, and used his hands to rip apart your bra, summoning a surprised squeal from you as he did so with ease. He wasted no time in cutting the sides of your underwear as well, so that you were now completely bare in front of him, your nipples erect, and your swelling clit all on display.

“Fucking hell..” He groaned, his cock twitching uncomfortably in his pants at the sight of you completely exposed and on your knees.

“You know..” He reached out to grope one of your tits. “Ive seen you in trials before. Do you know how fucking hard it is to watch you with these tits and not being able to do shit about it?”

He massaged and gently pinched your nipples, his cock becoming so painfully hard. “You have no idea. And I bet you enjoy that, huh? You enjoy the fact you make me so hard that I need to palm myself every time I see you, imagining what your sweet little cunt would feel like around my cock, don’t you?” He slammed the knife’s blade through the floor between your legs, causing you to jump and gasp. The knife handle stuck upright, exactly how Ghostface wanted it.

You watched him rise to his feet and make quick work of his belt, undoing the buttons to his pants and finally releasing his cock with a relieved groan. You could see from your place on the floor his dick standing at attention, curving upwards slightly with pre-cum beading down his tip. He gave himself a few slow strokes before he broke your stunned silence. “Ride it.” He pointed to the knife handle.

Your eyes widened.

“W-what?”

“I said fucking ride it.”

Your eyes darted between the knife handle, and him, a horrified look plastered all over your face.

“I-I don’t think I can do that-“

Ghostface roughly grabbed your neck and lifted you slightly so that your pussy was lined up with the knife handle. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. I don’t want to have to ask you to do things more than once anymore, or else that knife is going inside you in one of two ways - in your cunt, or in your stomach. Now, ride. It.” His voice was laced with irritation, and you didn’t want to test his patience.

You whimpered quietly to yourself, trying to ignore all the thoughts screaming at you to not do it - to get away, somehow, but you knew that your only chance of escape was giving him what he wants. Ghostface let go of your neck, and watched you realign yourself with the knife handle.

Your breath was shaky as you lowered yourself onto the knife, but those breaths were replaced with little whimpers as the relatively thin handle got buried deeper inside you. You could feel Ghostface’s eyes burning holes into your naked form, urging you to keep going till the whole handle was in you. You took your time, wanting to adjust to the foreign object’s texture before moving, finding that it didn’t feel as bad as you thought it would, and it’s thin size made it easy to get used to.

You started bouncing on the handle, small moans sounding from the back of your throat, which proceeded to make Ghostface start stroking his cock faster as he watched you. “Fuck, yeah, that’s it sweet girl..” He groaned, watching your body move to find a way to please itself on his very own knife. That, coupled with your whimpers and moans, could of made him fucking cum right then and there. “Yeah, yes, don’t stop, fuck..look at you, you precious little thing, fuck…you look so fucking good doing that. Don’t stop fucking yourself with my knife, shit..” He could barely form words between his grunts, his hand stroking his cock rapidly as your moans filled his ears.

You watched him knead his dick, the sight paired with his grunts and groans, his words, making your inhibitions decease into nothing, your pussy practically drooling at the interaction you was experiencing with this killer. You reached up to one of your tits and started massaging it, your eyes staring up at him to where his eyes would be and back down to his dick, deciding to not quieten your moans anymore. “Fuck baby, yeah, that’s so fucking hot.” He panted, feeling his cock twitch in his hands. “You’re such a good little slut, I didn’t even have to tell you to do that. Such a good fucking girl for me.”

He walked towards you and grabbed the hair on the back of your head. “I want your pretty little mouth round my cock, get it nice and wet for me.”

He pushed himself into your mouth, taking you off guard and causing you to choke on it. What he did not have in length he definitely made up for in width. He let out a prolonged groan as he felt the warmth of your mouth, almost spilling his cum down your throat in that instant. You wasted no time and moved your head up and down his length, using the tip of your tongue to lick the bottom of it as you did, pulling out more grunts and groans from Ghostface. “Oh fuck..” He moaned, looking down at your mouth wrapped around him, taking him all in and sucking him like an obedient whore should. You looked up at him as you bobbed your head up and down, using the hand that was not playing with your tits to massage his balls softly.

“Shit, yes, that feels so fucking good baby. Fucking hell..” His grip on your hair tightened as he stared into your lust filled eyes, half lidded and sparkling with little tears. His praise made you moan, sending little vibrations up his shaft while you continued to take him in and out your mouth, with your tongue swirling around it like it was a popsicle. There was dribble spilling out the sides of your mouth, and your face was red from the little air you was taking in through your nose. Seeeing you like this was edging him closer to his climax, his breaths between grunts and groans became shorter; he really wanted to cum down your fucking throat, but he was far from done with you. He pulled your mouth off of his cock, a string of saliva connected from your mouth to his shaft breaking half way.

You panted heavily, taking in the air you was neglected while going down on him. Ghostface was also panting heavily, his cock twitching and soaked, his desire for your cunt now more obvious than ever. He effortlessly lifted you up by your thighs, slamming you against a nearby wall that knocked the air out of your lungs. “I’m not waiting anymore, doll. I need to feel your pussy wrapped round my cock. Do you want that? Hm? Do you want my cock buried inside you, princess?” You nodded frantically, your pussy dripping wet with your legs spread wide open and wrapped around his waist.

His tip teased the entrance of your hole, circling it painfully slow. “Use your words.” He urged, watching your desperate face practically beg him to just fuck you. “Yes..! I do.” You respond, your pussy practically throbbing his name in morse code.

“Yeah? Is that right?”

“Y-yes, please!”

His tip finally penetrated your hole a bit, the warmth and tight sensation extracting a string of curses from his mouth. “So fucking tight..”

The little contact he was making with his tip was causing you to squeeze around him more, as if your body was trying to suck him into you desperately. Your chest was heaving with anticipation as your heart was ringing in your ears like church bells on a sunday morning.

He finally pushed his whole cock into you, his girth stretching you to his size and his hands squeezing your thighs so hard that little bruises were bound to appear, both of your moans now mixing together in a symphony as his cock buried inside you for the first time.

“So tight and wet for me, fucking christ..” He growled, your walls squeezing him despite his width stretching you out. He pulled out of you so that his tip was the only thing remaining, before roughly slamming right back into you, cursing and groaning while you mewled pathetically into his shoulder as his cock sent painful and pleasurable shockwaves throughout your body as you tried to adjust to his size. He gave you no time to, however, and his movements became rapid as he started fucking into you shamelessly with a new ferocity. Your moans became so loud you was sure the survivors back at the camp could hear you being pounded like the little slut you were. The curve in his dick was making his tip reach places you’d never felt in your life, which proceeded to make your moans increase in volume.

“Fuck…yeah…you feel so..god…you feel so fucking amazing sweet girl…yeah, let me hear those slutty sounds you make…mhmm, fuck..!” He managed to pant out as he drove his cock into you with new speeds, causing your cunt to tighten even more around his cock as your climax was approaching fast.

“Mmph, just when I thought you couldn’t get any tighter..” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at his mask. Drool was all over your face and your eyes were welded shut into an expression of utter bliss. “I can feel you’re about to cum, aren’t you? I can feel you tightening around me..” He grunted between his erratic thrusts. You could only respond with loud moans, words now lost from your brain as he fucked you closer to your high.

“I want you to cum all over my cock, go on, fucking cum all over me, doll.” He said, still keeping a hold on your chin so he could watch your face. Your noises only became louder and louder as the pressure in your uterus grew faster each second, your arms squeezing his neck and holding onto dear life. “Mm, that’s it, good girl..” He purred, his thrusts unrelenting.

His encouragement finally made the pressure all release at once, that great fucking feeling of cumming on his dick extorting a mix of screams and moans as the intense wave of pleasure washed over your body. “Ohh, fuck yeah, baby, that’s it. Such a good girl.” Your pussy clenched tightly around him as you rode out your high, and he hissed as his movements became more sloppy and desperate to chase his own climax. You quickly became sensitive as he continued to pile drive into you, your moans turning into whimpers as you bared through the overstimulation.

“Mm…gonna cum, fuck..” He groaned, squeezing your thigh even tighter. He managed to fuck into you for a few more sloppy strokes before his warm cum spilled into your cunt in large quantities, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he slowly stroked into you a few more times as you milked him dry. You could feel him twitching as he finished his load deep inside you.

His fast breaths slowly evened out as he recovered, still having a strong hold on you with your weak legs wrapped around his waist. You were in worse shape; your legs were weak, you had dried juices at the corner of your mouth, drool on your chin…

“You really do look like a slut.” Ghostface chuckled darkly, finally pulling out of you so his cum could drip out of you slightly. You had no strength to argue, or respond, so you just allowed yourself to go limp in his strong hold. You heard him chuckle again, hooking his free arm under your legs to carry you properly.

You rested your head on his shoulder as you watched him take you further into the house, your legs swaying every time he took a step. You heard a distant sound get louder the more he carried you, which made your head perk up a bit as you realised that it was the sound of the hatch.

‘He’s actually giving it to me?’

You glanced up at Ghostface before he not-so-gently chucked you onto the hatch with a thump. With a grunt, you sat up on the cold metal of the hatch and suddenly became aware that you was still naked, cum dripping out of you and hair in disarray.

“Go on, go, let them survivors see how much of a slut their teammate is.” He laughed darkly. “Hopefully we get put into the same trial again very soon, sweet girl.” He murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before standing up straight and disappearing out of sight.

You held onto your chest with one arm and covered your pussy with the other before entering the hatch, finding difficulty to stand up straight. You could feel his cum sticking to your inner thighs and you could already see hatred and judgment of the other survivors when you got back.

But, you were past caring now. That felt too fucking good to care.

#dbd killers x reader #ghostface #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #scream #scream fanfic #ghostface fanfic #female reader #ghostface x female reader #tw noncon #ghost face

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balkanradfem · 3 days

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I don’t see opening up tips or donations as monetizing your blog. When friends go through hard times, they band together. Very different thing altogether from branding or anything. People like your blog and have learned stuff from it or even just plain enjoyed the content during hard times- I wouldn’t call letting people show you appreciation during a difficult time capitalizing on it… but I understand if you’re still hesitant or don’t want to either way

Anon I'm so sorry that I happen to be one person on here that hates money. I can't help it!

I'll try to give a bit of a background to this (tw mentions of a male).

I had to live with a male (my father) who valued money more than human life, his family, or anything else. He even called himself a 'boss of the company' and the workers were his wife and children. We were forced to do physical labour whenever he found a way to monetize it, and he would take the money for himself. He saw everything in the terms of how much it could earn him. He'd walk past a tree and say 'this tree is worth $60 cut down'. If anyone in the family had something that costed him money, even a bus ticket, they would get berated for being a burden.

So my whole childhood I had to deal with being secondary to money, and it shaped how I perceived myself, and the world. I was in poverty even though my father had plenty of money. I became the exact opposite of him, refusing to acknowledge that money has any kind of value, and seeing people first, connections first, humanity first. And if I ever monetize anything, it feels wrong, gross and exploitative.

Money in general, I believe, is bad for human psyche. Because we love naturally hoarding resources, right, we love to pick things up that are useful to us, and then have many of them, to be safe and secure. And for every resource out there, there's a limit for how much we need of it, and how much we can store. You can only hoard so many tomatoes, or potatoes, or wheat, before you have a storage issue, or issue with food spoiling. But money can be hoarded indefinitely, can't get spoiled, and it can be used to exchange for any other resource imaginable. And we don't have to think about how that resource came to be, who created it, managed it, brought it to us. It's overpowering for our little hoarder brains! And when you count in that we now absolutely need it for bare survival, it becomes worse, it becomes so incredibly important to us, that we feel we need to have it at all and any costs.

I do acknowledge I need it to pay rent, that's a survival issue, but it's on me to figure out how to survive, and I'll somehow figure it out :) If I can't do that much then I'm just not fit for survival, but I have faith in myself! I believe I am fit for it.

#the money lore #sorry everyone that i'm weird

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 2 years

Text

The 21st One

Written for the amazing writer @epiclamer, I hope you enjoy this!

TW: Blood, bone-breaking, mentions of ice baths, knives, pain, very whumpy and a veryyy slight mention of suicide for an exaggeration (you'll get it when you read the fic)

Pain was not just a sensation anymore. It was Hero's new reality. Their every moment was characterised by agony, every laboured breath a desperate prayer to escape the hellscape they seemed to be tied down to, the strings of their miserable fate wrapped cruelly around their neck choking them slowly.

"You should see yourself, Hero. Such an alluring masterpiece I've made you into," Supervillain sneered coldly.

They would lazily grip their knife, slicing harsh jagged lines through the crime-fighter's battered skin, sometimes cutting again through old, barely healing cuts. They'd leave Hero covered in blood and sweat, save for the times they would force them into a tank of ice-cold water, the chill racking their slowly diminishing figure with shivers.

The master criminal knew exactly where to hit to make them howl out in pain, their efforts to muffle their own screams rendered completely useless. They desecrated their body with bruises, in hideous shades of brown, yellow, purple and a sickly blue alike. They targeted their weak spots, most of which were weak because they'd inflicted so much damage upon them in the first place.

They don't beg, but they don't try to resist either. It's not like it would've made even an inkling of a difference. Supervillain was hell-bent on making Hero's torture an everlasting experience, till they were more wound than body.

But today, they are especially awful, as though trying to prove their passionate contempt of the mere idea of mercy and decorate it with their lack of empathy.

"I've written myself all over you," the croon, voice so venomously sweet with a promise of danger lacing their tone, sending an involuntary shiver up the crime-stopper's spine. They trace their fingers across yesterday's scars, sticking the nails into open cuts.

They decide to smash parts of Hero's ribcage, slamming their boots one too many times into their victim's abdomen until they hear a loud, grotesque crack.

"Sadly, I have some important matters to attend to. But don't you worry, little hero, someone else will play with you until I come back." And they leave them, breathless, spurting out blood, tying them to the chair again with harsh bindings.

It's only a few mere moments later that the door reopens again, light creeping into the desolate room, and the sound of footsteps echoes in Hero's ears.

Villain.

They would've sobbed, but they didn't have the energy to even breathe. The criminal was ruthless in their fights, and they weren't afraid of playing dirty. Their nemesis gives them a cold look

Pointlessly, foolishly, they ask for a luxury they're certain they can't afford. "C-can you p-please jus' not. . .not hurt me?"

"Give me one single, convincing, goddamn reason why I should," they hiss, fisting the hero's hair between their fingers.

Hero doesn't reply. There is no reason they can come up with that could ever be deemed 'convincing' by their enemy.

But the villain chooses to let go of their locks, and something flashes briefly in their eyes, a look akin to regret.

The blood loss must be making Hero delirious.

They pull out a knife from their belt, and the captive can't supress the soft whine that escapes their lips. Villain walks forward, blade in hand, unreadable expression on their stone-hard face. They stop in their tracks, tipping a little on the balls of their feet, looking almost lost for lack of a better word. Their grip tightens on the knife, and they cross the distance between them and the hero.

Only to slice through their restraints.

They cradle Hero's body against them, pulling them along and laying them down on the floor as they fetched some medical supplies. They can't risk getting a damned hero into the medbay.

They lay their form down on their lap, gingerly lifting their shirt up to examine the wounds. They wipe at them with antiseptic, subconsciously running their fingers through their hair whenever they winced. They bandage the broken ribs as best as they can, and carefully stitch up the deeper scratches.

"I'm almost done, hold still," they whisper gruffly, but there's a slight gentleness hanging off of their words.

They're lucky they brought their water bottle with them. They bring it up to the crime-fighter's cracked and bloodied lips, and they help them drink carefully.

"Th-thank you," they rasp out weakly.

"This is only so you owe me a favour, Hero," they snap, but it's half-hearted and missing the bite it needed.

A hasty attempt at a coverup for the real reason.

What they'd done was beyond dangerous. It was almost suicide, right in Supervillain's territory.

They don't care. All that matters is the crime-fighter slowly falling asleep properly for the first time in a month in their lap.

Villain had a habit of making sure they got what they wanted. They swore to stick to it for eternity.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-whump @enbious-prince @dodo-docs @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @justalittlecorrupted @addictedsandwhichaki @quaggasus @vernilliom @sirrsnakesssss

Wanna be on the taglist? This will take you there!

#prompt #hero x villain #whump #somewhat dark tbh #hero whumpee #villain caretaker #supervillain whumper #hero x supervillain #villain x supervillain #female writers #writers on tumblr #a little gremlin's writing #I hope this was a good read

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infinitelycynical · 3 months

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i really liked your aizamatsu headcanons they were so cute,,,, what are your headcanons about them post kira??

i'm glad you enjoyed, and i am so willing to talk about them post-kira!

i'll split this into two parts, them the first couple of years post-kira, and then the far future post-kira.

TW for severe depression, mental health issues, mentions of suicide (no one attempts or commits)

2010:

out of the four task force members still alive, matsuda was the most impacted. he becomes very depressed post-kira: struggling to get out of bed, to eat or drink, basic hygiene, not to mention the nightmares. before the post-kira era, matsuda had been doing the emotional labour of the relationship because he was more emotionally inclined and less impacted by toxic masculinity in that way (tough conversations, expressing discomfort, etc).

post-kira, however, aizawa had to take on this role because matsuda wasn't in a position to. he has to be the comforter and the motivator and the optimist, which is a very tough position for him.

with soichiro dead and the case basically isolating them from outside interaction, they only really have each other. they become a lot closer than before, it's them vs. the world

at light's funeral, matsuda hid his head in aizawa's shoulder through the entire ceremony because he couldn't bring himself to look at the coffin.

biiiit NSFW but before post-kira era, these two had an active sex life, like the romantic chemistry was slow but the sexual chemistry was off the charts. that all stops post-kira. it never entirely recovers as they get older

aizawa starts buying flowers for the apartment and baskets of fruit, listening to the songs that used to be matsuda's favourites (even though he hates them personally); he thinks he's doing this to brighten the place up a little, doesn't realise he's actually mourning his boyfriend

whenever ide or mogi ask aizawa "are you okay?" aizawa forms a habit of replying something like "it's a good day, touta went for a walk with me" or "it's a bad day, touta hasn't left his bed" rather than talking about himself. kind of neglected his emotional needs for a while there. both enter therapy to say the least.

matsuda voices aloud suicidal thoughts to aizawa one day, and scares him so badly that he willingly goes into therapy a week later so aizawa is never that upset again.

at this time, ide and mogi both know they're dating but no one else does. light knew from the time aizawa was at the hospital after the explosion, but soichiro didn't (he died before he ever found out). the chief never being told is one of matsuda's biggest regrets.

aizawa calls matsuda "sunshine", before post-kira it was a reference to matsuda's sunny personality but post-kira it's like holding onto hope that things will be okay at some point, a link to a brighter past.

aizawa cooks the meals, drags matsuda out of bed, gets him back into contact with the yagamis, everything. having someone else to take care of distracts him from his own frustrations and own troubles, so he throws himself into it with gusto

when matsuda wakes from a nightmare, aizawa has to hold his hands to remind him that he isn't holding a gun.

on his bad days, matsuda begs aizawa to leave him because he thinks he deserves it, aizawa refuses vehemently.

2011 onwards (it gets happier from here I promise):

for a while, they do both couple's counselling and individual. the couple's counselling is mostly to get help with making their relationship more balanced, because the relationship labor so to speak went from being overwhelmingly matsuda to overwhelmingly aizawa and that's not healthy at all

they get a dog! it's one of those quiet, big, cuddly dogs and both of them adore her.

regarding yumi: as part of the divorce arrangement, aizawa got phone calls with her but didn't really get to visit (busy life and how divorce works in japan, partial custody not a thing). they're really really close and have an honest relationship with each other. yumi meets matsuda over the phone in 2013 maybe (yumi is around 15 at this time) and they hit it off very quickly. aizawa does not elaborate on how long they had been dating for (five years) until much, much later.

aizawa's family (parents, sisters, etc) adore matsuda from the first meeting. it takes matsuda's family a while to warm up to aizawa.

if matsuda is having a sad day, aizawa buys him some sunflowers to cheer him up. he's a actions sort of guy.

both love chocolate and chocolate chip cookies (even though aizawa is not a sweet tooth), so they have plenty of it in stock

matsuda hacks into aizawa's phone to change his ringtones to songs that would annoy him frequently, aizawa never changes his password for whatever reason

lots of forehead kisses, in fact, just a lot of kisses. after the shitstorm of 2010, aizawa has learned not to take his boyfriend's affectionate nature for granted.

these are all the ones i could come up with for now, because i had some then completely forgot them the moment i wrote this post, but i am a limitless bucket of headcanons at this point. thank you so much for the ask!

#death note #touta matsuda #shuichi aizawa #aizamatsu #aizawa shuichi #matsuda touta #anon ask #i love them so much #this will help me with later chapters of my wip so ty LMAO

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shes-some-other-where · 4 months

Text

Half-lives in the dust

Prompt: Lost

Contains: forced labour, environmental whump, death mention

The Pits: a collection of vermin, the most despicable souls spat out from the depths of hell itself. Men long lost to the world, to the light, exiled for their crimes and never forgiven.

They lived half-lives in the dust. Beneath scorching sun. In torrents of rain. When sheets of ice coated the ground and made phantoms of their worthless, laboured breaths.

When one died, the rest picked up the slack, with neither time nor will to mourn. Every year buried more convicts, forgotten by all beyond the Pits. Every moment tasted of regret.

Out of spite, the prisoner survived.

suggested reading order | MWM event masterlist

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All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

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rreskk · 1 year

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Love your work and have been binge reading everything Trevor :3 just have to throw that out there <3

A request I have is having the reader being recruited for a heist because she’s ex military and knows how to drive or good with guns (no real preference tbh you can work whatever angle you’d like) and Michael and Trevor both petty fight over who gets to be with her but she ultimately chooses T?

Amazing idea! Thank you :)

Summary: A new job needed a new crew member. You had caught Trev's and Michael's attention strongly. But who do you pick?

TW: -Suggestive content (sexual)

Word count: 927

Pairings: Ex- military Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

“Ex military, huh? Well… I guess me and [l/n] already have a lot in common.”

Michael rolled his eyes at Trevor’s suggestive comment and slumped in his seat. He looked at the board, your picture pinned as a potential gunwoman for the next job. You were extremely attractive, and ex-military (which had caught Trevor’s attention the most). He liked a good, strong woman after all.

“She ain’t a discharged mentally ill pilot from the Canadian air force, you Loonie.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mikey.” Trevor growled, his anger being triggered by the mentions of his past failure. He still had his eyes set on your printed picture, desperate for your part in the team – talented or not.

Lester had mentioned beforehand that you’ll be arriving soon to discuss any further concerns. The both men were pouncing in their seats, the only difference being; Michael was more calm and collected while Trev… Well, Trevor was already groping himself at the thought of you.

“Jesus, can you stop? You’ll scare her off.” Disturbed, Mikey glared at his buddy who was self-relieving.

“She’s ex-military, cupcake. A gunwoman who can handle herself – “ He groaned, “Damn… When she’s comin’ Molester? I’m getting’ impatient.”

“She’ll come in her own time… Just… Keep your mouth closed, I’ll do the talking.” Lester responded as he began writing some extra information on the board.

“Booorrriinnngggg! Hey, I’m sure a lady like herself would need a man as… Wild as me.”

Michael nudged Trevor’s shoulder in attempts to shut him up. However, before Trevor could react, the door opened and you walked in.

All eyes were set on you.

“Hey, I hope I wasn’t too late.” Your voice endearing and pleasant. You smiled at them all, clearly balanced in your frame of mind. For a lady who shot enemies senselessly in the military for years and years, you were a gentle soul. There was a shy glimpse in your eyes, someone feeble but independent and strong-minded.

“Ah, [y/n],” Lester offered his hand and you shook it gracefully. He then motioned to the seat beside Trevor – “Please, sit.”

You didn’t notice the eager guy at first. Not until you sat down.

“Hey.” He’d grin.

Luckily Trevor had stopped his groping just before you made an appearance. He was manspreading in his seat, observing your body language and occasionally trying to take a small peek at your ass. His heart flustered when you made eye-contact. He saw the Devil in your eyes, even if it was hidden by the ray of rainbows and innocence. Trevor’s grin grew wider, knowing he’s sat next to a lady who has killed without shame, and for her country.

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled.

“Ohhh… The pleasure is all mine.” The seductive labour of his tongue had made you visibly aware of his intensions. Trevor smirked when you got the hang of it, and winked.

“Ah, excuse Trevor…” The man beside him spoke, smiling at you, “I’m Michael. You must be [y/n]?”

You nodded.

“We heard that you’re pretty good with the gun?” Michael asked.

“Oh, yeah. I was a marksman for some years. I know my way around a rifle and assault rifles quite well.”

Trevor grunted from beside you, finding the urge to touch himself again. The bulge in between his legs was growing with every word you said.

“Impressive. Me and Trev, we ain’t professional, but we easily could be – “

“Wait, wait! Hey, I am a professional. I was in the air force.” He winked at you.

“Yeah… was,�� Michael scoffed, “Besides, I’m talkin’ about the military, dumbass.”

“Oh, the air force? That’s cool. A pilot?”

Trevor’s eyes lit up when you took interest in his past profession. He shuffled a bit closer to you and smirked.

“Indeed. A fuckin’ great pilot. I’m talkin’ jets and nuclear drops.”

“Oh, damn. That’s pretty awesome. I respect your service.”

“And… I respect yours, as well.” His voice getting lower and his sinister grin widening.

“Okay, enough. We got to work on this thing,” Lester pouched, pointing to the board – “Now, [y/n], you’ll have to either assist Michael or…” He looked at Trevor, who was staring, admiring your beauty, “So… Michael is working on the south access, sniper. It’s able to be a one-person job, but a little help would be efficient. But, uh, Trevor’s route is on the North. He’s got the more open position and will be using an assault rifle. Two gunners would also be good… Either way, your help is much needed.”

You listened closely then realised you had to pick your partner. Michael and Trevor began hoping, yearning for your answer. They both had their ears out in case you say their name.

“You mentioned two gunners would be good? I wouldn’t mind partnering with Trevor.”

The way he threw his hands up in the air with victory. You jumped, not preparing for his sudden outburst.

“YES! FUCKIN’ YES!”

Michael looked defeated and he rolled his eyes, refusing to look in your direction. He was bitter that his old pal had caught your attention the most; the psychotic, mommy-issued freak.

“Oh, sugar, I ain’t gonna let you down.” He’d giddily chuckle and lean into your shoulder.

“Alright, [y/n] and Trevor are together. The plan is… Essentially closed.” Announced Lester.

“Yeah, yeah… Whatever. I got shit to do.”

“Awww, don’t be such a bad loser, Mikey. I’ll be sure to tell you all about our fun when it’s over.” Trevor winked before throwing an arm around your shoulder, “Now… [l/n]. How’d you like the sound of T.P.I?”

#trevor philips #grand theft auto 5 #gta v #grand theft 5 #grand theft auto #gta 5 #trevor gta #trevor philips x reader #trevor philips/reader #trevor philips fanfiction #trevor philips headcanons #trevor philips/you #trevorphilips #grandtheftauto #grand theft auto v #my fanfiction #my fanfic writing #asks #requests

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stuckysimp · 3 months

Text

Just Stay

Summary: Pre-serum Steve gets sick and Bucky comes by his apartment to check on his friend

TW: Illness, mentions of death, mentions of period-typical racism, fever, bleeding from the ear, period-typical religious practices

Word Count: 1265

Co-Author: @ivyace

Taking the steps two at a time, Bucky made his way up to Steve’s apartment. He’d spent the day down at the docks, having dropped out of school to work like most kids. Not Steve, though. No, Steve had stayed in school, too sick to work. At least, too sick to do the manual labour that Bucky did.

Bucky knew that Sarah, Steve’s mother, already overworked herself at the hospital and now that Steve was sick…

He shoved the thought away and knocked, smiling up at Sarah when she answered the door.

“Hello James.” She looked like an absolute wreck - hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes. Had she even been sleeping?

Bucky’s smile faded into a more solemn expression as he nodded in greeting. “Evenin’ ma’am.” He walked inside, his stomach sinking when he saw Steve on the bed.

If Sarah looked like a wreck, Steve looked about ten times worse. The poor guy could barely seem to keep his eyes open. He was pale as anything, and his frail body was shivering violently, blood dripping down from his left ear.

God…

Bucky was snapped back to reality when a rattling couch escaped from Steve’s chest. He looked over at his friend, his chest tight with worry as he went over to him. “Heya pal.” He mumbled, readjusting the wet cloth on Steve’s forehead. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Sarah do the sign of the cross, clinging to rosary beads that she clutched to her chest.

If she was this worried-

“Can he eat?” The question left Bucky’s lips before he’d really even registered it.

Sarah shook her head and Bucky’s stomach sank. “I’ve been trying to get some water and broth into him, but he can barely stay still enough to eat. We’ve just got to keep him cool and hydrated, and hope the fever breaks.”

Bucky nodded as Sarah spoke, but his eyes didn’t leave his trembling friend. “I-...” He composed himself quickly. Brave. He had to be brave, for Steve. “I’ll go fill up his cup.”

He moved quickly, almost stumbling as he did, grabbing the empty cup by Steve’s bed. He filled it up and then came back, placing it down once again. In the time that he’d been gone, Sarah had knelt down beside her son’s bed, mumbling what he assumed were prayers in a language he’d come to recognise as Gaelic.

The woman almost never spoke the language, and Steve had said that it was to keep them safe. Fit in with everyone else. So Bucky knew that she must be stressed. Not that he blamed her.

Bucky cleared his throat, feeling almost out of place as he watched the two. “Is there anythin’ I can do to help ma’am?”

“Just stay, Jamie.” Sarah let out a shuddering breath as she spoke.

Bucky’s chest tightened so much he felt like he was gonna choke but he nodded. Right. Stay. He could do that. He forced himself to move to Steve’s side, sitting down beside the bed. “I’m here pal, it’s gonna be alright.”

Sarah reached up, wiping the blood away from Steve’s ear. The boy hissed through chattering teeth, letting out a quiet whimper, the sound full of pain.

Bucky felt a little like he was going to be sick, watching his friend suffer like this. “Has he ever been this sick before?” He couldn’t bring himself to look away from Steve, even as his expression remained solemn.

“When he was younger, yes.” Sarah’s voice was a lot quieter now. “But…”

Bucky didn’t pry further, biting his tongue with a nod. He didn’t want to upset Sarah more.

“You’ll take care of her, right? If-” Steve’s voice was raspy as he spoke, a hacking cough cutting him off.

“Of course-” Bucky began to respond, interrupted quickly by Sarah.

“None of that Steven.” Sarah sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “You just rest now.”

Nausea filled Bucky’s stomach but he fell quiet, watching with a breaking heart. He hated that this could very well be how Steve died. With all his problems… God… It didn’t take too long for Steve to basically pass out. It wasn’t an easy sleep, and Bucky watched as his friend tossed and turned, body soaked through with sweat.

No matter how much Bucky wanted to look away, wanted to leave and deny the fact that his friend was sick, he didn’t. He’d been asked to stay, so stay he did. For as long as it took, he would always stay.

When Steve finally woke, a good few hours later, an almost smirk slipped over his features, his gaze turning over to the two beside his bed.

“Not dead yet.”

Sarah almost sobbed, nodding quickly as she moved closer to her son, cupping his face to inspect his condition. Bucky watched, shaking his head with a fond smile at his friend.

It had been terrifying, watching Steve sleep for the hours that had passed. The stuttering rise and fall of his chest had been enough to make Bucky hold his own breath, praying that this world would spare his friend at least of pain if he’d passed.

“Sounds funny.” Steve muttered, tilting his head like he was trying to get something out of his ear.

Sarah just nodded, even as a frown formed across her face, “You’ve just been ill, time will tell.” She seemed to pause, hesitating, before she stood. “I’m going to get you some soup.”

Bucky watched as Sarah walked out before turning his attention back over to his friend. “You already look heaps better.” He spoke, trying to be at least somewhat encouraging. “And you ain’t shaking anymore. That’s something.”

“Glad I don’t look on death’s door.” Steve’s tone was light, joking, but Bucky knew his friend knew the gravity of the situation. Just how close he’d come. He looked towards the door. “No priest yet, she must’a had faith I’d be alright.”

Bucky frowned at that, following Steve’s gaze over to the door. “I reckon if it went on any longer, she would have.” He admitted, his voice soft so Sarah wouldn’t overhear from the kitchen. “Gave your ma a scare, that’s for sure.”

Steve nodded slowly, guilt passing over his features. “I know.”

“But she’ll be better now, ya know? Uh, now that you’re getting better.” Bucky quickly added, kicking himself internally. He didn’t want to make Steve feel guilty for something so out of his control.

Steve’s expression morphed to a frown but he nodded, his gaze going distant for a moment before it snapped over to Bucky. “You stayed here all night?” He seemed… confused?

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah, uh, ain’t gonna leave ya when you’re like that Steve. It’s not right. Besides, your ma asked me to, and she shouldn’t have been left alone.” He paused, expression twisting before he continued, pushing himself up to his feet. “I… would stay more, but uh, work.”

He shook his head and glanced over at the kitchen before looking back at his friend. “Rest, alright? Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

He was glad to see his friend smile at that, even if he still looked utterly exhausted.

“How can I? You’re takin’ all the stupid with ya.”

Bucky let himself form his own smile and he did a mock, two-fingered salute before turning towards the door. “See you later, ma’am!” He called out towards Sarah before he forced himself to leave the apartment.

Taking the steps, two at a time, Bucky’s chest was lighter now. Steve would be alright.

#captain america #marvel mcu #marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #fanfic #pre serum stucky #pre serum steve #40s stucky #sarah rogers #oneshot

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starqueensthings · 11 months

Text

Pairing: pirate!Kix x Fem!reader

Summary: the final chapter of Colder Weather. This one is exceptionally long… and it didn’t need to be, but sometimes I can’t just reign it in and that’s okay. Please read the prior two parts before proceeding to this one, and please heed warnings below.

Rating/Warnings/WC: Teen+ for subject matter, TW: mentions of a complicated labour, mentions of postpartum challenges. This chapter is probably 60% sad angst. 40% happiness, but the happy parts make up for the sad parts. 8000ish words (sorry lol)

A/N: y’all… I was so close to killing off the reader, but I’m glad I didn’t. He’s made his mistakes, but deep in his heart and soul, our favourite medic Kix deserves a happy ending. Thank you for reading. Not proof read because this has gone on long enough. If you see a typo… no you don’t.

part one | part one.five | part two

“When I close my eyes I see you, no matter where I am. I can smell your perfume through these whisperin’ pines. I’m with your ghost again, and it’s a shame about the weather but I know soon we’ll be together, and I can’t wait ‘til then.”

That intrusive hum should not have wielded enough power to yank you so unceremoniously from the embracing, semi-lucid doze you’d unintentionally fallen into. That brief reprieve of darkness was meant to be nothing more than just an extended blink; a momentary break from the throbbing headache brought on by several days without sleep, yet that whirring, artificial whine had instantly imbued you with such an unbridled panic, that a gasp near-left your lips as your eyes snapped open and darted urgently toward the front window.

Nightfall had already begun to kiss the horizon, the last of that so reclusive winter sun bathing only that of which it could reach between barren branches. The soft hush of dancing leaves, and the indignant squawks of native wildlife begrudgingly adapting to the change in season, had long since silenced; their departure triggered by the crystal blanket of frost that never failed to drape itself upon every unmoving surface during those extended hours of darkness.

The jarring return to reality had your heart hammering heavily against the walls of your chest, and attempting to reaffix your senses to that disturbing rumble proved nearly impossible over the rhythmic pounding in your ears. A moment's pause had you nearly convinced that familiar hum was nothing but the remnants of a nightmare wiped clean from your memory upon waking. Perhaps your weary mind had clutched so vainly at whatever semblance of sleep it could find, knowing reality would continue to rob your being of the repose it so desperately needed yet continued to neglect, but its stark contrast to the the cherished serenity of nature rendered it harrowingly familiar, and there could simply be no further denying that grinding vibration.

“No,” you implored to the empty room as the implications of that wretched noise forced a shiver down your spine.

You hurried to press yourself into a seated position, and that near-debilitating crest of pain radiating from the tender space between your legs had your face contorting tightly and a soft whimper issuing from behind pursed lips, but with the entirety of your waning focus attuned to that haunting roar, you could spare no attention to your body’s plea for stillness.

“No!” you repeated sternly, as if begging some divine force to halt the imminent invasion.

Snatching the ice pack from its nestle between your thighs and tossing it onto the seat of the chair by the window, you clambered to your feet as gingerly as your frantic mind could permit.

The intensity of your labour only days previously had left you “wiggly”; an inappropriately comical label for how unstable you found yourself in those handful of purgatorial moments between sitting and standing. But a trio of sluggish blinks were all you could offer to placate the stars erupting in your vision… there was simply no time for the deep breath your body craved. The sound of that sputtering engine meant you had mere seconds until it parked itself atop your gravel drive, bringing its unwelcome rider to within only feet of your front door.

“No… no… no… no, no!”

Every resounding thump of your socked feet descending the stairs had that defiant refusal pouring from your snarling lips. The adrenaline doped blood pounding in your veins kept your legs in motion; the desperate need to fortify your home by whatever means necessary quickly diminishing those electrifying jolts of pain between your thighs to nothing but an annoyance, and you utterly refused to suspend your frenzied actions until the satisfyingly audible click the deadbolt met your ears.

Breast heaving under agitated breaths, you pressed your forehead to that cool, steel barrier, reaching a trembling hand to blindly activate the lock and engage the chain across the door. That infuriating hum had ceased, replaced by the sporadic ticking of an engine entering slumber mode after a long journey and the rhythmic crunch of heavy boots treading apprehensively across compacted gravel.

A faint draft danced across your ear as you pressed it flush against the gap between door and frame, biting your lip in an effort to quiet the huffs still pouring from your lips.

How many steps until that calloused hand wreathed itself around the glimmering gold door knob perched innocently at your navel? He drew nearer with every exhale; already his steps had near-muted as they transferred his weight from gravel to pavestone. A potent remorse swelled like noxious gas in your chest, pure exhaustion and repressed sadness flooding your mind with flickering images of all the times you sprinted down that cobblestone path and threw yourself, unabashed, into his embrace..

A shiver stole down your spine as you backed away from the door, folding your arms over your chest and fitting a thumbnail between your teeth. Every moment on your feet saw your body beginning to yield further into exhaustion and the primal need for rest, yet the resolve required to yank gaze from the door and head back upstairs for a fresh ice pack and a long nap had utterly abandoned you.

The stare you affixed that dome of gold was unrelenting, and had the Maker blessed you with even a fraction of the power those old wizards known as “Jedi” once possessed, there was no doubt that gold knob would have burned red hot under the intensity of your gaze.

Your thumbnail continued to shred and fray under the anxious gnawing of your front teeth, little shards torn painfully from the tip of your finger and spat unceremoniously to the floor at your feet were offered none of the attention that you’d affixed to the sounds of his impending arrival. His boots had stalled their movements on the other side of the threshold, and the small scraping of plastoid against plastoid sounded through the door as he shifted to remove his helmet. Any second now that knob would wiggle under his touch. Any second now…

“Go away!” you shouted at the first signs of that handle failing to permit his entry, your anxiety momentarily abated by the same surging rage that sent your hands curling into fists.

“Wh— what? Did— did you say ‘go away’?” That voice. That stupid, forsaken voice.

“Sure did!” you spat back at the man who didn’t deserve even an ounce of the confusion that had stalled his advance. “Get your ass back on that bike and get out of here!”

“Mesh’la…”

Your blood boiled at the outrageous levity in which that endearing coo left his lips, and had it not been for the abandoned baby monitor in the next room, interrupting your increasing indignation with the beeping reminder of a dying battery, at least one of your shaking fists would have crashed heavily against the back of that door.

“Don’t you dare call me that,” you seethed through clamped teeth. “Now get away from my kriffing door before I grab my blaster and shoot you through the peephole!”

A brief moment's weighty silence preceded his answer. “I would deserve that,” Kix acknowledged, no doubt sensing the validity of your threat, having personally dismantled and cleaned the pistol you kept hidden in your nightstand.

“Yeah, you would. Now, goodbye!” you snarked back at him, the responding, poignant sigh that left his lips failing to soften your invective.

“Look, Mes— ”

“Didn’t I just say, don’t call me tha—”

“Okay. Okay…” Every emotional huff expelled from his lungs was a breath that only further ignited the embers of your vexation, and saw you withdrawing further and further from the door. How dare he be upset? How dare he feel exasperated? How dare he even show up here, let alone stand at the entryway to your home and attempt to belittle the agony of his betrayal with his own undeserved feelings of remorse?

“I owe you some big explanations,” he muttered slowly. “I have a lot to apologize for, and I— I want to say it all because you deserve it.”

“Oh I ‘deserve it’?” you snorted near-maniacally. “Now? And not six months ago when you hightailed it out of here, and left me in the kriffing clutches of hell?”

“Of course you did, Mesh’la,” he assuaged. “You’ve always deserved it, and I’ve been— well… I’ve struggled a lot, but you know that and it’s no excuse. Can you please unlock the door and let me in?”

“No.”

You intensified the knot of your arms across the tender swells of your chest and snarled as silence ensued. Every elongated second that ticked present into past saw your jaw begin to mutiny against the continued force of irritably grinding your molars together, the discomfort only masked by the powerful pangs of pain between your legs as your body continued to beg for your retreat. But physical agony was mere childsplay; nothing… nothing compared to the debilitating heartbreak that had rendered you emotionally distraught and struggling to keep your head above water since he last fled your embrace, the haunting image of his anguished face erupting in your mind's-eye every time you sought the respite of sleep.

“No,” you repeated weakly. “You’ve had so many chances to talk, Kix. You made your choice.”

Sorrow and grief, respawned by the reminder of a life longed-for and lost, threatened to envelop you. How many months had you begged him for the knowledge that he was now, inexplicably, offering? How many nights did you attempt to chisel away at his walls, refusing to see the efforts as futile, and doggedly convinced that he would feel the same devotion to you if he would just let himself? Now here he was, offering all the things you’d once prayed for on a silver platter at your door, and the undeniable longing that had previously seen you gazing limitlessly into his eyes, still held the maddening power to sag your shoulders and wet those tired eyes.

You hastily wiped the emotion from your face and shook the malignant thoughts from your head; too many tears had already been shed on his account, too many nights had vanished from underneath you, lost in the shadow of loneliness.

He upheld a near-suffocating silence from his unseen perch, and it lingered just long enough to make you wonder if he’d simply turned on his heel and left. Despite reminding yourself that such a departure would ultimately be for the best, the notion of another temerous abandonment at his hands wrapped itself like an iron fist around your gut, further restricting every already pained inhale.

A gentle thunk against the door exposed his presence, and your eyes darted to the area where he’d likely just rested that weary, tattooed head.

“Well,” you offered sadly, unknotting your arms and stretching the tension from your neck. “Not that this hasn’t been… enlightening… but I’m in desperate need of some sleep, so… goodbye.”

You cast one last glance toward the peephole before turning to ascend the stairs again, attempting to placate the twisting in your stomach with a deep, controlled inhale.

“Goodnight, Cyare. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your hand froze on the railing, chilled toes ceasing their movements at his unexpected valediction, and the slow breath that had promised you some semblance of relief, now escaped your nose in a huff of indignant disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” you barked over your shoulder at the deadbolt.

“I’m not leaving,” he explained. “You deserve an apology and I’m giving it to you. I’ll sleep in the driveway if I have to.”

A scoff left your lips as you shook your head, eyes rolling extravagantly at his unprecedented impudence. “It’s freezing outside,” you snorted coolly.

“Not cold enough to stop me.”

With patience utterly diminished by both his audacious dedication, and the continued throbs of pain in your core, you turned and stomped back down the stairs, a frustrated growl leaving your lips as you unlatched the deadbolt and yanked the door open only wide enough to peer out into the increasing darkness.

There he stood. Your Kix. Those characteristically piercing, dark eyes now so soft they were nearly unrecognizable, and framed by knitted, forlorn brows. Those subtle creases across his forehead, of which typically only emerged in moments where surprise or potent emotion lifted his brow toward his hairline, had deepened and embedded themselves with the same plea swaddling the rest of those familiar features. His tall frame still hid behind that scuffed and blemished blue plastoid kit, that marred and dented helmet hung loosely at his side as it always did when not masking his face, and that bushy, unkempt beard failed to conceal the emergence of several blue, day-old bruises, their pigmentation only matched by the swollen bags beneath those brown eyes.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” you hissed at him through the door’s meager opening. “Where do you come off thinking you can just show up here and make demands? What makes you think I even want your dumb apology?”

“I’m not here to make demands, Mesh’la,” he pleaded, the perimeter of his frame disappearing behind the door as he stepped as close as the gap would permit.

“Then what do you want?” you pressed him sternly, mirroring his unintended concealment by narrowing the gap in the door. “Why are you here?”

“Because I love you,” he urged in a whisper. “And I want to explain everything. Please… just let me in.”

That pure and unfiltered expression of love nearly cleaved you in half; his admonition monetarily overpowering your composure and threatening utterly rob you of the dwindling resolve you’d somehow funnelled into continued refusals.

“No, Kix,” you argued in little more than a pathetic whine. “You’re not coming in her–”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Because! The second you're within arms reach, I’m going to want to smack you for all the bantha-shit you’ve pulled, and I’m not doing that in front of my newborn baby!”

Kriff.

It slipped from your lips… that unintended profession leaving your mouth on a wave of unbridled emotion. You hadn’t formulated exactly how or when you planned to break the news to him in those frantic seconds between learning of his imminent arrival and this moment. Truthfully, you hadn’t expected the conversation to get this far… hell, you hadn’t even expected this conversation to happen. He should have just conceded to your wishes and left when you demanded it of him, not stubbornly refused to leave your side, and revealing the birth of his child so casually and without intent had unmistakably shaken him.

You could only watch regretfully as his head snapped upward from its solemn hang, tired eyes widening and darting back and forth between yours as if peering into their depths would offer him an unfiltered truth. That cherished, sharp jaw softened with shock; lips falling open, chest heaving beneath that old distressed cuirass as you reciprocated his imploring gaze with a diffident, guilty one of your own.

“You— you had the baby?” he choked, eyes boring into yours as the aluminum threshold creaked under the weight of his step, his hand rising to grip the edge of that door as if its previously irksome existence was now the only thing stabilizing him.

Too laden with self-resentment for having so-loosely uttered the revelation, you cast his gloved fingers only a fleeting glance as they pressed the door open as wide as the chain would permit, but the mental space quickly earmarked for regret and self hatred was near-instantly usurped by an unprecedented sense of pity as your gaze fell upon his again.

“Yes,” you admitted in a whisper, nearly cowering beneath the intensity of the plea in his eyes. “Four days ago.”

His throat bobbed, eyes unfocusing as they darted to and fro between yours, and you could only watch apprehensively as those familiar lips parted and closed, continuously failing to communicate the myriad of thoughts and allegations currently ravaging his mind. “But… you weren’t due until the end of this month?” he managed to splutter out. “Weren’t you? That’s what you said: ‘The baby isn’t due until the last week of the year…’”

“Yeah, well… these things happen sometimes,” you answered apathetically, a weak shrug lifting one shoulder as you averted your eyes downward to your toes. “I was shocked too, if that makes you feel better.”

His abrupt about-face stole your attention back immediately, his boots scraping across the cold stone as he drug his feet toward the grass and stooped over. His helmet hit the lawn with a thud, dark hair disappearing entirely as his hands fell to his knees and his chin hung to his chest.

The shift in his demeanor froze your breath in your lungs, his derailment such a surprise that even attempting to locate a consoling word amongst your own tornadic thoughts was feat proven impossible. A sigh left your nose, the biting chill of the breeze turning your exasperation to cloud as your fingers drummed indecisively against the soft cotton of your sweater. The urge to barrel into the darkness and wrap your arms around those sagging shoulders was near-irrepressible, yet doing so would communicate a message you weren’t entirely certain you wanted to send in this already tense moment. You swallowed heavily, confusion sending your thumbnail back between your teeth as you maintained your position behind the door, resignedly averting your eyes from the discomfited sight of a man completely defeated.

“I missed it…” he breathed, standing upright and turning back toward you, his lips pressed tightly together in a disappointed grimace. “I can’t believe that. I— I thought I had time.”

You fought against every ounce of sympathy surging through your veins. You simply did not want to feel bad for him; that wandering pariah had dangled happiness in front of your nose only to snatch it away one too many times to warrant feeling slighted in this moment.

A shiver stole down your spine as you reached blindly for the door handle and began to close the door. Triggered by the squeak of the hinges, his gaze darted toward you, the torment behind those darkened eyes intensifying as your figure slowly disappeared behind that steel barrier again. But his crestfallen frame was hidden from you for only a moment as, against your better judgement, you disengaged the chain from the door and pulled it wide.

“We always think we have time,” you grumbled, leaning against the door frame and perching one cold foot on top of the other. “Until someone we love vanishes, and we’re left with nothing but pieces of ourselves and no desire to reassemble them.”

He took a selfish moment to breathe in your appearance, eyes shifting from your head to your toes, lingering for a fraction of a second on that soft bump still protruding underneath your clothes. You hurried to fold your arms across your chest again, the abrupt exposure to both his eyes and the cold sending another sending your shoulders ashiver again.

“I know the feeling…”

It was barely audible. Had you not been near-glaring at him as he spoke, those whispered words would have simply wafted away with the cold breeze, yet the way his jaw clenched as he trod eagerly back toward you had rendered you more immobile than the horrid implications of his passive statement, and you stood rooted to the spot as he reached to cradle your elbows with his palms.

“Mesh’la,” he beseeched. “I’m sorry about a lot of things. But kriff, it kills me that you went through that alone.”

“Almost killed me too if I’m being honest,” you groused, jerking your arms from the tenderness of his touch. “For making an early entrance, he sure put up a fight on the way out.”

“He?”

‘Maker, have mercy,’ you grumbled inwardly, instantly aware of your second monstrous mistake. As you hurried to shield your face with your hands, he intercepted your need for a moment's separation by enclosing your fingers with his and holding them tightly.

“Please, love,” Kix begged. “Please, let me in. There’s so much to sa—”

“I don’t have it in me for another one sided conversation, Kix,” you interrupted dispiritedly, attempting to snatch your hands from that devastatingly familiar grip. “I did that for years and you fled every single one of them. I’m too tired—”

“I won’t run this time,” Kix urged, letting your hands tear away from his before hastening to gently drape them around your elbows again. “I’m done running. I promise. Once I can say what I’ve been meaning to say, we can stay up for a week straight and talk. Or— or I’ll get back on the bike and leave if that’s what you really want. I’ll do anything, Mesh’la. Please.”

The glorified return of his touch to your body both wilted and unnerved you; the urge to simply fall into him and let those strong arms carry your weary self to bed was strikingly dominant despite the deep-seated resentment that you undeniably still harboured for the reticent pirate.

“Fine,” you hissed, not waiting to gauge his reaction before turning on your heel and climbing gingerly back up that handful of stairs, leaving him to cross the threshold and kick his boots off alone.

Your frigid feet took you on a direct path to the caf machine, desperate for that glorious nectar to reinvigorate your languid senses and grant you something near an open mind so Kix’s pertinent apology wasn’t just a minute wasted as it wafted through your exhausted and cautious ears. By the time you returned from the living room, tucking the baby monitor under your arm and reaching for its charging cord on the table, Kix was stepping apprehensively into the kitchen, crinkled eyes scanning the surroundings that he hadn’t seen in the better part of a year.

“Help yourself,” you muttered, gesturing sightlessly toward the gurgling caf machine.

“Thank you,” he answered politely, pulling a pair of mugs from the cabinet beside the window.

Resolute in reserving the offering of any niceties until after this allegedly imperative explanation, you ignored his every movement, plugging the baby monitor into charge as noisily as possible, clunking it down heavily onto the table in front of you and flinging the cord around while he poured two mugs of caf. You refused him even a glance as he crossed the kitchen and placed the first of the steaming cups on the table in front of you, the only offering of thanks was a quick compression of your lips.

Perhaps sensing the intentional disconnect, Kix perched himself against the counter in front of the sink across the room, bringing one ankle over the other and wreathing the green ceramic mug he’d chosen for himself in those gloved hands. He watched you silently as you snatched an ice pack from the freezer and limped back toward the table, repressing a wince as you lowered yourself onto the seat of a rickety old wooden chair, immediately wedging the icy addition into place and begging the stars that it provide you some semblance of relief.

“Why does it sound like you always had plans to come back here?” you asked him coldly, hoping the bite in your words would eradicate the worry in his eyes as he watched you struggle for comfort. “Would have been nice to be included in that secret.”

“I know,” he said, banishing his mug to the countertop so he could lean backwards on his hands. “You’re a smart woman, Mesh’la, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that I ran out of here more scared than I ever have been in my life. I… it’s been a long time since the idea of fatherhood crossed my mind. So much has happened… it— I didn’t think it would ever be on the table for me.”

Your petulant scoff captured his attention from his toes immediately, his crinkled eyes affixing on you again. “I know it means nothing now, but the second I left here, I wanted to come back. I felt sick the second I turned that bike on, and the entire drive back into the village I kept pulling over and… and telling myself to just turn around. But I’m a smart guy too, and it wasn’t lost on me what I’d just done to you. I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my head, and… and part of me knew I’d just completely broken what little trust you had left in me. So I kept going.

“Ithano could tell something was wrong, and he wouldn’t let up until I told him, but by the time I could bring myself to physically say the words, we were already at the other end of the galaxy. I’ve— I’ve seen him pissed off before, but never like that. He called me an “excuse of a man”; told me that no one in their right mind would pass up the chance for safety and a family; that you were a gift from the stars to make up for all the shit I’ve been through, and I was just throwing you away because I couldn’t see past my own volatility. And, maker, did that make me sick… because I knew it was true. By the time the suns came up the next day, I’d made my decision. I told him I needed some time to square up some old debts, and then I was done. He said he’d help me clean up every mess I’ve left on every planet, and get me ready to wash my hands of the nomad life. So… that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been from one end of the galaxy to the other making sure my name is clear so I could come back here and…”

His voice trailed away to silence, his ashamed gaze dropping back to his toes as you fought to ruminate his words.

The confession was profoundly altering, and while taking your weight from your feet had somewhat loosened the grip of that iron fist around your gut, a large portion of your already dwindling lucidity had been abruptly stolen from you by the stunning implications of his explanation. In the wake of his last, harrowing departure, you’d found solace in utterly villainizing him; pretending that he’d laughed maniacally as he drove away, convinced yourself that he’d find another woman somewhere in the village to use as a means to forget you and the hell he’d bestowed upon you. But despite wanting, with every cell in your body, to despise the olive skinned, peripatetic man that had stolen your heart, there wasn’t even the ghost of a villain hiding behind those features.

And then there was the excuse itself… no, the explanation. Despite having never met you, Ithano had always been in your corner; Kix had expressed on countless occasions that the leader of his crew would like nothing more than for the bereft man from the lost-and-found to plant roots somewhere and leave the hand-to-mouth life behind him. Claiming that he was simply too disoriented by his past and the ghosts that haunted his every step, Kix had adamantly refused the sedentary life, yet had never quite been able or willing to let you go. If this story had validity, and there was something about the way his eyes pleaded for your understanding, was it enough to diminish the hurt he’d left you with?

“The bruises?” you asked him solemnly, gesturing with a small lift of the finger to the discolouration peeking out from the wild expanse of his beard.

“Just a… parting transaction… that didn’t go as smoothly as intended,” he admitted, reaching for his caf again and bringing it slowly to his lips. “Took a little extra effort, but it’s done.”

Your molars clicked as they ground together, fingers drumming thoughtlessly atop the knot in that old wood table as you absently rubbed the pad of your thumb along the spot where the varnish had worn away. “You could have told me, Kix,” you exhorted.

“I should have,” he corrected. “And it would have been lightyears better than radio silence, especially after how I left you, but I knew how upset you were… and I didn’t want to add any worry on top of everything else. And I did have every intention of being back here by the end of the year so I could be with you when the baby was born but… little guy beat me here, I guess.”

You could feel his surveying gaze from across the kitchen, seemingly uncertain if the correct thing to do would be to let you process the information, or to continue his reasoning lest you suddenly get up and extract your pistol from the nightstand. Periodic slurps were the only interruption to that suffocating silence as you aimlessly took sip after sip of caf, sighing periodically as you blindly watched the newborn sleep happily in his cozy bassinet.

“An apology will never be enough,” he continued quietly after clearing his throat. “I know that. And I could spend every second for the rest of my life uttering those words, but they’ll never mean as much as I need them to mean.”

It wasn’t until he pushed himself away from the counter and approached your seat that you offered him a glance, and when he was near enough to reach you, he pulled your hand from your mouth and swaddled it with his own, dropping to a knee in front of your chair and looking directly into your eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he repented. “I’m sorry for every time I’ve walked out on you. I’m sorry for not instantly giving you every bit of love and commitment that you’ve always deserved. You’ve been nothing but supportive, and I’ve been nothing but dismissive. I’ll tell you everything… all about my past, my family, where I’m from, what I’ve done, who I am. I promise I won’t waste another second of your time making you feel unworthy or unwanted, because Mesh’la— you are neither.”

A sob escaped your lips as your eyes clamped closed, forcing a tear to cascade down your cheek. He dropped your hand immediately and moved to delicately cup your jaw, brushing the wetness from your skin with a soft swipe from the pad of his calloused thumb. “You’ll never be able to hate me as much as I hate myself for what I’ve done to you,” he whispered. “But I’m going to work on regaining your tr—”

“I don’t hate you,” you choked thickly as another tear slipped from your overflowing lids. “But I wish I did. I’ve wanted to hate you for years but I just can’t, Kix.”

“Good,” he nearly laughed, chasing away the stray tear. “Then love me. Keep loving me like you always have because it’s making me the man I should be and I’m done fighting it. I’m ready. It’s unexpected and unbelievable and I know that, but just trust me one last time and I’ll prov—”

A shrill, choked cry echoed around the kitchen, the indicator light on the monitor flashing a series of red and orange to alert you that some sort of commotion was issuing loudly from two rooms over. You hastily swallowed the sob still perched in your throat and snatched the device off the table, watching your baby boy’s mouth spread wide in a wail that could only mean his butt was wet and his belly was empty.

“I have to get him,” you choked, pulling your face from his clutches and wiping your nose quickly on your sleeve. “I’ll be back. Just… I don’t know… take your armour off or something.”

He nodded faintly, eyes affixed on the monitor as you placed it back down on the table and stood. He took the ice pack from you blindly, placing it on the table as you strode around him and left the room.

In the dozen or so minutes required to collect the baby, change his diaper, and redress him in a warmer onesie, Kix had take your sage advice and shed his rigid exterior, the kit now stacked neatly on the chair in the living room, while his broad frame paced anxiously around the kitchen. His apprehension was immediately apparent by his incessant fidgeting; his arms swinging madly by his side, each pendulous swing of his hands triggering a snap of his fingers while his feet carried him thoughtlessly from fridge to stove, and back again.

You paused in the hallway and watched him take several deep controlled breaths, pausing in his cadence for a quiet moment before shaking his head and resuming his fervent soothing, but at the first sign of your return, his ministrations ceased entirely, fingers frozen and poised mid snap while his shoulders squared in anticipation.

“That’s— that’s him?” he asked foolishly as you entered through the open doorway, gently rocking the cooing baby swaddled loosely in your arms. “That’s my son?” The sudden surge of potent reality fractured his voice, and he hastened to cover his trembling lip with a bare hand.

“Mhmm,” you answered with a small nod. “Do— do you want to feed him?”

He held his hand in place over his mouth, wide eyes darting upwards to yours with a look of unadulterated trepidation. Your lips had barely parted to retract the offer, poised to reassure him that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, when Kix’s pallid face nodded.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, taking the remaining few steps across the kitchen until you were nearly chest to chest. “Turns out the whole ‘parent’ thing comes pretty naturally. Just be very, very gentle, and make sure you cradle his hea—”

“Cradle his head,” Kix breathed, extending his arms towards you. “I know. I mean— I remember. I learned it so long ago, but…”

His sentiments waned to silence as you placed the baby in his arms and stepped away, hesitating for only a moment to see if the unnatural hold or foreign aroma might trigger a tantrum, but the boy remained placid and observant in his father’s arms, so you turned to pull a prepared bottle from the fridge.

As if instinctively, Kix’s broad shoulders began to sway gently from side to side, guided by the gentle shifts of his hips while soft shushes issued from his lips. It wasn’t until a sniffle met your ears did you realize that the gruff pirate had been utterly robbed of his composure by the innocent boy in his arms. You lingered as long as you could manage in the fridge, hands needlessly shifting items around the shelves in an effort to offer the pair a moment of privacy. Several softly spoken “Hi little man” ’s pulled a smile to your face as you finally closed the fridge and reached to retrieve the kettle from the stove, filling it with enough water to boil.

By the time you’d filled an oversized mug with hot water and placed the bottle inside to heat, he’d begun softly humming the tune of an unfamiliar song, gazing glassy-eyed into his arms.

“Never heard that one,” you mumbled through a smirk.

He turned as if surprised to see you, as if the rest of the world had simply vanished into nothingness once his baby had entered his embrace, and you were quick to raise your eyebrows at the unintentional fracture of his stupor. And then… he smiled. The first smile you’d seen adorn that handsome face in months, and you were instantly sure that way it robbed you of breath had cast a bashful look across your face nearly identical to his.

“It’s an old Mando’a tune,” he admitted, as the lingering embarrassment of being caught mid-vulnerability flushed what was available of his bruised cheeks. “I’m surprised I remember it, honestly.”

You nodded gently and reached for the bottle, upturning it and placing a small droplet of the liquid on your wrist to gauge the temperature. “So… what exactly was your plan then?” you asked as you wiped the milk from your skin.

Kix stopped humming and glanced back at you, the first signs of anxiety reemerging behind his eyes and robbing his features of the bliss they’d welcomed upon cradling the baby. “Well…” he started after a heavy swallow. “I was hoping I could come home and… and stay. If you’ll still have me?”

You sighed and placed the bottle back in the water, immediately dropping your gaze to your thumbnail so you could continue its absentminded destruction. You, truthfully, weren’t entirely convinced of his intentions. While you deemed large parts of his story to be genuine, and while you could not deny the plea in his eyes as he cradled your face with his hands and confessed his devotion, the sting of his past mistakes, regardless of his planned atonement, was an injury that you were confident may never fully heal. You loved him with your entire heart, this had never been in question, but how much could you trust him going forward, and how patient was he willing to be while you two rebuilt the previously precarious relationship?

“Well… we’d definitely have to start things slow because I already feel like I’m pouring from an empty cup,” you admitted shamefully. “But, pending you can communicate as well as you say you’re going to, I think I’d be okay with trying.”

“I’m good with slow,” he answered instantly, dark eyes alight with that familiar, ravishing twinkle. “I’ll sleep on the couch… and— and give you whatever space you need.”

You nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip in an effort to withhold the smile attempting to dome your cheeks. “But unfortunately,” you admonished, feigning seriousness, “I no longer run this kriffing house, so… you’ll have to get Jesse’s permission too.”

You pursed your lips together as tightly as you could, funnelling every effort into suppressing the coy and exposing grin attempting to peel across your face as you waited for understanding to dawn on the love-struck pirate still swaying happily in the center of the room, yet he met your smile with nothing but a cocked brow and a grimace of confusion. “Ask Jesse,” you repeated, pointing toward the gurgling bundle in his arms.

You watched with glee as realization widened his eyes and parted his lips.

“Jesse.”

It was little more than a whisper, an exalted comprehension having nearly robbed him of his voice. Something near a strangled sob escaped his lips as he tipped his head backward and gazed listlessly at the ceiling, a pair of tears trailing from the corners of his eyes and leaking downward into that dark beard.

“Well,” you pressed, dabbing at your eyes with your sleeve. “Go on. Ask him.”

“What do you think, little man?” Kix choked to the infant, gently prodding at the wide nose that almost perfectly mirrored his own. “Want to hang out with me for life?”

A single, pudgy hand emerged from the depths of that soft knitted blanket, wrapping itself around the tip of Kix’s battle worn finger and clamping it tightly.

***

You woke with a gasp, the true horror of the situation immediately apparent through your narrowed and crusted eyelids. It was much too bright; there was simply too much sunlight pouring in from the window beside the bed for only a few hours to have passed since you put the baby in his crib and stumbled wearily across the hall into bed.

Wrenching the blankets off, you threw yourself to a standing position and dashed from the room, panic erupting in your chest as your bare feet trod frantically toward the nursery. Why was Jesse not screaming? He was surely starving, surely had a wet diaper, surely needed someone to hold him and gently pat the air that had accumulated in that tiny tummy?

But the crib was empty, the blanket you’d wrapped him in the previous night tossed haphazardly across the changing pad on the adjacent table. You sprinted from the room again and hurried down the hallway toward the living room, eyes narrowed against the near-painful onslaught of daylight beaming in through the open curtains. The couch was just as barren as the crib, Kix’s donated pillow and blanket folded neatly and perched on the sofa’s arm, the soldier nowhere to be found.

The unmistakable smell of freshly brewed caf met your nose as you stumbled into the kitchen, but the typically heavenly gurgling sound of the machine brewing a whole pot of that glorious dark liquid was smothered by the panic pounding in your ears.

“…he was that kinda guy, you know?…”

You froze in the threshold of the dining room.

“…he always knew what we needed to hear when things got really rough. He was a man of few words, but everything he said we took right to heart.”

Kix’s voice wafted in through the patio door; the shockingly warm fall breeze surging fresh air through your home and sending those white linen curtains dancing in the sunlight. You crossed the room and pressed your ear to the crack in the doorway, letting the breeze brush the hair from your shoulders.

“I know I’m biased, but I really think he was the best Captain in the whole GAR. I would have died for him. I would have died for any of th—”

The patio door squeaked in its track as you slid it open and stepped out onto the back deck, the interruption halting him mid sentence and stealing his attention immediately. But his surprise was nothing near yours. You stopped in your tracks, mouth falling open at the unexpected sight in front of you.

That surging panic and dread evaporated from your mind as Kix looked innocently at you, the lagging sweep of dark lashes over his eyes appeared in slow motion as you fought and failed to process his appearance. The beard was… gone, his smile exponentially more apparent now that it wasn’t utterly shrouded by an expanse of wiry black hair. His hair had been neatly cropped and pushed backward off his face, the clean cut of his hairline clear evidence that years without holding a trimmer had dulled none of his hidden barbering abilities.

“There’s mama,” he gasped quietly through a dazzling grin, shifting the baby in his arms to face you. “Give her one of those big gummy smiles so she isn’t mad that we let her sleep in.”

“Kix,” you whispered, still momentarily dumbfounded by the unexpected youthfulness imbued in all his features. “You— I’m not mad, but… but Jesse needs to eat every couple hours. You can’t just let me sleep through feeding—”

“I did it,” Kix answered with a shrug, thoughtlessly running a palm along his shaven chin.

“You did it?” you repeated, mouth falling open.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “He started doing the hungry tongue thing just after you went to bed, so I heated up a bottle. Then again a few hours later. Maker, can this guy ever burp.”

“You… you did both feedings?” you whispered.

“Yup,” Kix chuckled, patting the seat of the identical chair next to his. “And he went right to sleep after both. Falls into food coma’s like his dad. Though, I’ve been lucky enough to never shit myself after.”

You exhaled the panic from your lungs and took a seat next to him, tipping your head back against the headrest and letting the impossibly warm autumn sun wash the tension from your features. It wasn’t until a calloused hand came to rest gently on your knee did you reaffix him with your attention.

“I’m sorry, Mesh’la…” he lamented, squeezing your leg. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just wanted to let you get some sleep. I imagine you probably haven’t gotten much lately.”

“You can say that again,” you answered with a forced chuckle, lifting your hands to pull the dried bits of sleep from the corners of your eyes.

“You’ve done so much on your own…” Kix continued sadly, retrieving his hand from your leg to tenderly shift the blanket away from Jesse’s chin. “Well… you’ve done everything on your own. But that’s done now.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek and looked over at him, trying to keep the skepticism from your eyes.

“Go get yourself a caf, and then tell me if you’re ready,” he spoke, gesturing with a flick of the head back toward the kitchen while gently and rhythmically patting the baby’s bum and beginning to slowly rock his chair.

“If I’m ready?” you repeated, cocking an eyebrow and shifting your weight onto the armrest closest to him so you could watch Jesse fall back asleep. “For what?”

“To know everything.”

And the way his gaze bore into yours so deeply, had any ounce of skepticism pushed to the perimeter of your mind; the way his eyes glimmered with light as they wordlessly promised you the truth, promised that nothing would change in those fleeting seconds it would take you to pour yourself a caf.

“And if you change your mind?” you mumbled, refusing to avert your eyes from his.

“I won’t, Cyare. Those days are done. My mind isn’t changing. Go… and then I’ll tell you all about CT-6116. About Kamino… the clones… the war… my brothers… Jesse… Rex… Fives. All of them. Everything."

***

“Dadddd! Where’s Jesse?”

Kix snorted as he flicked the last of the soap suds off the tips of his fingers and dried them on the dish towel. “He’s in the orchard, picking apples with your mom,” he chuckled, placing the now cleaned and dried mug carefully on the mug tree. “Remember the fit you threw when you realized they left without you?”

“Ughhhh, no!” Rex grumbled at his fathers seemingly deliberate stupidity. “I meant uncle Jesse. Where is he?”

Kix hesitated, the smile slipping from his lips as his eyes unfocused into the depths of the sink. “You know where he is, buddy,” he answered, looking over his shoulder at his youngest. “He’s in the stars with Uncle Rex… with all of my brothers.”

“But why did they go up there?”

“Well…” Kix started slowly. “They had to go. The stars needed their help brightening the galaxy.”

“So then they was super smart?” his son asked, mouth gaping in awe.

“Definitely super smart,” Kix repeated with a grin. “And super brave, super loyal, super funny…”

“Do you ever miss ‘em?”

Kix paused again and sighed heavily, attempting to conceal the pain that furrowed his brow whenever his brothers were unexpectedly mentioned. “Everyday,” he nodded. “But I can see them at night when I look at the sky. The brightest stars are the ones powered by people we love.”

“So I could see ‘em too?!”

“Sure you can. You and I can climb up on the roof later and we’ll say hello. Jesse and ‘Soka can come too if they wan—.”

“No!” the little blonde boy argued instantly. “No, dad. Just you and me…”

“Okay,” Kix nodded with a smile. “Just you and me. But, Rex… you have to wear your coat this time or your mom will give us both timeouts. Deal?”

“Deal!” The little boy sprinted from the kitchen without another word, dashing out into the backyard where Soka was hanging by her legs from a tree. You appeared through the tree line just to the right, Jesse standing nearly as tall you were, shoulders carrying overflowing baskets of apples while you buffed one on your apron and laughed about something.

And another sigh stole from that aging pirates lips as he leaned forward onto the counter and watched you, wondering what he’d ever done to deserve such happiness.

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