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babyjakes · 2 days ago

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baby barnes | 1. homecoming.

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summary | upon returning from a small solo mission, natasha has something to give to steve.

characters | steve rogers, natasha romanoff, bucky barnes, other assorted avengers, 'baby barnes' (original character)

warnings | all warnings from the original headcanon probably apply (slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death.) very angsty, steve cries a lot.

word count | 1,440

an | based on my baby barnes headcanon, with some slight changes to the universe and storyline. in this version of events, after bucky is killed, nat goes on a solo rage mission to kill everyone at the hydra facility and bring baby barnes home to steve 🩷

"Sorry. This place is a mess."

As hard as he tried, Steve just couldn't pick his gaze up off of the floor as Natasha stood there in the doorway to his living quarters. "It's okay. Things have been hard, I know." The redhead's voice seemed as though it was trying to float through a thick screen of smoke, or maybe Steve was just underwater. Maybe he had been drowning for weeks.

It was quiet as the woman entered, slipping her shoes off on the mat near the door. Steve could feel her careful eyes taking him in, assessing the damage. Every word he pulled from his throat felt like a fishing line digging right back into his burning flesh as he questioned quietly, "Would you like some tea?"

He didn't have to lift his gaze to tell that she had shaken her head. The pair moved further into the room in silent tandem, Steve leading the way over to the long beige couch. The blonde's focus was fleeting as his eyes fell on his friend's lap, before shifting over to the old photo albums on the coffee table, then to the front door, then back to his own folded hands. Natasha cleared her throat, and Steve almost found it amusing, the way she was preparing to speak like she could possibly find anything to say in that moment that would somehow make things better.

"The mission was successful," was what she finally stated, the underwhelming words drawing a knowing look onto the supersoldier's face.

He nodded, doing his best to keep things polite. It wasn't Natasha's fault that he had fallen so out of love with the world; he knew that. "I'm glad," Steve hummed, thinking back to the telephone brief he had received about the agent's assignment before it had been launched. "She's just going in to clear out a suspected outpost. Nothing major," Stark had told him. The captain didn't like sending anyone off on solo missions, but he wasn't in any state to tag along, and thankfully it didn't seem like he was needed.

Through the heavy air, Natasha took another breath before finally speaking again. "I have something to show you." Her hand slipped quietly into her pocket before appearing again, holding a small photograph by its corner. When she handed it to Steve, the man couldn't help but begin to weep.

For a moment, all he could see was the girl's tender face. The face that had haunted his dreams for the past several months, ever since that first 'baby barnes' tape had arrived in the mail. In the photo, which he held tight with both of his shaking hands, the infant's big brown eyes were looking up at something. Her cheeks were round and soft, rosy as ever. Steve couldn't help but wonder when the picture had been taken, how close it was to capturing the baby's last moments on earth before she was put to rest like her father.

Finally shifting his attention away from her angelic face, the blonde trembled as he started scanning the rest of the photo for any clues. Brow furrowing in confusion, he was immediately puzzled by the plush blanket that sat in a messy pile surrounding the baby's little bottom and legs. "What's this?" he paused quietly as he thought back through all the tapes that were permanently engraved in his memory, like an endless reel of vivid film looping across the walls of his troubled mind. Not a single one had shown the infant with any sort of blanket or covering; that would go directly against the purpose of the project. She was deprived of any warmth, human or inanimate, as a simple yet effective form of torture. The blanket in the photo simply didn't belong. Steve was absolutely sure of it.

The next indicator that something was off was the state of the baby herself. She was unusually clean, her ivory skin appearing fresh and well-kept. Her medium brown whisps of hair laid neatly over her small head, lacking the usual knots and mats that he had grown used to seeing. Swallowing hard, Steve was struggling to understand why she looked so different, almost as if someone had been caring for her for the first time in her short life.

Desperate for any sort of explanation, the captain kept studying the photo, trying to make sense of each little detail he could make out. The background itself was insignificant, just a simple wall of dark metal paneling that didn't give any insight as to where or when the picture was taken. But then, in the very corner of the photo, Steve was finally given his answer. The edge of a jacket sleeve was just barely visible against the floor, the navy fabric recognizable to him anywhere; it was Nat's, an old garment from the team's days with SHIELD. The man's breath hitched in his throat as he began to stammer.

"N-Natasha," his voice wavered. "Nat. Where... how... wh-when was this-?" Steve continued staring at the small photo, more tears building in his eyes as he choked back something between a whimper and a sob. "Wh-when did you... w-was this, were you-?"

"This morning," the agent told the supersoldier softly, reaching out to place a steadied hand over one of his shaking ones. "Bruce and I got her all cleaned up and sorted out in the med bay. She wasn't a big fan of the bath, but we got a little smile out of her when we blew bubbles with the soap." Natasha's gaze was tentative, not knowing how Steve would take the news. But as she sat there, watching the revelations sink in for her friend, she couldn't help but let slip what she had been wanting to tell him since the moment she laid eyes on the infant while breaching the lonely Siberian outpost. "After what they did to Bucky, I knew what I had to do," she said quietly. "I had to save her for you, Steve. You would've done the same for me."

All at once, Steve could feel nearly a month of tension and agony lifting from his bones as he took what seemed like his first breath since witnessing Bucky's last through a screen. If he hadn't been seated, he would've fallen to his knees right there, maybe before God or maybe before his dear friend, the one who he now understood had brought the baby back safely after an undoubtedly perilous mission. The baby, the baby, the baby... that was all the captain's mind could hold onto as he sat there, clutching her photo as if both of their lives depended on it. She was alive, she was safe. And she had been brought home to him.

"Natasha," Steve choked out the young woman's name through tears, his voice like warm hands cradling their years of partner and friendship. There was something so unspeakably profound about the endless ways they were willing to live and die for each other; neither of the two could put it into words, but the feeling was certainly present all around as they sat there in the man's small living room, holding onto each other in a moment of shared silence. The gravity of Nat's actions was quick to settle in, and the significance of what she had done- all on her own, without being asked- was nearly unbearable to Steve. "Y-you went... all on your own? You could've-"

"I had to, Steve," Nat cut him off gently, her certainty on the matter unmistakable as it flashed across her face. "You were in no condition to fight, and the others would've only been in the way." As much as he didn't like what he was being told, Steve knew it was the truth. Things had gotten bad for Nat after Bucky's final tape; her decline was much more subtle than that of the captive's best friend, though he was still quick to notice it. It was only his nature. Now Steve understood that when she went dark like that, little could come between the agent and what she set out to do. As much as it worried him sick, that worry couldn't quite outdo the larger sense of relief that was flowing through him like water.

Steve's gaze drifted back to the tiny girl sat posing in the photo, another wave of grief washing over him as he saw a shadow of his late friend gazing back at him through those familiar brown eyes. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Natasha finally made the proposition, "Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to see her."

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bippot · 1 day ago

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Hi hun 💜

I have a request for a smut fic with Bob Floyd

(This isn’t compliant with top gun maverick btw x)

ok so, Bob and the reader are in college together and the reader is a huge bookworm

Bob just like admires her from afar until he finally plucks up the courage to talk to her about a book she’s reading after class

She flirts with him and his lil brain can’t compute so he just stands there like 😳

anyway long story short they go back to her place and she seduces him

thought I’d leave it up to you bc you’re so talented 🩵🩵

Ducky's

Story Summary -> After leaving the Navy, Bob enrols in college to experience what he missed. At a café, he meets Y/N, a fellow bookworm who quickly becomes more than just a friend in more ways than one.

Tags -> Fluff and Smut, College, Teacher-Student Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, cafe setting, First Kiss, First Meetings, Study Date

Would you prefer to read this on AO3? Click here!

(I took some liberties but I hope that's okay with you anon!)

The small bell above the door chimed as Bob Floyd walked into Ducky’s Café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He scanned the cosy, dimly lit space, noting the clusters of students, artists, and locals deep in conversation or study. It was a sight that felt new and foreign. Just days ago, he’d been stepping off his last Navy deployment, wrapping up a career that had spanned more than a decade. Now, here he was: a thirty-four-year-old freshman, feeling both out of place and oddly hopeful.

It was weird. He'd spent years in the Navy, living through it's strict rules and structure until they became second nature. He'd always wanted to fly planes and be an aviator adjacent, but he failed to realise how much it frayed his nerves. His mind had to be constantly alert, constantly be whirring, constantly be worrying, and it was a lot of mental strain. As soon as his contract was up, he declined to renew it. He wanted a slower life, one where he could focus solely on bettering himself without having to constantly deal with the pressures that came with a government job. And now, here he was at the cafe directly opposite the university he was enrolled at, living it up.

And living it up meant that he was audited every class he possibly could. He had the drive to be a Renaissance man, full of knowledge and talent and passion for the world that he’d never had before. Officially he was a creative writing major, but the psychology that he was carrying under his arm pointed to a different subject.

Sitting at an empty table, Bob spread out his materials, trying to arrange the chaos of notebooks, pencils, and highlighters so he didn't seem so unorganised in front of all of the other students around him. He wanted to make a good impression, after all. These eighteen-year-olds were his peers in academia, and if he made any mistakes, they would surely laugh at him behind his back for being so old and inept.

He'd been working for around half an hour when the lady behind the counter very loudly greeted, "Ah, she finally makes an appearance," and his head lifted to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever had the pleasure of looking at walk into the cafe.

The beautiful woman replied, "Mama, my class ran late, okay?" She flashed a smile as her mother handed her a large coffee and looked around the packed cafe. "Didn't save me a seat? You must not love me any more."

"You're spoilt, and you know it," her mother laughed. "I'm sure that handsome man over there will let you sit with him."

As if by magic, Y/N's mother pointed directly at Bob's table, and he smiled shyly and pretended that he hadn't heard their whole conversation. He hoped to God he hadn't blushed too obviously. Yes, he wanted her to sit somewhere near him, but, no, he would have no idea what to say to start a conversation. To his benefit, she started the conversation for him with a simple, "Hi, do you mind if I sit here? You look kind of busy, so it's okay if not."

"Uh...sure. Go ahead," Bob said awkwardly. "I can tidy up if you need some space; just say the word."

Quickly, she shook her head with a smirk and sat down next to him, crossing one leg over another as she settled herself into her chair and brought out a book from her bag. Glancing over the top of his glasses, he read the cover of her book, Room, and realised that he had a way in. He'd kept a reading list for the past few years, and for some reason, despite the fact that Room had always been on the list, he'd never actually gotten around to reading it.

"I've been meaning to read Room; how are you finding it so far? Would you recommend?"

She tilted her head as she came up with a response, and Bob couldn't help the way he let his head rest on his hand as he admired the profile of her face. She had an air of thoughtfulness about her, and her hair was pulled back loosely into a ponytail, framing her face and neck and giving her a very studious look. But then she opened her mouth to respond, and Bob found that he loved the way those lips curved as she spoke about what she was passionate about: books.

The detail she went into was insane; Bob was impressed and intrigued. It was fascinating to watch. There was passion, yes, but also humour and immense empathy. Her eyes were expressive as she told him all about the case the story was based on. It was a harrowing tale - they both knew that - and a little light-hearted comment every now and then helped to ease the discomfort that came along with discussing such a topic.

"... so, yeah, it's an intense read," she finished, her final words rushing into one. She'd gone on a full rant and, while Bob had added the occasional sentence or two, had taken the reins of the conversation without realising it.

Suddenly self-conscious, she mumbled, "Sorry for rambling like that; I didn't even ask your name." She gave him a sheepish smile. "And I'm keeping you from your work."

"No, no, please, keep talking," Bob said quickly, hoping that she wouldn't notice how he was staring at her lips. He held out a hand for a handshake, which she returned, unable to take his eyes from hers as he did so. "I'm Bob, Bob Floyd."

"I'm Y/N. If you hear my mother call me Ducky, please pretend you didn't hear it."

"You're the eponymous Ducky?!" he teased, his blue eyes flashing playfully. "You didn't tell me I was in the presence of cafe royalty!"

She lightly smacked him on the bicep. "Shut up," she chided softly. "It's a childhood nickname; my mom loves to embarrass me with it."

They laughed together, their voices soft in the chatter around them, and a gentle warmth washed over them as they gazed at one another. It was so comfortable and easy to talk to Y/N; a sense of familiarity overcame him, and he began to feel that this was exactly where he belonged. It was weird. They just met; they hardly knew anything about each other. Yet they felt so connected already. A bond seemed to develop between them that was almost instinctual, as if they were drawn towards one another in some mystical way.

They talked and talked and talked. Their shared fascination for literature led to discussions about various genres of fiction and poetry, and, before they knew it, time flew away. He mentioned being in the Navy briefly, just as a bit of flavour in a story, and he watched as Y/N's eyes roamed over his frame.

She interrupted him midsentence by mumbling to herself, "Oh, that's why you're so hot."

Bob stopped. His voice abruptly cut out.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"...yeah," he replied, his cheeks burning at her compliment. In his life, he'd never really considered himself as hot. He was in shape - that's essential in the Navy - but he'd always been around other pilots like Hangman and Rooster, who were 'hunkier' by society's standards.

That insecure nerd he was as a kid was still inside of him, and it was times like this that made his insecurity resurface. He wasn't vain - his ego was never big enough to allow him to consider himself that - but he knew for a fact that he was definitely a catch. He was kind and polite (his mama made sure of that), yet he didn't consider himself as 'hot'.

"You're incredibly pretty," Bob blurted out after a moment's hesitation. "I didn't expect to meet anyone as beautiful, inside and out, when I woke up this morning."

Y/N giggled, covering her lips. "Flatterer," she teased, though there was no bite to her words, just fondness.

"I'm just saying it like it is, Ducky."

The nickname slipped out so easily. For some reason, it felt right. So naturally, it felt like something that should fit perfectly on his tongue. And maybe it did. Maybe it did indeed belong.

The conversation continued to flow between them, yet this time there was a hint of flirtation that neither had felt before. There were touches and looks exchanged across the table. The air became heavier and more intimate, and it became obvious that this wasn't just casual flirting that passed between strangers.

"Hey Duck, I'm going to close in 5 mins. Get your butt moving," Y/N's mother suddenly called from behind the counter. "I love you, but I'm not extending my shift any further today."

"Okay mom!"

"Take your new 'friend' with you."

With that, Y/N rolled her eyes good naturedly and turned to look at Bob, who was slightly red in the cheeks and trying to suppress a huge grin as Y/N stood up. "You heard the woman; get a move on."

Bob hurried to pack his stuff away and follow Y/N to the door until they were outside. "Did you walk?" Bob asked as the door was locked behind them and Y/N's mother turned the hanging sign to CLOSED.

"I don't live that far away, so, yeah, I walked."

"Would... uh, is it okay if I walk you home?"

"I'd like that, Bob."

They made it to her front door in no time. They lingered for a second once they reached her doorstep, staring at each other for what felt like ages, feeling the energy build and grow between them. Then, Y/N gave up on the whole tip-toeing around the issue thing. "You should come inside. Someone might’ve broken in while I was out. I might need a strong Navy man to help me out," she stated plainly, looking him straight in the eye, daring him to refuse.

He didn't want to refuse. He simply couldn't, so instead, he nodded slowly and followed her inside the house with a blush high on his cheeks. "Strange, it doesn't look like a break-in has happened here. Maybe I should just -"

She silenced his joke by tugging his hand and, consequently, bringing him closer towards her. Bob looked down and smiled shyly at the sudden proximity between them.

"I mean, I'm gonna stay. I want to stay. It's just... I don't usually do, uh, this," he explained, his hand coming up to cup her cheek and his thumb stroking the skin beneath her lower lip. "So..."

His words hung in the air, a little awkward and a lot nervous, but she understood nonetheless. She leaned into his touch, her eyes half-lidded and lips curling upwards in a small smirk.

"Me neither," she whispered teasingly, leaning forward slightly and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. Her fingers brushed his jaw, and for the briefest of moments they were suspended in silence, their breath mingling as they looked into each other's eyes.

Bob swallowed hard, his mind buzzing with questions. Was this wise? Was this a smart idea? He'd never moved this quickly before, but with Y/N, it was different. She was different. He liked the way she made his stomach flip flop, the butterflies in his stomach, her lips on his cheek, and the way she looked at him as if she wanted nothing else but to kiss him again.

"Are you sure? We can go slower if you want?" He asked quietly, breaking the spell they'd fallen under. She shook her head and placed her hand gently on the back of his neck, caressing him ever so gently, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine.

In a blink of an eye, her lips were on his. They were soft, pliant, and warm against his, and, within seconds, everything else faded away, leaving only her, the feeling of her soft lips against his, and the feeling of her hands running through his hair.

As they smooched, Y/N walked their connected bodies into her room. If they happened to be more than an inch apart at any point, one of them was closing the distance as soon as possible. Even when Y/N pushed Bob down on the bed, she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and pressed herself against him within 5 seconds.

She could feel the smile spreading onto her face as he groaned softly into her mouth as she began to trail kisses across his cheek and down along his jawline to his neck. Bob grabbed hold of her shoulders tightly, his breathing growing uneven as his desire rose. As he let his hands wander underneath her shirt, tracing soft circles around her back, he pulled away and looked up into her eyes.

"Do you have a condom? I'd usually be prepared, but I didn't leave the house this morning thinking I'd be, uh, needing one, to be completely honest," he said nervously, biting his lip slightly, his eyes darting from hers down to her lips, and back up again.

"Yeah, of course," Y/N replied, sitting upright and reaching into her dresser drawer and rummaging through a bunch of items, eventually finding what she was searching for and pulling out an unopened box of condoms. "Bought these when I moved here, still haven't had the occasional to take the Saran off."

"Been a while?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Same here."

Their clothes were thrown off and fell into a heap on the floor somewhere in the midst of things. As soon as she felt his hands exploring the expanse of her back, Y/N gasped, her breath hitching in her throat. He took the opportunity to trail light kisses down her chest and neck, pausing whenever a gasp escaped her mouth to revel in the sound. Y/N ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back slightly as she felt him nip at her hip. "Bob, please…" She pleaded quietly, barely able to keep quiet, the heat building between them rising higher with every passing second.

He grinned against her skin as he bit down harder on her hip bone than before, eliciting a moan from her throat. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Let me savour you properly, darlin'. Then, you better believe I will make you scream my name like nobody's business."

"Oh god..."

It sounded more like a whimper than anything, and he chuckled against her and kissed his way along her stomach and down her thighs. The feeling of being touched so deliciously and tenderly was almost too much to bear. His hands travelled all over her, tracing patterns, caresses, even kisses, and then, finally, he found her sweet spot. One gentle swipe of his tongue, and she was clutching at his hair and arching upward, moaning loudly, begging him to give it a little more attention.

"Yes, baby," he whispered against her skin. "I'll give it to you. But we're going to take it slow, darlin'. I promise," he reassured, and then, after getting comfy on his stomach, he dipped a single finger into her.

After all, Bob was a patient man. He waited for her to adjust to him first; to get used to how he touched her before he dared to move another centimetre, and, even if she was aching now, he would wait. He would try and ease her body back into the rhythm, slowly increasing his pace until it felt right, until she was screaming his name, till he got the reaction that he needed.

Foreplay had always been his favourite part of intimacy, and this was no exception either. He was careful and gentle, giving her the chance to adjust to him and teasing her just enough for her toes to curl, until her brain was fuzzy and her heart was pounding, until she was falling deeper and deeper into the haze of passion, her fingers digging desperately into his scalp and her breaths shallow and rapid.

It was all in order to prolong the pleasure and, hopefully, cause her to come back another day for more. And, oh, did he intend to make that happen.

Who knows how long Bob spent with his head between Y/N's thighs, kissing and licking his way along the insides of her legs until the sensation became too much to bear? Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her moans turning into cries as she begged, "Bob, Bob, Bobby, please! Please! Fuck me! Need you, need your cock in me, fuck -"

And, oh boy, was she about to find out just how much he needed her too. The desperation in her voice spurred him on, making him lose control and finally give in. With a heavy, panting sigh, he slid deep into her, filling her perfectly with all he was, all she was, and all he could be. All they were together.

The moment he started to move, she threw her head back and cried out his name in a hoarse voice, grasping his biceps with both hands as if they were life preservers. "That's it, baby, that's it," he breathed, pulling himself out once again and repeating the process over and over again.

"You're doing such a good job, darlin', so very, very good..." he praised huskily and kissed the side of her neck repeatedly as he continued moving in her. "So, so good..."

Her nails dug painfully into his flesh, drawing small beads of blood from his body, and he gritted his teeth, pushing his weight down on her so she couldn't possibly move. She couldn't squirm away from him though; he was holding her too tightly. It was driving her crazy.

With each thrust, Y/N's intelligence dropped until she was left as a sweaty, dumb mess beneath him, gasping and sobbing and pleading and cursing. "Oh, pretty girl," he smirked, burying his nose in her cheek. "You look so beautifully stupid right now. Am I fucking your brains out?"

It was a rhetorical question, but if it needed an answer, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she came was the answer Y/N gave. She let out a silent scream of his name one final time as her walls clenched around Bob, squeezing tight, and tipped him over the edge too.

They lay there, in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat, listening to the sounds of their breathing fill the space around them.

"...Holy shit," Y/N breathed.

At the same time, their heads turned to make eye contact, and a laugh erupted from their lungs. Neither was able to stop giggling as they tried to calm themselves down and make sense of what had just happened. Slowly, Bob lifted himself and hopped out of bed.

"Where's your bathroom and kitchen?"

"Door opposite the bathroom; the kitchen is left of the living room."

Within 2 minutes, he came back with a warm flannel and a bottle of water. He helped Y/N sit up, wiped the sweat from her forehead before cleaning up the mess down below, and then wrapped her in his arms as she rehydrated.

"Can you pass me your phone?" she asked him, looking up towards him through half-closed eyes. Bob was quick to rifle through the pockets of his discarded jeans and hand her his phone. Y/N added her number to his phone and took a selfie of their post bliss faces to use as her contact picture. "You better not ghost me or you're dead meat, capiche?"

"I wouldn't dare to, darlin'," he chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. Well, it was supposed to be quick, but when he felt Y/N's hand come into contact with his jaw, stroking softly across his stubble, he lost any intention of stopping. He pressed his lips against hers hungrily, his other arm coming around her waist to pull her closer, and they kissed slowly, tenderly.

When the morning came, their parting was bittersweet. Both of them were reluctant to leave, but Y/N had a job to go to, and Bob had already missed one of the lectures he was planning to go to. Plus, he had his first creative writing lecture - y'know, the one for the major he'd chosen - at lunch, and, as much as he wanted to be around Y/N, he didn't want to miss that lesson.

He knew it was silly to feel this way after one night, but he couldn’t help it. Y/N had a warmth about her that made him feel like he’d known her forever. He thought about texting her but decided against it, not wanting to come off as too eager.

Bob stepped into the classroom with a spring in his step, the remnants of a whirlwind night with Y/N still buzzing in his veins. The morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting a golden hue over the rows of desks, and for a brief moment, he felt invincible. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him. As he slid into an empty seat, the door creaked open once more, and his heart nearly stilled in his chest. There she was — Y/N L/N. She strode in with an air of authority, her demeanour polished and professional, a stark contrast to the intimate whirlwind of the previous night. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes as they locked, a spark of shared secrets that sent a rush of heat through him.

Her confidence radiated as she introduced herself to the class, her voice smooth like silk, but Bob caught that fleeting glint in her eyes whenever she looked in his direction. His mind raced, processing the surreal scenario: he had done what most frat boys only fantasise about—he had crossed that line and succeeded in banging his professor, all before the semester had even begun.

Bob tried to focus as she outlined the syllabus, yet every time she turned to face him or glanced away, his thoughts derailed. The air in the room felt charged with unspoken tension, a delicate dance of professionalism clashing against the wild intimacy they had shared. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders today, soft and inviting, and Bob's gaze inadvertently drifted toward her collarbones, and he caught a glimpse of faint marks that still lingered—a testament to their passionate night together. His heart thumped wildly as he fought to maintain his composure, a mix of pride and sheer disbelief bubbling within him. Could it really be that he was sitting in a class, learning from the very woman who had wrapped around him so tightly just hours before?

As the class finally emptied, a rush of relief washed over him. He lingered, letting the last stragglers filter out, the echo of chairs scraping against the floor fading into the background. Bob stepped forward and approached her desk, the thrill of their secret coursing through his veins. “Well, this is a surprise,” he said, a grin spreading across his face, unable to contain the playful lightness of the moment.

Y/N chuckled, a delightful sound that danced in the air between them. She seemed to gather herself, a hint of embarrassment flickering across her features. “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting to see you here either. Small world.”

“Look, if this is going to be an issue, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” she interrupted, her voice steady and assured. “We’re both adults. I see that you're actually enrolled in this class and not just auditing, and if this is the course you want and as long as we keep things professional, I don’t see a problem."

“Right. Totally professional,” he replied, the teasing lilt in his tone betraying the gravity of the situation. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, the memory of her beneath him fresh in his mind. "I guess I should wait until the end of the semester to ask you on a date."

“Probably for the best, yes,” she laughed, the sound rich and warm, her laughter drawing him closer despite the tension. Her eyes sparkled with playful defiance. Then she stood up straighter, a subtle shift that reminded him of the professional façade she wore so effortlessly. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you during class, by the way.”

“Good,” he shot back, his voice low and teasing. “Because I’m not exactly the type to settle for less than perfection.”

The air thickened with unspoken promise, an electric connection that pulsated between them, holding the weight of their shared experiences. Bob felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, invigorated by the thrill of the unexpected and the rush of possibilities. As he left the classroom, a smile plastered on his face, he felt the eyes of fate watching him. What had started as a night of reckless passion was transforming into a tangled web of feelings he was only beginning to understand. The world outside bustled with the chaos of students and faculty, but for Bob, the universe had narrowed down to one singular thought: he couldn’t wait for the semester to end.

She was an exceptional teacher, guiding discussions with a skill and insight that made literature come alive. He watched her command the room and admired the way she could turn a simple line of poetry into a profound discussion on life, love, and human nature. And every so often, he’d catch her looking at him with a hint of a smile, a glint in her eye that reminded him of their night at Ducky’s.

They developed an unspoken understanding, exchanging glances that held layers of meaning. He often stayed after class to ask questions, sometimes just to hear her talk. And though they kept their conversations professional, there was always a tension lingering beneath the surface, a shared recognition that they both wanted more. Sure, they’d agreed to boundaries, and Bob respected that, but he was counting down the days till he could hold and touch her again. Their amorous exchange had been a blip in the grand scheme of his life, and he was determined to expand it with no more delay than was necessary.

Fortunately for Bob, time went by in a flash. Thanks to his extensive study schedule, he was always busy. It was necessary. Whenever he slowed down, his brain would flash back to that night—her soft gasps, her sweet taste, their intertwined bodies, entangled in passion. Being busy ensured that he could wait it out, that he wouldn't interrupt his lecturer half way through her lesson to snog her face off, that he wouldn't get distracted, because he knew if he did, the day would take so long to come.

He had done a good job at suppressing his desires until one fateful library session. With only a few days left until all her students had to submit their writing portfolios, Y/N held a study session in the library to help them refine their work. This session wasn't anything unusual; it was simply a teacher helping her students prepare for the upcoming exam, and by the time they got to Bob's work, he'd completely forgotten that the subject of all of his poems and prose was her.

Obviously, some part of his brain understood that, yeah, she was his lecturer, so, duh, she'd have to read and analyse his work. Each student got a private 1-1 with Mrs. L/N (as the younglings knew her as) in one of the quiet rooms, and Bob was dreading his session. Whenever they had academic meetings, Y/N always saved Bob for last. He knew it was so he couldn't distract her halfway through her shift, but it always left him sat twiddling his thumbs in anticipation as he watched everyone else go before him.

Once it was his turn, he walked briskly toward the table, pulling out his chair and setting his folder down next to her. "Hi Y/N," he said breathlessly, his palms becoming clammy as he gripped the edge of the table. He forced himself to calm down as she peered at him curiously, her brow wrinkling slightly as she noticed the beads of perspiration forming along his forehead.

"Hi." She reached out to wipe a bead away, a tender gesture that caused his insides to stir. "What's up?"

"Ah, nothing really, just… uh…" The words came out awkwardly, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He sighed heavily, attempting to push through his nerves. He leaned over the table towards Y/N, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Can you pretend to not know that all of these poems are about you?" Bob asked shyly, gesturing to the papers. A slight flush coloured Y/N's cheeks, a coy smile curling onto her lips, and she tilted the folder so she could read what was inside.

Beneath cold waves and navy blues, He holds secrets in tight-lipped views. In cockpits, sky-bound, firm and sure, A warrior, honed, clean, and pure. But here, she breathes with ink-stained hands, Weaving worlds like soft, dark sands. Her voice, a rhythm, raw and deep, Stirs dreams he'd hidden, locked to keep. His uniform, his life’s firm chain, Feels lighter now with her in frame. Her words unfurl like silken thread, Untangling thoughts he'd left unsaid. In every story that she spins, He finds a place his heart begins. Though bound by orders, flight, and tide, For once, he feels alive inside. And as she speaks in gentle prose, A warmth inside him blooms and grows. The warrior leans close to learn, While letters smolder, pulse, and burn.

She flipped to the next page.

In shadows deep, where pages softly turn, A quiet soul with ink-stained hands does seek, The whispered call of words, where passions burn, A bookworm’s grace, her thoughts both pure and sleek. Her gaze is lost in realms of untold dreams, Each line a kiss upon her trembling lips, While I, entranced, watch every quiet gleam Of knowledge wrapped in the softest fingertips. Yet though her mind is bound to tomes she’s known, Her heart, like mine, still seeks what words can't say, For in her eyes, a warmth I’ve never grown, A yearning deep that pulls me in each day. Oh, let me trace the secrets she may keep, And in her world of words, my soul to steep.

And the next.

In shadows deep where passion clings, I wait, as silent longing sings, For her whose touch once set aflame A heart now bound to her sweet name. She taught me words, but not the art Of keeping still my wild, torn heart, A glance, a breath, a fleeting kiss, And now the night is void of bliss. The fragrant pages know the tale, Of stolen hours where senses sail— Her lips, a promise, soft, divine, And every sin that calls her mine. But cursed be this love so frail, Where tender fingers weave a veil, For though the flame within me burns, Her absence leaves the world to churn. I ache to feel her near once more, To know the taste of that sweet lore, But now, I am but shadows cast, Forever bound to the lessons past.

And the next and next.

Then, when she raised her head to meet his gaze, she found his seat empty, the only sign of him being his jacket draped over the wooden back. With a sigh, she set the folder back on the desk with a small frown marring her features and went in search of him. It didn't take long before she made her way outside, as some of the younger ones had swore they saw Bob dart to get some fresh air. He hadn't made it far.

In the purple of the evening, Bob sat on the bench right at the side of the building, staring blankly ahead. The sound of her approaching footsteps drew him away from his reverie, turning towards her with wide eyes, his face pale with shock and worry. Luckily, most students had already left campus or were cramming in the library, so despite the fact that they were out in the open, they had some semblance of privacy.

"Do you want comfort or space?"

"... I don't know." His voice trembled. “Both, maybe?”

Y/N nodded in understanding and sat down beside him, not too close or too far apart, giving him the space to breathe and compose himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at his feet, taking a moment before raising his eyes to hers.

"I'm not used to putting everything out there like that," he admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair anxiously. "I know that you know that I'm infatuated with you, but... well, now you know that I'm totally in love with you. Like, writing bad sonnets about you kind of love."

"I quite liked your sonnet," she said with a reassuring smile, placing her hand atop his own gently as she offered him an encouraging squeeze. "Your poems were beautiful and heartfelt and full of so much emotion and passion that I was moved beyond words, and though it's currently irresponsible for me to say, the feeling is mutual."

He smiled bashfully in response, then turned his attention to her hand, studying the smooth skin, her graceful fingers, her delicate nails trimmed short and neat, and the silver ring on her finger shining brightly. Without thinking, his index finger ran across the surface of her hand, brushing the top of the ring with his thumb."Bobby," she murmured softly, turning her palm upward and allowing him to caress her skin. He did so slowly, reverently, as if it were something sacred and fragile, something which he may never have the pleasure to touch again if he weren't careful.

Once he made contact, he began tracing circles around her wrist, following the lines of her veins and mapping the contours of her skin with featherlight touches, drawing shapes and words into her flesh wherever possible. She remained still and patient and silent, letting him draw as many hearts and roses as he wanted to let him calm himself down enough to speak again.

When his breathing eventually evened out somewhat, he lifted his hand from her arm and looked up at her again, smiling shyly. He brushed his knuckles against her cheekbone in greeting, and she giggled, her eyes crinkling and filling with mirth, before they both realised that maybe this wasn't the place for this amount of affection. "Sorry," he muttered, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he stood up hastily. "Um, let's go back inside?"

"Yeah, good idea."

Y/N had only taken two steps before Bob caught her wrist and tugged her back towards him. Before she had time to react, he yanked her body closer to him until their lips met and all thought flew out of her mind. Their lips collided in a hungry rush, tongues tangling together as if their lives depended upon it. Her hand clutched onto the front of his jacket while Bob's hand went to the back of her head, cushioning it so she wasn't concussed when he pushed her up against the cool brick wall of the library. Their kisses grew heavier and more frantic with each passing second, desperate and needy.

Their chests pressed against each other tightly, leaving no room between them; their bodies moulding against each other with ease and familiarity like two halves of a whole. He gripped at her hips tighter than ever, pulling her impossibly closer and deeper into the kiss. Their mouths moved together feverishly, their tongues tangling with the taste of mint and salt and everything nice in the universe. They kissed and kissed until her back was flush against the wall, and her legs felt like jelly beneath her.

The only thing that broke them apart was the signature chatter of her class quoting brainrot memes as they began to get closer and closer to the library exit. They stepped away from the wall reluctantly, trying hard to hide their flushed faces as they tried their best to calm themselves and gather their wits in the minute before they were found out. But it was hard when you could barely think straight.

As they walked, Y/N kept glancing towards him, her eyes full of questions, her lips curled into an amused grin. He knew exactly what she was asking: Are we really okay? He answered with a nod as he took a deep, cleansing breath.

“Hey everyone, I'm sure you're all going to do brilliantly. Please don't overwork yourself. Sleep. Stay hydrated. Eat. And, pretty please, don't worry too much! You've done the work, you got feedback to think about, and a whole semester of notes to fall back on," she instructed, giving a little wave as they passed by her class. "Good luck. Let me know if anything goes awry before next Friday and I will do my best to help you!

With a last smile and a wave, they returned to the study room with the knowledge that they were truly alone in there. Only the librarian was there, reading a book behind the counter, her face devoid of its usual stern countenance as she snoozed in her chair. They had no plans to do anything salacious, not today anyway, but they didn't have to have that student/teacher pretence anymore. Today was just theirs, theirs to enjoy, and they could have an open and honest discussion about his poetry without having to ignore the context behind them.

Bob, his heart racing with a blend of joy and mischief, slid his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her closer as they strolled side by side. The world around them blurred into a backdrop as he pressed a tender kiss against the crown of her head, a gentle act of affection that sent a shiver of warmth cascading down her spine. “If I take you home and fuck you stupid again, will you give me extra credit?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Y/N’s eyes widened in mock outrage, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink that could rival the evening sky. “Robert Floyd!” she exclaimed, delivering a playful punch to his shoulder, the impact barely registering through the haze of laughter enveloping them.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” he laughed, his laughter infectious, echoing against the brick buildings surrounding them. But the teasing wasn’t done; he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips. “Although...” he trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air like a promise, and was rewarded with a flurry of soft hits from her.

He tightened his hold around her waist, stopping in his tracks and squeezing her tighter, their laughter mingling in a melody of youthful abandon. Y/N, unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, buried her face against his chest, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Thanks to that comment, I’m going to give your assignment to another professor to grade,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her expression feigning seriousness, yet a spark of amusement lingered in her eyes.

Bob’s smirk widened, his confidence soaring. “That’s understandable. You are very, very biased towards me, ducky,” he replied, leaning forward to plant another quick peck on her lips, their mouths brushing together in a soft and intimate connection that set her heart racing.

“Oh, I am indeed,” she agreed, her voice a mock solemnity that was impossible to take seriously. With a playful tug on his hand, she continued, “Shall we go home so I can show you how biased I am?” The sultry tone slipped from her lips like honey, sweet and tempting, causing the tips of his ears to burn a bright crimson as he stole a glance at her.

Suddenly, he found himself in a rush—the desire to be alone with her, to explore the depths of their connection, propelling him forward. The thought of returning to her apartment filled with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the thrill of their newfound intimacy made his heart race.

As they weaved through the familiar streets, the golden light of the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows on the pavement, each step taking them closer to their sanctuary. Bob felt like he was walking on air, buoyed by the weight of Y/N’s presence beside him. With every shared glance, every soft touch, he was reminded of the warmth and brightness she had brought into his life, a light that pierced through the fog of his worries and anxieties.

Weeks turned into months, and when the semester finally commenced and all the assignments had been graded, a wave of euphoria washed over Bob. He learnt that Y/N’s lecturer friend had awarded him a high score, a testament to his growth and effort, and in that moment, he felt like he was soaring through the skies in his beloved F/A-18F Super Hornet.

Bob cradled the subject of his poetry in his thoughts every morning, realising she was not just a muse but his sun itself, illuminating every dark corner of his mind and guiding him through the clouds of uncertainty. The world was suddenly a canvas painted with their shared moments, laughter echoing in the hallways of his heart, and he knew he would do anything to keep that light shining brightly.

*Click here for my Bob Floyd masterlist (including Rhett Abbott and Miles Miller), or here for the entire masterlist*

Wanna be added to a taglist? Either comment on this post or send me a message!

taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt @adriansboyfriend

#bob floyd x female reader #robert bob floyd #bob fucks #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction

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lottielovelace · 2 days ago

Text

công chúa

(ghost x könig's-sister!reader)

summary: You're just a student trying to make through med school with your sanity intact. That last thing you needed was to be kidnapped to serve as a hostage for a half-brother you've never met.

At least the special forces operative here to help is cute.

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: 3.8k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader, Kate Laswell x her wife (I call her Jean), König & Reader <- PLATONIC

Ao3 Tags: meet cute! in a prison camp / First Meetings / tries to follow canon characterization / less so canon events/timeline / so some things (like the villains) are VERY vague / Past Suicide Attempt / Undercover Simon "Ghost" Riley / Unmasked Simon "Ghost" Riley / (Temporarily) / reader has a name & backstory but I tried to make it unobtrusive

this is a part of a series

Author's note: I do write this story with a specific OC (check the series masterpost if you want a full breakdown of her) in mind just so characterization is consistent, but I tried to make it possible for you to replace her with whoever you imagine. I do have to explicitly mention details unique to the OC (most obvious example here being her ethnicity), but for the most part I'll try to keep things open ended (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

Also, as I mentioned, the OC's ethnicity (half-Vietnamese) is pretty plot relevant this chapter, but if that disrupts your reading flow, feel free to mentally replace it with whatever makes sense for your own personal read-through. I'm not used to writing in second person, so the verb tenses are kinda screwy.

Also this is in the tags but TW: DISCUSSION OF A PAST SUICIDE ATTEMPT (character has for the most part fully recovered)

công chúa:

People could be so fucking stupid sometimes. Bold and stupid. Newbies especially. New recruits—or in this case, new criminal organizations—always think they’ll be special. The exception to the rule.

Take for example, this new group who had the bloody brilliant idea of trying to control special forces (and a handful of top PMCs) by kidnapping anyone ransom-worthy they could get their grubby little hands on. Which meant a lot of missing parents, kid siblings, and SOs.

Ghost couldn’t tell if they actually thought that would work or if this was just some distraction. Perhaps an intimidation ploy or a small part of some greater plan. Either way, in reality, all they ended up with was a whole bunch of pissed-off—and very well trained—soldiers, many of whom were willing to do anything to get their loved ones back. Even allying with their greatest rivals. Ghost didn’t predict to end up working with KorTac of all bedfellows, but even their lads weren’t safe.

In the past month, he'd had to bear witness to his comrades and competitors getting wrecked, worried sick over their nearest and dearest. Laswell might’ve single-handedly revived the tobacco industry and he’d never seen Johnny so torn up.

Ghost himself had been spared any grief. He would’ve liked to pretend that it was because his mask had protected his identity so well, but the reality was much simpler and bleaker. He had nobody to take. Tommy and Joseph and Beth and Mum were all already six feet under. Nothing would ever change that.

That being said, the mask wasn’t useless.

The hostagers had done extensive research into all their personal lives. They needed to in order to find out who they could kidnap and how. They had become intimately familiar with every combatant their cobbled alliance could send—with one glaring exception.

They certainly knew about Ghost, but not even they knew Ghost’s face—at least according to the dossier smuggled to the Task Force.

After that was discovered, going undercover was less of a choice and more of a duty.

----------

“Jean?”

The woman’s head jerked up at the whispered sound of her name. Finding no one in front of her, she swiveled. Her eyes landed on an idle balaclava-ed guard.

“Don’t look at me,” the guard commanded. He followed his own advice, keeping his gaze trained on the horizon. His voice was low and rough. Familiar.

Jean Laswell hazarded one last glance at him. She squinted, trying to place where she'd seen him before.

A stifled gasp rang out as her eyes widened in recognition.

“Ghost?”

“Keep your voice down, I’m undercover.”

Jean tried to keep her body language innocuous, eyes now glued to her own clasped hands. The last thing she wanted was to blow Ghost's cover.

“It’s good to see your face— or er, hear your voice.” Pleasantries aside, she went straight to the first question on her mind, the one that had plagued her sleepless nights. “How’s Kate?”

"Smoking like a chimney, but otherwise holding up. She misses you."

"Are you here to…"

"Not yet. KorTac and the team are planning a mutual offensive, but we need more intel before exfil becomes viable. Intel I was tasked with collecting."

His tone didn't reassure her.

"But…"

"I ran into a little roadblock. I was supposed to receive, memorize, and orally deliver crucial information about the compound’s layout and security flaws. We’d had some limited online communication with our informant, but couldn’t get anything sensitive past the security systems. So I volunteered to get it directly. Unfortunately, we didn’t know that our informant only speaks Vietnamese, Cantonese, and some very broken Russian. The dictionary he’d been previously using isn’t complex enough for the level of detail we need. Our shared Russian skills aren’t much better. I can’t leave until I have the intel memorized and I can’t memorize it until we find a translator."

"Could you leave and come back with a translator? A digital one maybe if you can't get anyone else past the guards?"

Ghost shook his head, “They know that we're trying to infiltrate them. They’re very strict about what technology gets in and out. Besides, my cover is only so good. I should be able to get a believable excuse to leave camp, but the scrutiny required for re-entry would compromise it.”

Jean pursed her lips in thought, running over the possibilities. She paused, half thinking out loud.

“I think the princess speaks Vietnamese.”

“Princess?” Ghost’s eyes widened beneath his mask. Shit, no one told him they'd taken someone so high profile. That significantly complicated security procedure. “I thought all their targets were lowkey.”

“No, no, she’s not royalty. She’s a med student. It’s just a nickname,” Jean hastily corrected with an embarrassed laugh. “We have a lot of those here. We get kinda bored.”

Ghost silently thought back on his own POW experiences.

“Things could be a whole lot worse than boredom.”

“The perks of being a hostage," Jean responded dryly. "Need us in one piece.”

“So where’s this ‘princess’ of yours?”

“There,” Jean pointed at the upper level of the compound's eastern turret. “You can see where the nickname comes from. She’s in solitary, but she has a window that we talk to her through during yard time.”

“What'd she do?” Unless the hostage takers were worse than he thought, they wouldn’t put someone in solitary for shits and giggles.

“She’s… a special case."

“Who’s she tied to?”

“That’s the thing. We don’t know. Not even she knows.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know I’m here because of Kate. Ritchie’s here because of his uncle. Troy because of his brother. Eileen… could be her nephew, but it’s probably Soap. But Elise—that’s her name, Elise Veidt. Do you know any Veidts in Special Forces or KorTac?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. Could it be her boyfriend?”

Jean shook her head, “No. The common theory is an uncle or half sibling. Both her parents were civilians, but her father had family and an ex-wife on the other side of the Atlantic. She has no idea where they are now or if they’re even still alive, but it seems the most likely—if not the only—possibility. Plus she was single when she was discovered.”

Ghost's brow furrowed.

“Discovered? What do you mean by that?”

“There was… an incident. It ended with her being taken into custody.”

Ghost wanted to press for more detail, but Jean flashed him a look that stopped him in his tracks. She was married to Laswell, and that doesn't happen without being able to hold her own in an argument.

“It’s not my story to tell." Her tone was measured, but Ghost could tell this was non-negotiable to her. “She’s a good kid. Just got in a bit of a rough patch. Along the way she had her blood tested and it must’ve pinged… something. Next thing she knows, she’s getting transferred. They refuse to tell her where. When she resists, she gets knocked out and wakes up here.”

“That still doesn’t explain the isolation.”

“We think that whoever she’s related to, it must be someone important. Or someone very dangerous. Someone they’re scared to anger.”

“Then why did they kidnap her if they’re so bloody afraid of pissing the bugger off?”

“Taking her was probably a calculated risk. Returning her damaged a death sentence. They wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, either by her own hand or someone else’s.”

----------

Ghost cautiously approached the cell door. According to the directory, this was “Detainee #934287: VEIDT, Elisabeth.” He peered through the grate, careful not to get too close to the opening—he knew firsthand how solitary confinement could warp the mind and liked having both his eyes intact.

From what he could see, the cell had a tiny cot, stripped of its sheets on the left. On the right was a wash basin and bucket. In between was a small window—just large enough to stick your face out of. It wasn’t the worst cell Ghost had seen, but it wasn’t homey either. It also appeared to be empty.

“What the—” he muttered under his breath.

The low rumble of his voice almost made you jump from your position, sitting leaned against the door. The window was your only connection to the outside world, but it also made your cell freezing so you tried to stay as far away from it as possible when there was no one outside to talk to. You paused, confused then intrigued. You didn’t think they had a British guard. Slowly, you got up.

He was closer than you assumed. Right up against the door, you almost had to suppress the urge to jump again. You silently mourned the fact that such a pretty pair of eyes were wasted on some terrorist dipshit.

Still, you were bored enough that anything seemed intriguing.

“You’re new.”

“You’re Elise, right?”

Your lips quirked with all the cockiness of someone who knew they couldn’t be touched.

“Shouldn’t they have already debriefed you on that?”

“The only person who’s briefed me on you was Jean.”

Your eyes narrowed. You may have only been able to communicate through a tiny window, but you trusted Jean. You knew her. She wouldn't rat on you, not without a fight.

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing,” his voice grew even gentler. Soft in a way that commanded you to hang on every word. “I’m here to help.”

Attractive voice and eyelashes aside, you were still unimpressed.

“Really?”

“I'm on a reconnaissance mission for Special Forces. I was supposed to memorize this file. I wasn’t told it was going in Vietnamese.”

You perked up at this. Finally, things were making a little sense.

“I speak Vietnamese.”

“So I’ve heard.”

You took one last look at him, trying to figure out if this was a trick or some sick game. Then again, if it was, what would they even do? Your captors didn’t seem allowed to punish you physically, and mentally there wasn’t much more they could do. Fuck it, you had nothing to lose.

You reached out your hand, “Gimme.”

He slipped you a folded up piece of paper. You unfolded it to reveal an annotated set of blueprints.

“Pen or pencil?” For all you know, he could be picky about that sort of stuff.

The man stood up to dig for something in his vest. You quietly realized that he’d been bending down to look you in the eye. This man, whoever he was, was tall.

He passed you a pen. You noticed that while his hands were gloved, a whisper of a tattoo peeked out as his sleeve rode up. It looked like it could be the bottom of a skull. Or a very small picket fence. Probably the former.

You figured he'd turn away and leave you to your work, but he doesn’t.

“Are you going to…”

“No,” he responded firmly. “If either of us get caught, at least two of us are screwed. I know I can get myself out of it, but our informant can’t. I won’t have his blood on your or my hands. So I’m going to keep watch.”

It’s slightly awkward with him just standing there, but you did your best to lay the blueprint flat against the wall and start scribbling away. Still, you couldn't help but let your eyes flit to him, now with his back to you, standing guard.

“Where are you from?”

“Hmm?”

“Your accent, where’s it from?”

“Shouldn’t you be focusing on your work?”

“I could do this with both hands tied behind my back."

He made a doubtful noise.

You let a cheeky smile grace your lips, “Pen in my mouth, paper on the floor. Handwriting might be chicken scratch, but it’d still be legible.”

If you could see his face, you would’ve noticed his eyebrows raise as he tried to picture it. You on your knees, leaned forward with your ass in the air, hands bound, tongue twisted around the p—

“So, the accent? Where?”

“That’s classified.”

You tilted your head in thought, “It’s Northern, right? British, not Scottish. You don’t sound like Eileen.”

He bristled, quiet in a way that tells you you’re on the money.

“Look, how about this. For every question you answer truthfully, I’ll do the same. I won’t ask you anything I know you can’t tell me, not even your name. I just... wouldn’t mind a little conversation. They’re kinda in short supply here.”

A beat passed.

“Manchester.”

“I knew it!”

He made another noise. You think it was a laugh. You think it sounds beautiful.

“My turn. How do you know Vietnamese?”

“My mother. She immigrated from the South when she was young. Judging from some of his vocabulary, I’d guess your informant is from the North, but the dialects aren’t all that different, especially in script. What food do you miss the most?”

“Anything that isn’t an ORP.”

“An ORP?”

“Operational ration pack.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve crossed them.

“That’s a cop out.”

“Fine,” he relented. “I could go for a Nando’s takeaway.”

“What sort of food is that?”

“Chicken. Flame grilled with this Peri-Peri sauce and—”

He groaned. It’s a noise you want to hear again.

Mimicked him in commiseration. The plates the guards slid through your food slot were pitiful, to say the least.

He starts to ask you something but seems to stop himself.

“What?” you asked.

“It’s… I shouldn’t.”

You were many things, but you weren't a coward.

“I can always choose not to answer. Hit me.”

His voice was still hesitant as he asked, “What did you get arrested for?”

You were worried that the question would be gross or embarrassing, not utterly nonsensical.

“Arrested?”

“Jean said they found you because you were taken into custody.”

“Oh,” your cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t that type of custody. I was 5150-ed. Or more accurately 5250-ed.”

“Pardon?”

“I tried to kill myself. I failed.”

The man froze. He turned around, trying to get a glimpse of you—and any wounds—through the grate.

“Do you need medical attention?”

“No,” you reassured. “I stole some valium and then drank myself silly. I was found in time and they got me help before any irrevocable damage happened. If they hadn’t spotted the note they would’ve just written me off as some foolish party animal, pumped my stomach, and let me be on my merry way.”

You haphazardly glanced at him, expecting him to be stone cold. A proper soldier. To your surprise his eyes, those stupidly beautiful eyes, are trained on you with more care than you've seen in the last three months combined.

“Were you a user… before?”

You shake your head but your eyes remain locked. You couldn't bear to break contact.

“No. Too busy with school. But then my mom died and suddenly everything was… too much. Going to med school and becoming a doctor was what she wanted. The loans, the sleepless nights, the blood, sweat, and tears. It was all for her. Not me. I wanted to make her proud. Happy. And now that will never happen. Without her, I didn’t really see the point of continuing to put myself through hell. I tried to drop out, but the program wouldn’t let me. So I figured might as well cut out all stress in my life instead.”

“Are you planning to try again?”

“No,” the answer is honest. “I’m not giving these bastards the satisfaction. Plus I need to find whoever put me in this situation in the first place and give them a piece of my mind.” You turned back to the blueprints, gently trying to shift the tone back to the comfortable rapport you had earlier. You missed it and you need him to stop looking at you like that or you might do something stupid. “That was like three extra questions. It's my turn now. Any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?”

The very word sounded foreign on his tongue.

“You know. Do you have a secret passion for knitting or something?”

“Embroidery, actually. And that’s no secret.”

“So, anything you do outside of… espionage or whatever your job is?”

“I dunno. Football. Tattoos.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“The latter, though I have been curious to learn it.”

“Got a steady hand?”

He smiled, thinking about something you know he won’t tell you.

“You could say that.”

“Anything else?”

He paused for a moment. You can tell there’s something on his mind. He just hasn’t resolved whether you’re worth it to tell to.

“There’s a bare knuckle boxing club I like to go to when I’m on leave.”

You haven’t seen him in combat, but there’s something in the coiled posture of his stance that tells you he knows how to handle himself.

“I bet you kick their asses."

He says nothing, but you swear he almost preens.

"Could you teach me?"

His lips quirked.

"How serious are you being?"

"Pretty decently. They got me this time. I won't let that happen again. Not without a fight."

"If you're ever in Town, visit Stuart’s and ask for Simon. Might be able to give you a few pointers."

You look up at him, grinning.

"Simon, eh?"

He smiled. His gaze was still intense, but its stifling mixture of pity and worry was replaced by something warmer that made your chest flutter.

"Can't promise I'll be there, but the lady at the desk should be able to tell you when I'll be back."

You folded the blueprints, neatly passing them through the cell bars.

"Well, Simon. Here's your translation. Give them hell."

----------

Chaos. Complete and other chaos.

Smoke and bombs and bullets. You agonized over whether or not to look out the window. The unknown of what was happening was almost scarier than the reality. In the few furtive glances you spared, you caught the bodies. So many bodies. The only relief was that all of the dead seemed to be guards.

You thought back on Simon, dressed in the guard’s garb. These are probably his people. He must’ve gotten out and they must’ve gotten the intel. By now he’s probably on his next recon mission. You were able to learn a little about military structure from what the other hostages told you about their families. If his specialty was infiltration they probably weren't going to waste him on a direct assault like this.

Manchester. Stuart's. Simon.

You didn't need to see him before then. You just needed him to stay alive, wherever he was.

The cacophony slowly grew closer. You didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing.

A loud buzz rang out as the power grid malfunctioned and the hallway outside your cell was plunged into darkness.

Something was happening and all you could do was sit back and listen.

There were screams. Some seemed to be of pure joy, others of painful death. Many you couldn’t tell apart.

There were gunshots. Often followed by gurgles and the sickening sound of someone falling to the ground. There were footsteps. Heavy ones. Slowly drawing nearer.

Someone jostled the cell door. You froze, holding your breath. Maybe they wouldn't even notice you.

The darkness outside your cell moved. A single blue eye peered through the grate, surrounded by black.

"Stay back," the eye commanded. You were all too happy to oblige him.

There was a quick bang and the cell door swung open, revealing a man. A large man.

He bent down to enter the cell before standing up to his full height. Clad in black with a mask you'd expect on a cartoon executioner, he unfolded like an eldritch piece of origami. He just seemed to keep on going.

“Are you Elisabeth?” Hearing it again, you realized his voice was accented. Up close, his demeanor transformed. He seemed... nervous. Incredibly so, barely even able to get the words out.

“Yes,” your voice is almost as hesitant as his.

“I— I am— Ah—” his feet shuffled about anxiously. Any bravado he had from battle has melted away, leaving him almost curled against the wall. You catch sight of a patch on his left side. Red. White. Red. The Austrian flag.

“Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” ( Do you speak German? ) you asked. Maybe talking would be easier in his native language.

The man perked up, surprised but excited.

“Ja! Du auch?” ( Yes! Do you? )

You nod, “Mein Vater war Österreicher.” ( My father was Austrian. )

You knew this was a possibility. Even with the covered face and the giant height difference. Still, his next words caught you off guard.

“Ich weiß. Ich bin dein Halbbruder.” ( I know, I’m your half-brother. )

----------

The tall man, your brother, escorts you out. He promises to tell you everything and more once you’re away from this wretched place wo die Wände haben Ohren ( where the walls have ears ).

After being cooped up for so long, your legs protest the walk, but you pushed through. You were a free woman and you would never take that for granted again.

The exhaustion was worth it to step into the daylight with your own two feet.

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized that two portable camps had been set up on the perimeter. As predicted, there was no sign of Simon. You did see a couple familiar faces though, along with a plethora of heavily-armed strangers (including a man wearing a skeleton mask of all things!). Eileen was deep in conversation with a mohawk-ed man, but she threw you a warm smile as she spotted you heading to the other wolf-emblemed camp.

"Are you alright?" a voice called out at you. It was British: Northern, but rougher and gruffer than Simon's had ever been. Still, you allowed yourself to revel in the fantasy for a moment before you had to face the speaker and ruin the illusion.

You didn't know who you were expecting when you turned around, but it certainly wasn't the skull-masked man.

Up close he was even more striking. You could just barely make out his shaded eyes, alone in a void of black and white. He was shorter than your brother, but still tall by any measure. Even at that size he managed to sneak up on you two.

Your heart was racing. You didn't know why.

"Ye—yes," you managed to stammer out.

Your brother noticed your distress. It seems to give him a confidence to act that he couldn't summon for himself.

He wrapped a protective arm around you and began to lead you away.

“She’s with KorTac,” he said, like that explained everything.

During your confinement, you had plenty of time to think about what you would say to whoever got you into this mess by joining the military. You had dreams of really digging in and tearing them a new one. All of those dreams flew out the window now.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t or were afraid to antagonize someone as big as your brother. But, seeing him… you didn’t want to do that, or anything that could hurt him.

You wanted to talk to him. To get to know him. To—silly as it was—protect him.

After all, he was about the only family you had left.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #platonic König & reader #platonic konig & reader #König #konig #cod #call of duty #fic #fanfiction #công chúa #cong chua #die Prinzessin series #die Prinzessin au #cod mw2 #modern warfare reboot

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deathdetermineslife · 1 day ago

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how do you manage to get any followers or friends in the selfshipping community? is it just luck?

for months i’ve been trying to interact with others and follow people, engaging with stuff like ask games and hosting reblog games, but when i try to share any artwork or i reblog an ask game myself, its radio silence. like even in small discords i get ignored so bad

i don’t say this at all to be guilt tripping /gen, it’s genuine curiosity at how this stuff even works. like am i doing something wrong or is the community just like this?

here is my comprehensive and lame guide on How To Get Selfship Followers

step 1 - posting

so a lot of my posts are either kinda general or fun. folks I will not lie to you. these are all stupid shit that come to my mind on a day to day basis. for example, today, I thought, "man I'm such a loser I'm not in college like all my friends r" and then I was like "omg wait. i could make a post out of this" so I did that.

you also kinda gotta be conistent. so i try to post at least *something* everyday. even if its a reblog, tho, I don't reblog a lot of things other than ask games.

another thing with posting is that i do try to make a lot of community based content. so idk if yall remember but in the beginning of my account, I did the "things you can do if you have xyz f/o". i did like,,, I think almost 100 of those ?????? it was a lot. then I started making templates and I made some ask games and ofc I post a lot of general like,,, imagine stuff. oh also polls. people seem to enjoy polls.

step 2 - be positive

this is the big thing. as most of yall (hopefully) know, I do not fw proshippers !! but I don't talk about discourse unless its directly brought up. not only this, I put a big focus on just,,, being nice idk. like id like to think I'm a pretty down to earth person.

if you make a template and people tag you in it, say something nice! reply to peoples art, send in asks, things like that. i try to do my part in being nice. i also just like hearing about peoples selfships.

when people post promos and have the little "rb to be moots", reblog! when you come across someone having a bad day, maybe they made a vent or something, reply with a simple "I hope you feel better <3" or "your f/o loves you <3". things like that, ya know?

step 3 - have fun

genuinely. i post as much as i do because I like it. i didn't go into this thinking "oh... yea... I'm gonna get selfship famous..." like no I just wanna ramble somewhere bc none of my close irls r selfshippers.

you wont get popular or get followers because you grind out posts. literally one of my biggest posts on this account I wrote while I was half asleep one night and wanted to test out queuing on my account.

and in that regard, it is partially luck. i don't control what posts people do and don't like. sometimes I write up imagines and no one sees them. sometimes I write up a post saying "lol go kiss your fake boyfriend ooo smoochie smoochie" and that does numbers

step 4 - interaction

im only in two servers. one server (which was the first public server I think I ever joined ???? i could be wrong tho,,, bad memory blehg) that I don't own and then my own 18+ server. i don't think being in servers does anything,,, considering I'm only in one that isn't mine. i think its more like ,,, sticking to one or two places ?? like just being consistently in an area you're comfortable in.

i guess you gotta just find the right people ??? and like I mentioned, be friendly, but ya know. also I guess tags too? idk if you look at any of my regular posts I have 8 million tags on them. idk if that actually does anything or not because its kinda hit or miss sometimes.

i was gonna say something else but i forgot. see look listen I dunno how I got here but this is what I do ,,,, effectively nothing. also with the being kind thing, maybe this is how I am bc I'm pagan but I think that if you expect kindness back you wont get anything. sometimes its just nice to be nice. eventually you gain a reputation for being a nice person. you kinda have to not want that tho? like I don't see myself as particularly like ,,, super kind ,,,??? i just do what feels right.

step 5 - uhhhh idk im just rambling now

i guess i also went into this kinda like. damn sometimes this community is a cesspool of absolute meanie pants. i don't wanna be a Meanie Pants and just post my thoughts and the things I think about. i guess how I see it too is, I kinda like ? idk I think all these things anyways why not post them? kinda feels like a waste not to.

also ive been told my posts are pretty recognizable bc of how I format them ? my dividers and such. also tagging all of my imagines and stuff with my 🥀📜 emojis. i guess that helps too? because that's how I recognize certain accounts. "like oh there's them I recognize their dividers and their tags".

also you kinda gotta like,,, not let hate get to you. like have fun with it? i know that's hard, but, that's what you gotta do. when I get printer ink (bc. a hoe does NOT like buying printer ink) im printing out that fucking 8 mile long hate message I got sent. but also that's just the kinda person I am. like people being a dick and stealing my posts and telling me to swallow a glock 9mm doesn't upset me, im more like,, confused more than anything because never in my life have I ever sent hate to anyone. also I have had this "I do not care because you're some loser on the internet and you being an ass wipe is no where near as bad as the shit people have done to me irl" attitude.

TLDR; i dont think youre doing anything wrong because I don't exactly know what I'm doing right. i just... do... and sometimes, "just doing" is enough. maybe its luck, maybe I've been blessed by the tumblr algorithm and I've somehow figured it out, or maybe the community is just genuinely that bad and they pick favorites. maybe its all of the above! who knows. i try not to worry about it. i think at the end of the day, as long as you're having fun posting about your f/os and selfshipping, that's what matters.

alright thats all see ya. if you have any more questions feel free to ask however I fear I cannot answer them </3

#🥀📜#sorry that was so long #ill tag these with selfship tags incase anyone else was wondering #lachlan talks #lachlan rambles #self shipping #self ship #self shipper #selfshipper #selfship #selfshipping #f/o #f/o community #fictoromantic

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hy4c1nthh · 1 day ago

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Keiji yapping p1. Will be tagged!! maybe even a master list when I'm done...

tw....body/gender dysphoria....family problems...internalized transphobia...panic attacks

@kitchenaidmixer02 hi....in return here's keiji....

Keiji grew up in a small household. His dad wasn't present so it was just him, his older brother and his mom. they weren't rich, but they werent nessicarily broke either. A nice solid middle ground. His mom worked days and nights so his brother would have to take care of him.

When Keiji was around 10 is when it started.

Keiji hated the way he looked in the mirror. It was too much. He didn't get what he was feeling but he told himself it was just him being a tomboy or smthn like that. so he went on....

and of course his feelings got worse. Probably one of the worst eras of his life was junior high/middle school. That's when he started to dress and present himself hyperfeminenne (???I can't spell). He was trying to convince himself that "no. I am a girl!!! I am!!!" but he'd go home everyday and stare at himself in the mirror and start crying and panicking. One day, it happened during school. He ran to the bathroom and locked himself in a stall, struggling to breathe. He wanted to rip himself out of this body, he'd rather do anything than look feel like this for another day. oh!! but someone heard him!!! a girl named Himeko, same grade as him and only in about 2 or 3 of his classes. She manages to console him from outside the stall, until he eventually comes out. They formally introduce themselves, and so starts a friendship! And soon enough, more than a friendship.

Himeko became his girlfriend and eventually the one to help him transition. As keiji started to dig himself deeper into the "I can't be a boy because I'm a girl" pits, Himeko had taken note of his behavior and quickly took action. She confronted him about his increased absences and isolation until he just. broke. It was at his house and his mom and brother were both out. He confessed his pain to her, how he hated the way he looked and felt, how he felt ashamed for hating his body but just wanted to rid himself of it. Himeko took im his words, and Keiji thought that she'd despise him, view him as offputting and creepy and all that..but she then just flat-out asked

"Do you want to be a boy?"

"w-what? I dont-..kn.."

"but you don't want to be a girl, right,"

"...no..."

".."

"I guess...being a boy would be pretty nice...:

"ah...you're trans!!"

"what. I..guess??"

She consoled him afterwards, and not only did she give him his haircut and was rhe one to dye his hair..but she also gave him his first binder :333 he started to borrow his brother's clothes and yes, a while later he came out to his mom. Everything was golden, he felt great, his mom was supportive and helped him and even helped him out with a name change. how wonderful!!!

Things were lookin swagger and eventually it was time to go on to high school!! things were peachy and yeah yeah. Keiji even started a band!!!

2nd year of high-school, however, both himeko and keiji decided to break up. not because they hated each other and allat, no, they just thought it'd be best. Oh and himeko likes girls. They still agreed on a platonic partnership, and still loved each other very much. Himeko was there for him, and keiji was there for her. Himeko was especially there for him when that day happened and the band broke up, and he immediately got the news that he was moving right after it happened. They promised to stay in contact, and that brings him to his 3rd year of hs and first year of kamikou!!!

while he's do a lot better, and he's in pretty good shape as of recently, he's still prone to just skipping school or isolating and stating in bed all day. He's planning to take a gap year before he heads off to college :3

#keiji takatsuki #BLACK-OUT #pjsk oc #I think he should eat a worm

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six-eyed-samurai · 2 days ago

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Not canon to my storyline because Geto's younger brother can use Cursed Technique/see Cursed Spirits, and Geto murdered his parents for an entirely different reason, but alternatively Geto Jnr. could've ended up with Gojo instead...

In a way Geto was... relieved that one member of his family wasn't home that day and didn't join the two bodies lying on the ground.

He must still be at school, Geto assumed as he wiped off his hands. Did he really want to kill him though? He couldn't let him live either, not when he wasn't a Jujutsu sorcerer...but he'll shelve that issue for now, seeing as he wasn't at home today and technically Geto didn't know where he was. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

A closet upstairs shuddered, creaking open; Suguru-nii hadn't known he'd been sick and stayed home today.

***

"You want me to what?!"

Gojo didn't think he could receive any more shock these days, still reeling from his best friend's betrayal and mass murder, but somehow Yaga still managed to prove him wrong. He blinked a few more times, adjusted his sunglasses and even let Yaga shove his feet off the table.

He'd always bugged Geto to let him meet his so precious little brother one day, begging and bargaining. Maybe he'd tag along while Geto picked him up from school, or go to the park together, or heck, empty his pockets at the toy store!

Not-

"I don't understand. You're telling me Geto spared his brother and now you want me to do something about him?"

"We found him hiding in his closet, scared out of his mind." Yaga inhaled sharply. "Not surprising - he must've heard everything that happened. And it doesn't look like Geto spared him...more like he wasn't aware that he was home as well."

Nah. Gojo knew his friend - even if it seemed like he didn't after all.

He'd know, he'd know exactly where his brother was whether by instinct or not. He'd just chosen to overlook it on purpose.

"I know you're looking after Fushiguro's kids, aren't you? I know it's a lot to ask but I hope you can, I don't know, help him. He hasn't spoken a thing since we brought him here."

Gojo attempted to make a sarcastic quip, something around the lines of "man, I really must be the greatest Child Whisperer of all time".

He cleared his throat instead.

"He really wants a pet dog or cat, but he's allergic to fur, so you think he'd like pet fish?"

"I'm getting him that plushy we saw in a claw machine - he's kinda sad we didn't win it but he doesn't have to know I bought it from a store, heh."

"Sorry, can you take over this? My brother's participating in a competition and I don't wanna be late."

Damn, truly, how much had Geto changed? No wonder the kid was traumatized. To have his idolised, beloved big bro suddenly decide to go serial killer and his world flipped upside down, not understanding Jujutsu society. He wasn't a sorcerer either...he would have no one.

(Well, one, but Hell if Gojo was giving the kid up to-)

"Hey, it'll be good for Megumi to make friends, so why not?" Gojo stood and stretched. "Let's go meet the little squirt."

***

"Hi, kiddo...woah, you're so..."

Tiny. Small. Fragile. Gojo surmised that Geto had monopolized his family's genes of tallness all for him, or maybe it was because he had appeared to shrunk in on himself from all that crying and terror. He was still wiping at his streaming face after all. And - oh, it's that plush rabbit Geto made him buy when they passed by that store.

"You doing okay?" Gojo is hunkering down to his height, which was really giving his legs cramps, but he got a slight shake of the head in response. "It's alright. I don't all of us are, heh."

"Do you want anything? Uh, hungry, thirsty, I dunno, naps? Sorry, I'm not sure how little kids work and Megumi sucks at being a normal one. Do you want kikufuku?" Gojo reluctantly holds out his bag. "No? More for me - I mean, can I get you anything then?"

"...water s'okay."

"Gotcha."

The silence is awkward. Maybe he should've brought Toji's kids - Tsumiki was good at these sort of these things and Megumi...uh, Megumi was Megumi. "Nice rabbit. Y'know I bought it for you?"

"Suguru-nii told me."

"He did?" Gojo was momentarily taken aback. He thought Geto had wanted to keep his brother and the Jujutsu world completely separate, and, well, this meant- "Well, I do have good taste."

"The ribbon was ugly so we got a new one."

"Jeez, first meeting and you're already bullying me, huh? So mean, you and your brother - shitshitshit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - shit, don't cry, Yaga will kill me - oof?!"

The kid cried a literal puddle into Gojo's uniform. He used of the hands now around him to pat his back uncertainly. "Will Suguru-nii come back?"

"...he will." Gojo tightened his hold around the smaller figure; he was glad for his sunglasses to hide the-

"Just not the same as before."

"Why?"

"...you'll find out one day."

"Then I'm alone? Will the - them send me away?"

"Not while I'm here, kiddo. Don't worry."

***

"Faster, Megumi! Faster!"

"Shut up, you're heavy," The spiky haired boy grumbled, but hefted him a little more securely and picked up pace. The younger one on his back still nearly fell off giggling though. "You're squirming again."

A bright flash invaded their faces and left them blinking. "Ah, the kids all playing so happily, it makes me feel like a proud dad!"

"Stop taking photos."

"Nah, still taking."

"Gojo, tell him to stop pulling at my face - mmph!"

"Megumi's not smiling for the camera!"

"Aw, they're actually kinda cute." Shoko shakes her head, amused by Megumi being used as an overworked horse, taking her cigarette out of her mouth. "Hey, Gojo, if you ever don't want them one day I'm happy to adopt."

"You're just jealous I'm amazing and have amazing kids and you're not amazing and that will never happen."

Shoko stabs a finger at him. "Don't pretend you're not a terrible influence on them."

"Says the one smoking in front of them!"

"I didn't even light it yet."

"Whatever!" Gojo snapped another photo - it's definitely going onto the fridge, with Megumi's face in such an unflattering angle. The fridge is overcrowded with dozens of similar photos, but Gojo's sure he can make room for one more. Photos were the only thing permanent and certain, after all.

Who knew Geto would show up and try to take back-

"Gojo, Shoko, Gumi dropped me into the puddle!"

"I did not!"

***

"By the way, I heard you're taking care of another kid now, Gojo."

Instantly his guard was up. He should've known Geto would've turned around at the last second, amidst the crowds and sea of heads, to ask, to know - but it'd been so long and quiet. "I don't know why that interests you."

"So it's true." Geto turns around fully. "Can I have my brother back then? I missed him terribly ever since you all kidnapped him from me. I'm sure he's-"

"He's completely fine, but he won't be if I'm giving him back to you." Gojo shoved his way forward, closer. "You missed him? Sure didn't seem that way. I'm not going to let you kill him."

Geto actually has the audacity to look stunned. "Kill him? Why would I kill my brother?"

"Then why'd you kill your parents?"

"You won't understand. I want him back, and if you won't give him to me-"

"You'll try and get him yourself? What makes you think he'll want to go back to you?"

Geto tilts his head. "I'm his brother."

"Did you know he was in the house that day then?" No, Geto's surprised eyes said. Gojo clenched his fist. "He's not a Jujutsu sorcerer. God knows what you plan to do."

"I'll make him one."

Gojo nearly laughed. "What?"

"I'll make him into one. I promise you, Gojo, I don't care if all the demons of Hell stood in the way." Geto snapped his fingers. "I want him back, make no mistake."

"It won't be Hell's demons in your way, it'll be me. He doesn't want to see you!"

"But he needs me. And that's that."

I'm keeping him under lock and key now, Gojo swore to himself as he watched Geto disappear before hurrying away as well. Lock. And. Key.

#sunny's works #Geto suguru #Suguru Geto #Suguru #suguru x reader #platonic geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #Geto x reader #geto suguru x platonic reader #this turned out slightly more yandere than i expected #whoopsies

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carmyberzattosjournal · 1 day ago

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Therapy Files 2: Splinters in the Water

Summary: Carmen Berzatto is the most interesting patient this psychologist has met in the city. (669 Words)

Warnings: I am not a psychologist; this is not medical advice. Swearing, mention of suicide, mention of alcoholism, mention of mental and emotional abuse, religious references. Feat. Darling (aka fem reader, though the reader could also be the psychologist).

Notes: Thank you for reading and sharing! This is a work in the Therapy Files Series and will be tagged with #cb therapy files.

Sideblog for commentary and social stuff: @m-z-shoroi

Day 1

It’s too late to be doing this right now, but here we go.

I’ve had a few cases that have stuck out so far—Chicago needs about ten million more therapists yesterday, this city is drowning under crippling mental illness—but Mr. Berzatto might be the most interesting.

He’s a disaster. A wreck of biblical proportions. He’s the broken slats of Noah’s Ark on Mount Ararat. Splinters in the water as it recedes. It’s like he’s held together by duct tape, super glue, and two prayers, this poor young man. Needs about a thousand more. I might add him to the list of patients to pray for, and I only just met him.

He looked like he was going to pass out when I called his name in the waiting room. He had a woman with him; she was holding his hand and rubbing his back. She seems sweet. He looked to her for reassurance, not unlike a small child. I feel like I recognize her, but that’s a problem for later. He was hunched up in his patchwork jacket, almost like he was trying to take up the least amount of space he could, and it wasn’t until he handed me the clipboard of his intake paperwork that I noticed his tattoos. He’s got some novels on his skin. Could be safe topics to unpack if needed. Lipstick print on the left hand, matched the shade his partner was wearing. He kept looking at it every time he locked up during the appointment. Also something safe to ask about.

PHQ-9 is 21. GAD-7 is 18. Suicide risk low; girlfriend is a protective factor. Referral to psychiatry sent.

Full clinical assessment in clinical notes; I keep getting off track with these entries.

Obvious severe anxiety, sure, but he’s softspoken, almost like he’s choking on his words as they come out. I’ll admit, he looked like he would be a difficult one. I know the type, I’ve had several. Significant other or parents or best friends force them to come to therapy hoping it’ll fix the damaged relationship they have, but because they don’t want to be there, the exercise becomes a fruitless endeavor. He’s not one of those. He admitted he needs help, but he’s not sure where to start. Admitted that the idea of therapy was unappealing to him, but that something had to change, and this would be a change. It’s unique. He’s highly logical and goal-oriented but also lacks organization and emotional development. Wavers between extremely attentive and absent. Alcoholic mother, absent father, addict brother who was a suicide victim, high-stress job, mental and emotional abuse. But warm. Vulnerable in his nature. A child forced to be an adult too soon, but more comfortable in that adulthood, even if he lacks the legs for it. Odd.

This kid’s got a lot of skeletons in his closet.

He has the bluest eyes I have ever seen in my life. I don't know if they're real or contacts. I'm tempted to say real because, with the state he is in, I doubt he'd want to put in bright blue contacts, but I'll have to gather more information—could be part of the masking. His hair is a mess, too. It's somehow dry and greasy at the same time, curly, wavy, kinky, some random ramen noodle shapes by his temples because he drags his fingers through it repeatedly. Seems to be a nervous tic. Couldn't hold still. He was uninterested in any of the fidgets I had available.

Prominent stammer. Wouldn't hold eye contact when speaking but held it when listening. Self-soothing face touching. Jerky movements. Mask-like flat expression. Looked tired. Looked like his soul was tired, the kind of tired I’d expect in a middle-aged mother of 4 teenage children, not someone in their mid-20s. Heightened sensitivity to sound and light. Anxious about sitting with his back to the door. It took him too long to answer basic questions—overthinking? Anxiety? Guarded? Why not all 3?

Likely all 3.

Trauma referral sent.

Appointments once a week scheduled for the next 3 months.

So, why the fuck can’t I sleep?

#cb therapy files #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader

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surroundedbypearls · 3 months ago

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Heads Up, Seven Up

Thank you for tagging me @mrbexwrites! It's been many moons since I was properly active on here, because I've been editing TCTS since what feels like the beginning of time, but here's a lil bit:

A shape shifted somewhere in the shadows across the garden, rippling like a mirage. Adam's hands clenched around his bag. Surely not. That hallucination had just been a product of all the lights, and the noise, and the alcohol. Visions like this didn’t exist in broad daylight. “I don’t mind praying,” Lily said, drawing his eyes back to her. “My cousin stuck to all his prayers, every morning and evening, before he left for service, and he came home safe. I think it makes a difference.” Adam glanced back at the shadows; whatever vision might have existed was gone. “You think the king senses who prays and who doesn’t?” “I’m not sure. Maybe the gods do. I hope so, because otherwise, well…what’s it all for?”

Passing the tag on to @cherrybombfangirlwrites and @yors-truly!

#I'm going to be doing a lot of small tags #I have so many to do

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calmparticles · 11 months ago

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?Want a break from the ads? If you tap now to watch a short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! Yes, really! If you tap now you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! So what are you waiting for? I'm still waiting.. Why aren't you tapping? Don't you want 30 minutes of ad free music? If you tap now and watch the short video you'll get 30 minutes of ad free music! It's that easy! If you want to be free from the ads forever considerIf it doesn't work for you, then you're using it wrong. Make sure you're using EVERY single filter. If you are currently, then de-select them and make sure they're updated and re-enable them. IT WILL WORK. There's no "it won't work" when you do this. It's either a 1 or a 0. Either a yes or no. Either a "it will work" or an "I am not using the adblocker correctly".

#hi!!! not dead!!! i've just had the most creative block ever DKFBNDF/#here's some poppup whale/dolphin variations for anon! thank u sm vacc anon for the req and kind words - hope u doing good!!/#all of u asks have been so sweet. bless u! <3/#poppup #deltarune #myart #and a teeny tiny ambyu. 2 small for the tag. teeny/#i'm very rusty at art-ing rn - if anyone has any reqs i would love to draw some! i still got lot's 2 go thru too tho <3/#also i finally went back n edited all my image ids into the images themselves - i'll still reblog ids over @ calmparticles-id/#cause 4000 characters will never b enough 4 me DKFJBDF i cannot write short ids 2 save my life or u eyes/#anyways that's enough tags for now!/

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beatcroc · 1 year ago

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pest control TWO!!!!! heres the first one

adn heres the obligatory bonus bc i can't help myself :')

#i already threatened that little basard twice in these i may as well make good on it #pizza tower #peppino spaghetti #fake peppino #the noise #fp ''oh god wait that is not a real rat and also tastes awful'' moments. he doesnt actually have any interest in eating that thang ok #even if seeing a small scampering little guy like that WILL activate his prey drive without fail #peppino loves it he thinks it's the funniest shit in the world for fp to go after noise. so he is always encouraging this.#but anyway yeah. fp is *really* not the one noise should be worried about.#arting #pizzaposting #i still have lots of tag room thjis time so im gonna do some tangential nonsense rambling. e #fp gotta be like crazy good at hunting i think. not just for strength and predator instincts but also bc like #he doesn't have much in the way of a scent or body heat or anything that would give him away as an alive thing #not to mention he's uh... not particularly organically-shaped a lot of the time #so esp. to smaller prey that don't like... memorize a landscape; if he holds very still he's like completely undetectable #total ambush king. though i'm sure hes also very good at #persistence and pursuit hunting since he has peppino's speed and no way of getting muscle fatigue. ultimate beast #fortunately he doesnt care that much and doesnt really need to eat so hes not devastating the local ecosystem or anything #except for the rats.

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thebramblewood · 11 months ago

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Some things never change.

#ts4 #sims 4 #legacy: g9 #august uchiyama #same shirt and everything hehe #he's definitely the kid who wears his favorite clothes until they're either too tattered or too small to be suitable in public #this is just a quick preview!!!#i'm going to ~officially reintroduce him~ soon #e.g. make a NEW STORY TAG and get more plotty again #except it'll be sporadic because i still need to do a lot in hzid before i can go very far 👀#like so much you probably wouldn't even be able to guess where they'll eventually overlap lol #finally getting him to his teen years has really reignited my excitement for it all though!!!#let's just say the bramblewood cinematic universe is already a multi-film franchise in my head

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gilded-gheists · 1 year ago

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JUST started a good Durge playthrough and I'm dying over my absolute little guy bard Tinfoil.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #(Im a tag rambler so theres a lot here-) he's got voice six and because of that I'm opting he's incredibly INCREDIBLY young #like- probably 9? Dragonborn reach 10 year old human size at 3 for them so. yeah-#human-body wise he's about 17? but he's still got so little thoughts in his head. Which is canon as well at least #not gonna romance ANYONE as Tinfoil but we're gonna all be besties.#still deciding if he'll slurp tadpoles. he gives into peer preassure very easily and is very easily bossed around.#so it depends at the moment in the cutscene i guess.#he's the group kid. i think shadowheart would mother him a lot and he looks up to Karlach A SHITTON. 'She's so cool...'#'why is the group kid the leader?'#everyone shrugs but they see Tinfoil curl up around a small pile of gold and gems as he sleeps and they can't say no to what he wants to do #Lae'zel thinks he's 'extremely weak skinned. and needs all the help a pathetic youngling like him can get'#she says; helping said pathetic kid up off the nautaloid ship floor after he ran ahead to try and get to the controls; listening to her #like a good lil guy #'Tinfoil; darling; you know we can always get *more* gold if you give up some of these precious little rubies and opals. Your hoard #will look *much* more impressive that way.'#-Astarion; trying to convince a now-teary-eyed tinfoil to give up his hoard so the party can buy health potions #'its not...its not impressive?' he starts crying and Shadowheart has to comfort him #I KNOW he's gonna go murder mode and stuff. but everyone at camp thinks it's just dragonborn instincts kicking in #so they just like chain him to a tree for the night.#its funny i think #'NO! BAD TINFOIL! STOP TRYING TO EAT THE BIRDS!'#'Raughguguhguguh. Tinfoil *NEEDS* sauce...'#he is on a leash constantly because he is enamoured with the beauty of the world and runs off- but also to not kill and maim constantly.

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overly-verbose · 5 months ago

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Seriously, bro's a professional yapper lmfao

Tbf it's not completely unprovoked and he does just want to at least try explaining some things, if in a roundabout way, to make people more at ease (if not in the moment then overall) but, well-

sometimes it has the opposite effect lmao 😂

Also like, it's absolutely hilarious how I thought

'oh but this is just, like three scenes - how long could this be'

but all the freaking talking and stuff that everyone's doing is making Part 8 the second longest in the series 😂😂😂💀😂

(I fear for my poor brain, man - we've only just barely almost covered the Detention Center Arc

(and a little bit of the VS Mahito Arc Mahito Gets Curse PTSD Arc but I do wanna fill in some of the gaps between those)

and it's already gonna be over 40k words???

Why am I being so ambitious for my first ever proper writing project frrr *perishes a bit*

but I do hope to get it to the end - and beyond because there's no way I wouldn't constantly add to the post-main-plot shenanigans lol - however long that takes heh (just try to be patient with me pls I try my best here 😂) 👍)

#On another note I'm closer to finishing Part 8 than anything so yAY WOO YEA- *perishes*#I don't wanna promise anything because I tend to underestimate this kinda stuff but idk it mAy be out tomorrow or overmorrow maybe even #Depending on how well the last few things go being written and the little edits and Notes and Tagging and stuff #mAn do I hate how long this has been taking lol where tf did that brain that could pump out Parts in like a week go 😂#(tbf 1) I've been just busy with Life (smh who invented that) and 2) this needed a LOT of THINKIN™ considering the characters and situation #; it's pretty darn complex and considering the fact that Satoru especially is there; well - he's both a little shit and a smart cookie lol)#Anyway yeah just a little shitpost for the hehes #Also I got inspired by something and will probably post a small Visuals thing in a bit (idk if it counts as a meme redraw but ye) 👍#(it involves Yuji as a smol little bean baby tiger cub so prepare thine cuteness receptors verily (hope I'll do the vision justice lol) 🫱)#Thinkings™#SIkuna #(deliberate misspell)#Syuuya #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk fix it #jjk fix it fic

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kenzan-kiwami · 3 months ago

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everybody claims to be a kashiwagi enjoyer but the only time anyone ever talks about him is to say he's the hottest piece of meat in the series

#this goes for a lot of characters but he's the one i pay the most attention to #this probably isn't even remotely profound to most people who follow me but it really feels like a massive proportion of fandom nowadays #only cares about fanwriting if it's within 1500 words and rated E #there are some notable exceptions of course but fuck there just doesn't seem to be any real feedback on anything anymore #unless it comes from people i share small discord servers with and chat to every day #the number of times i've linked my textual analysis pieces to people who say they're fans of the character it's about #only to get brushed off in favour of the next off-model drawing of him with his balls swanging #it's demoralising #i don't want to be the elitist ''nobody likes him the way i do'' jerk but this is a lot of the reason i haven't been as active on tumblr #on top of me (mostly) running out of games to play then going on holiday and coming back to my steam deck's display not working #(it's still in for repairs)#maybe when i get it back i'll liveblog yakuza 4 but i'm starting to wonder if there's a point in using tumblr #when the only people who engage are people i speak to directly on discord anyway #like why not just cut out the middleman at this point yknow?#well. guess i'll get back to my sawamura ikki rabbit hole #expect arai posting when i get my steam deck back #me #text #kashiwagi osamu #idk lol i don't want to put negative fandom commentary into the character tag but i DO want this to be in the tag on my blog itself #i don't think there's a way to do that anymore

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longagoitwastuesday · 3 months ago

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I am liking Jujutsu Kaisen, way more than I imagined I would, but I foresee it will let me down and it's keeping me from enjoying this as much as I could haha

I think the characters and dynamics are well set, and I think many of them have an incredibly good and deep potential, but I would be willing to bet they'll not get a proper development, enough for them to really hit. A well assembled set of gears is not enough to make the movement go, you have to wind the clockwork.

I think Gojo and Megumi have a fascinating and very complex dynamic, but I doubt it will be given the time and care that imo it needs to actually work. And it is going well enough for now! One could see the intimacy between them was deeper than the one Gojo had with, say, Yuji and Nobara ever since the very first few episodes despite the fact Fushiguro too was a first year. But the pieces forming what they have are extremely complex, and it just wouldn't be realistic if it doesn't show, even if in a not showing way, or if it doesn't have consequences or implications.

It's one of those dynamics that shape one's life, the way one regards the world, the way one establishes or not relationships with other people. It's one of those dynamics that could be full of fondness, gratitude, resentment, admiration, trust, and that imply intimacy, the good kind or the bad, even if in just the knowledge of someone who's been a constant through your life. It could, and would, imply a myriad of feelings, and probably in such a mix it could imply contradictory feelings too. Even the nothingness would weight, even the nothingness would be significant and meaningful.

Gojo took Megumi and his sister under his wing, the son of a man who murdered him, because of both selfish and selfless reasons. Megumi looks like Toji. What does Gojo feel about this? How does Gojo deal with this? How does Gojo go about taking care of Megumi? Would he walk him to school? Make him breakfast? Celebrate his birthdays making him blow candles? Did he take him to the zoo? Does the relationship between them feel professional or is it something more? Gojo appreciates his students, but is Megumi to him just another student? When Gojo faces Sukuna in Megumi's body, did he see the kid he raised, or does he just see Sukuna in one of his students' body? Did he have one faint wavering instant? And how does Megumi feel about this? Is he resentful of him? Resentful of the situation? Of the selfishness behind his actions? Does he feel like a pawn? Is he grateful? Does he resent feeling grateful? Would he rather not? Does he love Gojo? Does he feel nothing about him other than what he could feel about a teacher that sort of annoys him but knows he's reliable in his strength? Does he think it unfair, cruel or unfeeling that Gojo is close, closer perhaps, with Yuuji or Yuta, considering their story? When Sukuna slices Gojo in two, does the remnants of Megumi's soul tremble?

And not just Megumi and Gojo. Yuuji and Nanami, Gojo and Nanami, Yuuji and Fushiguro, Nobara and the boys, or Nobara and Maki, Todo and Yuuji or Yuta, Gojo and Yuta, Megumi and his sister. Gojo and Geto, even! If the pieces are well set, the dynamics are intriguing, interesting, and have potential to be deep, but then the characters have like two plot relevant scenes that punch you hard, but little more, it's not nearly enough. Especially not nearly enough for the enormity that is shonen dynamics and situations. And the potential existing at all, and then not delivering, makes it all the more frustrating when you're left with something mediocre that could have been so good.

The development of dynamics through not only a few plot relevant gut wrenching moving scenes, but also the smallness of life, is important. The friend who recommended this to me said that those things were just unnecessary filler, but I disagree. I think there's a big difference between a large amount of anime-only filler episodes whose existence is based on the fact they had run out of manga chapters to animate, and moments of quietness. The low stakes character-driven moments of quietness can be so telling and so insightful, and they are so satisfactory when brought back later in higher stakes situations. My friend teased me there was no scene of Gojo making breakfast to Megumi, that it would be an idiotic idea, but it would be so telling. How he makes breakfast, what they eat, if he tries hard or if it's all mechanised, if they have personal bowls or if they use whatever, if he just buys them some pastry on the way to school, if the way they have breakfast changes through the years, or if he doesn't make them breakfast at all! All that would be very insightful on their dynamic and its evolution. All that would give a glimpse on how they regard each other and why, even in the present. All that could become meaningful in tense situations and high stakes scenes.

These moments also let the plot breath; if a lot is happening all the time, if every character is always experiencing trauma after trauma, the entire story is so emotionally draining that at some point you don't even care all that much. Besides, these nothing moments or low stakes plot arcs, besides deepening and developing dynamics, also let some in-world time pass, which would make the intimacy and bond between characters more believable imo; between Yuuji eating Sukuna's finger and their last confrontation in December how much time has passed? A few months? Am I truly to believe these characters are so everything to each other in only a few months?

Without some smallness, some repetition, some daily life, some low stakes not plot-centric development, the dynamics don't hit, they don't truly feel fleshed out, and dynamics as complex as the ones Megumi and Gojo have, or as supposedly meaningful as the one Megumi has with Yuuji or his sister, should be fleshed out if they're going to exist at all. Otherwise they'd risk making the writing feel awkward and fake. Besides, if the dynamics felt well fleshed out and realistic, they would shape the way the characters interact and act, and how they deal with situations, thus being plot relevant.

The shonen genre has so much happening all the time, the stakes are so high, the dynamics are so rooted in big events and the relationships carry enormous weight and implications. Yet they barely get developed, and it feels so stupid, so plain, the absence of something so important noticeable like a constant void, a shapeless nothingness present in every scene. It makes the characters feel like cardboard figures. Jujutsu Kaisen is already getting a better job than many, but I doubt it will do enough for what I've heard, and I fear I am bound to feel let down, and bound to feel unmoved.

After all, if not enough time and care has been given to develop a dynamic, I am not going to feel pressured by the high stakes; if not enough time and care has been given to develop the dynamic between Megumi and Yuuji, as good potential as it has I am bound to feel little for this last confrontation between Sukuna and Itadori, and his effort in getting Megumi back.

#It's not that I think everything has to be character driven or take a lot of care about dynamics #Death Note for instance works well without it. There's juice in the dynamic between Light and his father and the role of Matsuda there #and it works well with Light's views and their evolution and the whole Kira situation. It isn't much. It doesn't need more #But Death Note doesn't truly drop something as big as Gojo and Megumi to then do barely nothing about it #('But L and Watari' not the same at all. That was deepened in the anime and besides Watari is not one of the main characters)#Or Megumi and his sister. If we see barely nothing of Megumi and his sister other than shiny flashbacks of her #how am I to feel moved by it all beyond superficial emotions? I don't know. It just feels so like cardboard to me #And it annoys me! It annoys me a lot! Because Jujutsu Kaisen has amazing potential! The dynamics and characters could be amazing!#But I don't trust they'll live to their full potential and the potential existing for nothing is ruining this for me xD #Jujutsu Kaisen #Sorry this time I'm tagging it. I want to find this and see if I was right when I'm finished. I think I'll read the manga too #The condescending filler breakfast comment by my friend was ironic considering the Kramer vs. Kramer breakfast scenes exist #Breakfast can be so telling. And besides he loves the Chainsaw Man coffee scene so I don't get why not breakfast #But truly some small daily life moments can tell us a lot about a character that we could recognise later on in high stakes scenes #such as how they deal in tense situations‚ what makes them snap #how they go about dealing with a problem.#Sometimes it could be smaller moments or conversations what makes characters reconsider things‚ not just having Sukuna rip their heart out #In Pandora Hearts the conversation between Elliot and Oz about the book series they love and their favourite characters becomes key #Oz's development and how he regards things‚ his own person‚ and how he deals with situations will be shaped later on by this conversation #till the very end. The entire main character's development is shaped by a 'filler' conversation.It's not filler. It's just not a fight scen #Shonen manga readers find everything filler except for fights which is ironic considering that many fights in shonen feel unnecessary #Breakfast is unnecessary. Just filler. Fighting thirty seven secondary monsters or chapter after chapter of physical training is not. Okay #Things can be small but plot relevant. If it shapes and fleshes out and deepens a character or a relationship it is not filler #And mainly MAINLY for the love of everything good if you're going to make a fucked up or Meaningful Beyond Everything dynamic #give it time and care. Actually write it. Don't give me two panels and one conversation after some life and death situation. It's not enoug #Especially if I'm to believe they are important. Make me believe they actually are #I don't know... This issue with not trusting the development of very well set potential in Jujutsu Kaisen #has not only been keeping me from thoroughly enjoying the series‚ but actively keeping me from watching for weeks #It makes me doubt if I want to spend my time in this at all since after all time is limited and we can but spend it in a handful of things #A pity. I really love some things and I really think Megumi and Gojo could be everything to me haha the Heathcliff/Hareton vibe gets me

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