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mcuamerica · 3 months

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Loving Flames | Part One

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: Amarantha decided to 'gift' you to Eris Vanserra to get back at Rhys. Requested by anon here.

Warnings: 18+ only, canon level violence, alludes to SA, the word whore shows up a few times, (again not proofread), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Word Count: 4.6k

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Eris met you when you were 35, years after the war. It was at a High Lords meeting, with your father bringing you along to introduce you to the court. It snapped for Eris in that moment.

You were wearing a spectacular navy blue and silver gown, fabric attached to your shoulders to make it look like a cape. Your wings were tucked in tight behind you to keep from bumping into anyone.

He tried to speak to you that night, tell you about the bond, but his father pulled him away quickly and he didn’t see you again.

The next time he saw you, however, you were by Rhysand’s side in all black, mourning the loss of your father and your mother. And your wings. While Tamlin’s brothers didn’t kill you, they almost did. Taking time with you is what allowed you to live, unfortunately for you.

Eris tried approaching you again, needing to say at least something to you. This time, Azriel, the ever obedient guard dog, growled and told him to leave. These ceremonies were for friends only. Which the Autumn Court was not. That night, Eris gave up on the idea that you and him could be together. He decided to leave you be, and avoid you at all cost.

But then Amarantha came sweeping in. Rhysand brought you to the ball with all of the High Lords when she took their powers. As since Rhysand’s father killed Tamlin’s, she wanted to punish him more than just taking him to bed.

“Beron, which one of these is your heir?” She asked, perched atop the throne. You were standing close to Rhys, his arm around your back. Eris, even though the bond was buried deep down, could feel the nerves radiating down that bridge. You were terrified. That she was going to hurt you. Or Rhys. And what better way than letting your enemy do it or you.

“I am,” Eris spoke before his father could utter a word. His father shot him a deadly look, but Amarantha’s smile widened.

“Good. I’m gifting her to you.” She said and smirked, nodding towards you.

Your eyes widened. Rhys looked to Eris with an even deadlier look than his father, almost saying ‘if you hurt her, you will be killed slowly and I’ll enjoy it.’ Eris stepped forward, soliciting a growl to come from deep within Rhys’s throat.

“Easy, bat, I will be gentle.” He said, unable to drop the mask. He forced his hand to remain steady as he reached it out to you.

You shrunk closer to Rhysand, listening as he leaned down and whispered something not even fae eyes could detect. You looked up to Rhys with pleading eyes.

“Hurry, now, I do not have all day.” Amarantha said, staring at her nails as if she were bored.

With a final nod from Rhysand, you shakily took Eris’s hand.

He did not pull you, instead allowing you to walk with him back to where his father and brothers stood. After that that, he let go of your hand. He promised himself he would protect you, even if you all thought he was a monster. He would never harm you, and never make you do anything you didn’t want to. Not as long as he could help it. His mate. You were under his protection now, and he would be damned if he let anyone harm you ever again.

Deciding to make you suffer even more, since you were the reason Rhysand knew about Tamlin’s brothers hurting you, Amarantha assigned you to a tiny room connected to Eris’s. It didn’t have a fireplace, and it barely fit the small bed that was in it. There was a small room filled with revealing clothing. Specially placed there so you could please Eris, according to her.

But months went by and he did not touch you. He would escort you to court dinners, offering you more food than the small portion you were allowed. You never accepted, eyes always darting for your brother to bring you some sort of comfort. But, Rhys was barely there. If he was, his eyes were cast downwards as Amarantha stroked his arm or his leg, making it clear that Rhys was her obedient dog, her whore. It made you sick to your stomach, but you knew he did it to keep your family safe. So maybe one day you could return to the sanctuary of Velaris.

You flinched slightly as Eris rested a hand on top of yours. “You need to eat, my lady,” he whispered. What seemed to be concern filled his eyes.

“So you can treat me like a pet?” You asked, swallowing your fear.

“So you can survive this.” He said. “I-“ he glanced up as Amarantha stood up to make an announcement. “I will come to your room tonight and I want you to have strength.” He said before she began to speak.

A chill ran down your spine at the thought of what you imagined on your head. You looked down to your plate, taking a small bite of the food. You were no good if you starved yourself. And if you didn’t please Eris like he wanted to, either he or Amarantha would punish you. Probably in front of your brother. Or make him do it.

Eris hummed in agreement to your action, before his attention looked towards Amarantha.

That night, you were shivering in your bedroom. The light set of pajamas doing nothing to keep you warm in the cool room, surrounded by nothing but stone. You perked your head up when the door connecting to Eris’s room opened. He normally used the main one connected to the hall, but tonight he must have wanted to be discrete. Bile rose on your throat in anticipation of what was about to happen, tears welling in your eyes as you body shook from the cold.

“I’m taking you to see your brother.” Eris said quietly. You looked at him, sitting up even more as you curled into yourself more.

“Why?” You asked

Eris’s heart broke at the sight of you, shivering from the cold and near tears from what you imagined he would do. He could be the villain in your story as long as he could keep you safe. But he needed you sane, as well. He would not let you deteriorate under this gods-forsaken mountain.

“Did you not hear Amarantha? She is sending Rhys to do scouting for the next few months. And I’d like for you to get a proper goodbye.” Eris said. “Here,” he said, pulling out the long, wool lined robe for you. “You’ll be warmer in this.” He even warmed it up with his internal heat before he came in here.

You slowly reached out, grabbing it before wrapping it around your body. He saw as you sunk into its warmth, wish that it was him you could find such comfort in.

He held out a hand and you slowly took it. “I’ll need to act like I’m taking you somewhere else, so just stay close and don’t talk.” He whispered before wrapping an arm around your waist. While you would have normally recoiled, you could only lean further into his body heat, much warmer than any you’ve know before. You assumed it was his internal flames burning under his skin, maybe causing his temperature to be much warmer than others. It must have been a nice luxury to have. Though, you were certain he had a fireplace in his room. Not that it would be hard for him to conjure flame anyway.

Eris stole glances at you, hoping that this would make you happier. You hadn’t seen Rhys, at least not at a distance where you could embrace or talk, for at least a year. But Eris knew Rhys would take your unwillingness to eat as Eris forbidding it, or some other malicious thing. Your eyes were sunken, each piece of clothing hung from your body looser as the days passed. You looked tired, exhausted, as if someone was draining the life force from you. No matter how many times Eris had asked, you were never allowed outside with him. Not even on one of the upper balconies. Your punishment for being alive while her friend was dead. It seemed Amarantha wanted to punish you more than Rhys. And Eris was just glad he could be there to protect you from most of her wrath, claiming that his gift shouldn’t be harmed. The things she threatened to do… Eris hoped she wouldn’t figure out you were his mate. Because if she did… even if her and Beron were allies, Eris didn’t think she would spare you much longer.

Eris knocked on a door, one of the shadow wraiths opening it. Your lips turned into a gentle smile as you greeted Nuala, happy to see a familiar face.

At the site of you, Nuala stepped aside. Rhys had bruises all around his neck, where he was staring at them in the mirror. You swallowed and looked up at Eris.

“Five minutes.” He said and stepped back, nodding at you to go in. You tentatively took a step inside, and once you were over the threshold, Nuala shut the door. Rhys turned, his eyes widening as he finally took account of who was in the room.

“(Y/N),” he breathed out rushing over to you. He looked you over, frowning at how poorly you looked. He cupped your cheeks and searched your eyes. Searching for the carefree little sister he knew. “Are you okay? How did you get here?” He asked.

Rhys must have put a shield around the room before Nuala opened the door, if he did not know Eris brought you here.

“I’m fine… I wanted to say goodbye. You are leaving for the outside soon.” You said, your voice quiet and weak. If Amarantha was trying to torture Rhys, she was doing a good job at it.

“Has he hurt you?” He asked.

You shook your head, wanting to say how well Eris was treating you. But the look on Rhys’s eyes told you he wouldn’t believe you. Maybe you needed to make more of an effort to be involved in this ridiculous, cruel court. But would that make you any better than Beron? Would it help you? Would it help your brother?

Rhys pulled you in for a hug and you wrapped your arms around his chest, burying your head in it. “Please come back.” You whispered, holding him tighter.

“I will never leave you here.” He whispered, rubbing your back. “And I will do everything I can to get you away from him.” He said as he pulled away.

“Did Amarantha do this?” You asked as you traced the small circular bruises on his neck.

“She likes to mark her whores.”

You frowned, looking up at the cold look in his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” You whispered. “I want you to know that… you are doing what is right for our family. And I’m so proud that I can call you my brother.”

You could see the words didn’t hit like you wanted them to… and your heart sank at the thought of Rhys not thinking he was doing enough. Or that he wasn’t good enough. “I will see you soon, (Y/N).” He said, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

You glanced at the time on the clock, then noticed Rhys had a balcony to go outside. “Fly for me, brother.” You whispered before stepping back. “I will see you soon.” You said before turning around and walking out of the room. You gave Nuala another smile before finding Eris with his back against the opposite hallway wall.

You walked up to him and took a quiet, internal breath. “I’d like new clothes.” You said to him.

His rose his eyebrows, shocked at your sudden urge to talk to him. “Excuse me?” It came out more rude than he meant it, but didn’t let that show.

“I-“ you started and then took a visible deep breath. “If I am to be your gift, I want to be presentable. I would like new clothes.” You said. You had no intention of doing anything for Eris, and the more you could avoid him, the better. But if Amarantha thought Eris favored you, maybe she would let you out. Maybe you could fool her into thinking you were enjoying it. And maybe that would be enough for her to let you leave your room by yourself.

“Okay.” Eris said.

It was your turn to be shocked. You thought you would need to convince him a lot more than that.

“Give me a list of clothes you’d like, and I’ll see what I can do.” He answered, then held out his arm. “Now come, you must be tired.” He said.

You tentatively took his arm, still slightly shocked that he didn’t dismiss you. This male that you knew to be cruel and abusive was nothing but kind, gentle, and patient with you. You started to piece together the times you interacted with him, and couldn’t think of a single time were he was mean. Maybe distant, cold, but plenty of faeries were like that. Your brother was like that a lot of the times. It was a mask to keep him safe. Maybe Eris was the same. Maybe you could trust him.

You faltered as he did not stop at your door, but kept walking a few more steps to his. You looked up at him and watched as he opened the door and lead you inside. Maybe you didn’t escape what you dreaded earlier today.

“It’s warmer in here. If you’d like, you can sleep in here. I can take your room.” He said.

You frowned. “What?”

“Every time I see you, you are freezing. And it’s because Amarantha put you in a room that is meant to be a cooler. Why it’s attached to a bedroom, I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s the proper place for the Princess of the Night Court to sleep.”

“But… won’t you get cold?” You asked, glancing to the door that connected the rooms.

“I run hot.” He said, a slight smirk coming to his lips.

“Why are you being nice to me?” You asked.

“Maybe it will be beneficial to me later on.” He said and shrugged. “But I cannot bring myself to harm you.” He said. “In anyway.”

And he showed it. From then on, you stayed in his room. Soon enough, you offered him to come to your room too. Even with the fire, you were still cold. You supposed it was the lack of food, of sunlight, of fresh air. It was not good for your body. So, you asked him to join you in the bed. Just to sleep. And he obliged, staying on his side of the bed. Until one night, where you were particularly cold after a ‘winter’ ball was thrown.

You turned over to Eris, who seemed to be asleep. You were in an oversized sweater and some loose pants. Courtesy of your wardrobe he provided for you. “Eris?” You whispered.

His head turned towards you as he opened one eye, a small smile coming to his lips.

He would act like this whenever you were alone. When no one could see you, he would show you a soft side. A side that had you wondering where all the cruel things said about him came from. This couldn’t be the same male that left your cousin for dead in the Autumn forest. He was so different than how Mor described him. If he was helping you, why wouldn’t he help her?

“Yes, princess?” He asked.

You weren’t even technically a princess, but he insisted on using the nickname. You were surprised it didn’t bother you.

“Can you… make the fire warmer? I’m cold.” You said quietly.

His eyes flickered to the burning hearth before looking back at you. “Can I try something before?” He asked.

You searched his eyes and, as usual, found no malice. Maybe a hint of mischief, if you detected it correctly. You gave him a nod, narrowing his eyes as he asked for you to turn on your side. Your back facing him.

“Do you trust me?” He asked when he noticed your hesitance. You paused at the question. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing for months. Almost a year now. Could you trust Eris? “Remember what I said? I won’t hurt you.” He said.

You slowly took a deep breath, turning your body so your back was facing him. You tensed up when you felt him shift on the bed, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling her closer to his warm body. “What- what are you doing?” You asked.

“I’m going to make you warm.” He whispered in l your ear, the breath sending a shiver down your spine. In the best way.

Suddenly, you felt his hand settling on your bicep, and your arm instantly warmed up. You relaxed into the warm, smiling to yourself.

“Is this better?” He asked, rubbing your arm up and done as he held you close.

“Much.” You answered, even leaning into his chest more.

Eris became your anchor Under the Mountain after that. You often found yourself clutching his bicep, not wanting to be far from him. He stayed true to his word. He would not hurt you. And, apparently, he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you either. One day, you were in the throne room as the court reveled, sitting on a loveseat while you waited for Eris to bring you something to drink. One particularly drunk made stumbled his way to sit next to you and got too close for your liking. Right as he was about to wrap an arm around you, Eris hauled him out of the seat. He pushed him back and said something with a growl you couldn’t hear, and then the male was running out of the room. Not many males approached you after that.

Maybe it was because your brother was gone for so long, or maybe it was because Eris was genuine to you. Even when you were out of the room, when he wore that cool uninterested mask, he was gentle with you. His touch was never too tight or too harsh. Was never too high or too low. He made you comfortable. You were starting to like him. As a friend, at least.

For the next 40 years, you were always around him. Even when Amarantha gave you more freedom, you wanted to be near Eris. Rhys started to notice, but didn't say anything as it was only apparent for your affection to his enemy before Summer, Winter, and Day rebelled. And then Amarantha's reign became increasingly strict. With only High Lord dead, and a new one taking his place, there was more tension than ever. Especially because anyone who was caught doing anything suspicious was whipped or tortured in front of the court. Sometimes, your brother would be the one to hold their minds and do it.

However, after finding out that Autumn and Night had nothing to do with the rebellion, she decided to be nice one day and allow you to the upper levels. She gave you in particular one rule, do not go outside. You couldn't help but watch as your brother went out on one balcony. And on the other, Beron and his sons were laughing. Actually laughing. It was only one month when the High Lord of Summer was killed and a bunch of Winter children were closed. Children. And Amarantha was celebrating you all.

Eris, however, was sat across from you on the couch. He noticed the way you longed to go outside, realizing while he was allowed out to visit his court with his father, you were stuck Under the Mountain. You hadn't been outside in more than 40 years.

"You should go, celebrate." You muttered, motioning to his family. "You may not be able to leave for along time." You said, frowning as you looked to your hands.

"I'm just fine in here." Eris said, resisting the urge to lean over and grab your hand. While you never crossed a line of being intimate, or anywhere near it, you had become friendly with Eris. You were more than glad to curl into his side at night, hold his hand at the dining table, or grab his arm while you walked around the passageways.

Before you could suggest it again, one of Eris's brothers peeked his head into the room. "Eris, bring your whore in here." He said.

You internally winced at the term, and Eris glared at his brother. While many people had called you the same, Eris normally corrected them. Especially his brothers.

"She isn't my whore." He growled out. "And if you call her that one more time, Sol, and I will rip your throat out." He said. "Besides, you know she can't go outside."

"Ah, Amarantha will never know." Sol said and smirked. "We'll distract the bat, you take her out there for some alone time." He said, making his way over to the balcony where Rhys was standing. As Sol pulled him inside, you could visibly see and hear Rhys's growl. He didn't want to be here, but if he could watch you amongst the Vanserras, he would.

"Sol-" Eris called out but groaned when him and one of the other brothers pushed Rhys out to talk to Beron and the Lady of Autumn. About what, you didn't really care. You stayed in your seat, taking a deep breath.

"I could at least open the door." He said and stood up, going over to the free balcony and opening the door to let in the breeze. You stood up, standing in front of the threshold. You closed your eyes as you felt the wind on your face, even if it was light.

The smile that came to your lips took Eris's breath away. Even in this terrible place, you could still find small bits of joy.

You looked down at the gap between you and the rest of the world, Eris standing on the other side. "Thank you." You said quietly to him, holding out your hand for him to take. He squeezed your hand, fighting the urge to pull you over the threshold and into his chest. He could image your giggle and scolding before you stepped back into the room. But before he could answer you, Amarantha burst through the doors with two of her sentries.

"Seems like the little princess can't follow the rules... Ah, Eris, are you trying to disobey my command?" She asked.

Your eyes widened and you immediately dropped Eris's hand. "I didn't go outside." You said quickly.

"No, but you were about to. And Eris was going to help you." She said. Rhys and the others came in.

"Now that I ponder it, I do remember hearing about the two of you sneaking around the passage ways months ago. That wasn't to spy, was it?" She asked. "Acting as lust-crazed fools?"

You never once showed any interest in Eris like that, and yet everyone just assumed the two of you were sleeping together. Or more like Eris was fucking you as he pleased.

"Nothing to say? Too bad." She said and nodded towards the sentries, one of them grabbing you and the other grabbing Eris. Rhys lunged forward to try and protect you, but Eris's brother's grabbed him.

"Relax, bastard, no one's going to hurt the princess." Sol teased.

"What is the meaning of this, my queen?" Beron asked, the ever-loving servant. His wife next to him looked completely uninterested other than a hint of worry for her son.

"We will make sure Eris and the princess never sneak around again." She said, giving a small wave before walking out of the room.

Before you knew it, you were standing in the throne room with Eris on his knees. One of Amarantha's sentries had a whip in his hands. "This is what you get for disobeying my command. And you get to watch princess, for luring him like you did the former High Lord of Spring." She said.

You looked at Eris, then at Rhys, pleading him with your eyes to do something, anything to stop this from happening. Rhys just tilted his head and stood beside Amarantha. Of course he thought Eris tried to pull you out and he would gladly see Eris punished over you.

The sound of the whip rang out, skin ripping underneath it. Beron and his other sons stood, stoically watching the punishment.

"How many month ago was it? 5? You've been sneaking around 5 months?" She asked. You weren't even sneaking around, you were simply walking. "5 more." She said and you struggled against the sentries holding you back. "Oh and another 5 for all those months lying to me." She said.

More sounds of the whip. More skin ripping. You watched as Eris clenched his teeth, never yielding a yell or scream. Like he had endured this before. You, on the other hand, were silently crying. You desperately tried to hold back your tears, but you couldn't.

After the final sound of the whip crack rang out, Eris sagged to the floor. "And 10 more, because I don't like hurting my friends." She said.

"Stop!" You screamed, an instinctual tug at your gut telling you he would bleed out if he received any more. "I'll do anything, stop this. Eris didn't do anything wrong." You begged, the sentries yanking you back as your legs almost gave out from under you.

Rhys shot you a look that essentially told you to shut your mouth, but you didn't see it. You were staring into Amarantha's cold eyes.

"Anything?" She asked. When you let out a whimper and nodded, a side smirk came to her red lips. "What about agreeing to be locked in sweet Eris's room under I die?" She asked. "Seems like a fair trade, since you disobeyed my command of not going outside. And you can't roam the halls with him either."

You let out a gulp, hearing a small whisper from Eris telling you not to do it. "So long as you, or anyone of your behalf, hurts him again. I will stay in his room." You said.

"Unless I command you out to court, you will stay in his room. And I, nor anyone on my behalf, will not hurt him. Until I die." She said.

You stood up straighter, feeling Rhys's eyes on you. "We have a bargain." You said.

"That we do." She said as you used your magic to imprint a tattoo on your back, right where Eris's scars would be. In doing so, you did the same for Amarantha, who only smirked more. "Take him to a healer. And take her to the room." She said. You stumbled as they pushed you towards the giant doors. You watched as Eris's sagging body was hauled up by his brothers, nearly sobbing at the sight of him.

As the sentries pushed you through Eris's room's door and shut it behind you, you suddenly realized what you agreed to. You were going to be trapped in this room forever. Unless she wanted to torment you more. Or she died.

What did you just do?

Part Two

A/N: This was so much longer than I expected and it's not even finished yet.. There will be at least another part! Hope you all enjoyed!

Taglist

#loving flames fic #acotar #katie writes #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #eris fic

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appropriatelystupid · 2 years

Note

where are you (not) ordering suits? inquiring suit-minded folk want to know

the place i’m currently trying to stop myself from ordering too many suits from is kirrin finch

#i got a navy suit from them that i wore to my stepsisters wedding and i haven’t seen pics from the ceremony yet but i think it was made well #for me. especially since the pants length doesn’t require any tailoring for my height which is always nice because i hate dealing with that #anon #appropriatelyasked #stupidlyanswered

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amjustagirl · 26 days

Text

chapter 4

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 5k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

When you blink open your eyes, you find yourself back in the Hoshina family estate.

The garden is exactly as you remember it. Bonsai trees, neatly manicured. The white gravel ocean raked with ripple lines. Heat shimmers off the ground, harsh summer sun bearing down on the tiled roof. A young man with dark hair and sad, violet eyes sits across you.

“Soshiro”, you cry, fumbling to your feet.

He looks right through you even when you’re standing right before him.

He’s wearing the navy hakama he reserves for formal occasions, the family crest embroidered in gold thread on the back, a ceremonial katana strapped to his hip. Something’s about to happen, you realise, the compound bustling with servants carrying paper lanterns. No one pays you any notice as you float behind him down the familiar corridors of the house, a ghost.

His father approaches, severe lines running through his forehead. “You know your duty”, he claps his son’s shoulder with a heavy hand.

Soshiro’s shoulders slump, an invisible weight bearing down on him.

His duty awaits outside the estate’s gates.

A young woman, clearly noble born, waits for them to greet her with her chin in the air, dolled up in matrimonial white, surrounded by a retinue of servants. She tilts her chin higher to assess her groom as he offers her his arm before bowing her head demurely, letting him help her up the stairs.

The sun in your eyes forces you to turn away. Another woman catches your gaze, the profile of her face backlit in the blue-grey dusk. Rough hands, a cheap, cotton yukata, she hides in the shade. Her anguish is apparent in the defeated curve of her mouth.

She’s you, you realise, with even sadder eyes.

This is a dream, you tell yourself. A shitty, crappy excuse of a dream that you probably caused by drinking one too many cans of beer. You really should take better to maintain a healthy REM cycle, maybe pick up some meditation or exercise, because heaven knows your psyche will suffer if your subconsciousness decides to torture you in your sleep too.

You close your eyes.

You still don’t find yourself back in your bed. Instead, the stench of manure hits you, then the scratch of straw under your feet. That sad girl - you, in another life perhaps, kneels before the same dark haired boy, Soshiro, still as a statue.

“The horse is saddled. We can ride somewhere, far away where no one knows either of our names, leave all of this behind. You don’t have to get married to a woman you don’t love -”

He’s carved of marble in the moonlight, doesn’t move to meet her gaze, not even when she tugs at his sleeve. “I am but a second son, but even I know my duty to my clan.”

“And what about love?” she asks. “What about me?”

Neither of them notice you when you tumble out of the stable into the night. But there’s nothing but darkness looming before you, the moon nowhere to be seen, and when you turn back, the stable has disappeared. In its place, a familiar, wooden hut, where a fire grows. The heat of the forge stings your face, ash flying, the smell of burning steel in the air.

This time, Soshiro’s in the lacquered leather of a samurai warrior from centuries past. “Is it ready?” he directs his question at the woman in the forge.

Wordlessly, she hands him the sword in her hand, red hot from hammer and tongs. He weighs it in his hand, swings it once, twice, flashing quicksilver in the dim light of the blacksmith’s forge. You recognise the blade. You’ve seen it hung up in one of many sitting rooms in the Hoshina estate, captioned as belonging to a Hoshina ancestor who never returned home.

You understand why her voice quivers when she calls out to him before he leaves. “My lord”, she says. “Will you ever lay down your sword?”

“Perhaps in another life”, he replies.

In the shadow of the forge, the violets in his eyes wither and die.

You cannot bear to watch this play out before you again and again, a twisted loop you’re powerless to stop. There is nothing you can do to shock yourself awake, a ghost in every lifetime you freefall through, so bone weary, you stop running, sink to your knees. Wherever you are, the nightmares stop once you close your eyes. The damp grass is cool against your back, the darkness becomes soothing. It’s easy to lose yourself to a deep, undisturbed sleep.

(wake up)

The thrum of your heartbeat starts to still. You think you hear a faint echo. It sounds like Soshiro.

For the first time in your life, you hesitate to answer.

(please, wake up)

“But it’s comfortable here”, you say to no one at all. “I’m so tired.”

The neverending grind of work, of long hours spent hunched over glowering flames and complicated weapon blueprints. The dull ache of heartbreak, the painful lesson of learning to be okay alone.

“Let me sleep”, you whisper.

The darkness holds you close, blankets you. It’s too easy to let yourself just be, no one to disappoint, no one who disappoints. You let yourself be pulled beneath the tide, the endless ebb and flow lulling you into a dreamless slumber.

Perhaps you could be content like this.

Perhaps not. You think of the menagerie of plants you’ve gathered, they depend on you for food and water. There’s a pottery class on Sunday that you’ve been excited to attend, an abstract pot that you want to attempt. You’re supposed to meet your mother for tea, you’re looking forward to feasting on peaches, in season in the dying weeks of summer.

Your eyelids are still heavy with the weight of sleep, but you force them open. A streak of pain that shoots through your right side, but you slowly sit up anyway. A sea of hydrangeas, shimmering violet-blue in the early morning light stretches before you.

An achingly familiar voice calls your name. You lift your face to meet the rising sun, feeling its warmth flicker through you.

Your heart begins to hum.

You’re not in your own bed when you crack your eyes open.

The room is too white, too pin-neat. There are clear tubes running from your arms, bandages restricting even your slightest movement, not that you really can do much other than shift about the too-narrow bed you’ve found yourself in, the sudden brightness disorienting you.

“Oh!”, an unfamiliar voice exclaims. “Call the doctor, she’s awake!”

Your head threatens to split open. It hurts too much to stay awake.

You fall back into a dreamless sleep.

You drift in and out of consciousness after that, the pull of sleep still irresistible, but you stay awake for longer periods of time. Doctors poke and prod at you, nurses fuss over you. It’s hard to recall any conversations you have during this time, your memories melding almost into your dreams.

People ask you questions about your name, your age, where you’re from. It feels as if you’re stuck underwater, it’s a struggle to gasp for enough air at times to answer them, but you think you find enough brain cells to rub together in the cotton wool jumble in your head, mumble the right answers so they go away.

Your parents show up to visit you.

‘’Llo”, you mutter. Your father looks strangely old, your mother tired.

You’re pleased that your mother brings chopped peaches for you, less so when you realise you have no ability to swallow solid food just yet. They disappear for a hushed conversation with the doctors, leaving you with little distraction so you drop back off to sleep.

The next time you wake, the room is dark.

Even in the dim glow of machines beeping, you make out the faint outline of a boy you know too well, curled up uncomfortably in a plastic chair. “S‘ro”, you mumble, half asleep.

A flurry of movement. He appears by your uninjured side, staring at you wide-eyed, as if he doesn’t believe you won’t disappear. You wonder if he’s another figment of your dreams because he stands so still drinking his fill of you, until he remembers to breathe again.

“Hey”, he says hoarsely.

“Mmph”, you grunt. In your vague, rambling train of thoughts, you register surprise that he’s even here. “S’ work?”

His laugh is wet. “Are you seriously askin’ me ‘how’s work’ right now?”

You frown. Why - why is Soshiro even here?

“I’m here for you, silly”, a warm hand settles on your left arm. “Go back to sleep. I’ll seeya later.”

You start to stay awake for longer stretches at a time.

Your parents gently fill you in on your situation. You were touch and go for a while, your mother recounts tearfully, your head injury making the doctors doubt you’d ever wake. You had to be cut open to stop internal bleeding in your gut, fix a multitude of shattered bones in your right hip and leg. Burns, on your shoulder and arm which required skin grafts, extensive medication to keep infection at bay.

Everyone treats you like you’re made out of glass even as your condition steadily improves, aided by the wonders of kaiju regenerative technology. Your parents fuss over you like a child, tucking you in too tight beneath starched hospital sheets. The nurses refuse to let you shower, only allowing you sponge baths which you detest.

Soshiro’s the worst of the lot.

At first it's endearing how protective and sweet he is. The doctors give him a wide berth, most of the nurses terrified of him, though he swears that he’s been utterly polite when you question him about it. He doesn’t allow you to do anything yourself, not even hold your own cup of water when you drink. Your bedside is overflowing with colourful greeting cards, half of them signed by him, and he brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers during each visit.

“That boy is besotted with you”, one of the nurses who isn’t intimidated by Soshiro trills in with her unsolicited opinion. “It’s adorable.”

He’s not”, you deny, frowning. “We’re just friends.”

It’s a little too much. The only visitor who doesn’t smother you is Sochiro, who snaps back to his usual self the minute you show a little of your usual snark. “Did you break your head too?” you ask, when he arrives bearing a hamper of fruit.

“Impertinent brat”, he snaps back. “I’ll have you know my father put me up to this.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s where your brother got his manners from. Pity you don’t have any.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t storm out of the room. Instead, he brandishes a small, silver knife and starts peeling fruit. “I never wanted a younger sibling”, he grouses. “Should’ve dropped Soshiro in the drain the minute he was born, then I’d never have to deal with your smart mouth -.”

“Aww”, you coo. “Hoshina Sochiro, Captain of the Sixth Division, getting soft in your old age.”

“Shut it”, he snaps, while stuffing perfect wedges of fruit into your palm.

It reminds you of the easy friendship you had with Soshiro, not the way he’s behaving, almost as if he feels anything more than friendship for you - which he’s confirmed to your face that he mostly does not. It confuses you, the tender way he treats you, the lingering stares when he thinks you’re asleep, and you much prefer him to go back to the way he was before.

“Stop it!” you finally burst, when his smothering becomes too overwhelming. “Treat me like your friend - not like I’m some glass figurine you’re trying to keep safe.”

A plastic chair screeches back. He stares at you. “Do you even realise how close you were to dyin’?”

“Sorta”, you reply, though some gaps remain empty in your memories, “but I’m okay now, and ‘sides, what happened was just bad luck -”

“No it wasn’t just luck”, he replies. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Something shutters behind his eyes. “It’s my fault you’re hurt.” He angles himself away from you. “I crashed into your building.”

“The kaiju threw you into the building”, you correct. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He lunges forward to grip your bed rail, his sudden intensity scaring you. “I could’ve been the cause of you dyin’-”

“My head’s pretty hard”, you try to diffuse the building tension with a joke. “Would take more than a fallin’ building to kill me.”

He makes a strangled sound of outrage in his throat. “Don’t. Just - don’t.”

His tone is devoid of its usual lightness. He’s - he’s angry, scared, face twisting into a scowl, body coiling, as if preparing for an attack. “You’re upset”, you murmur. “Don’t be.”

“You could’ve died.”

“Hey”, you beckon him forward, lifting your uninjured hand off the bed to place it on top of his. He grasps at it, a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

“It’s okay”, you say gently. “I’m okay.”

“Promise me you’ll stay safe.”

“I’ll try my best”, you offer.

An angry sound escapes through his clenched jaw, his face strained. You brush the skin of his wrist with your thumb until the too-quick staccato of his pulse steadies.

“Go to sleep”, he finally says. “Just stay safe.”

After that, something shifts. Soshiro resumes the mantle of his chaotic, goofy self.

“I’m gonna yell at you when you’re better”, Soshiro huffs the next time he visits. “A daikaiju -it was a nine on the fortitude scale, y’know - decides to attack near you, and you not only choose to stay put, you run back into a collapsing building for whatever reason -”

“I was trying to save some of the blades -”

“How about you focus on savin’ your own damn skin -”

You sniff, deliberately closing your eyes. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Oi”, he grounds out. “Stop pretendin’.”

The reappearance of the playful banter you’re used to sharing with him puts you back at ease. “Don’t you need to sleep too?” you ask, staring pointedly at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. “In a bed, not a hospital chair that’s going to give you a crooked neck.”

“S’fine”, he always replies. “Still way more comfortable than sleepin’ out in a forest durin’ kaiju hunts.”

“Still”, you insist. “You don’t have to visit me so often. I know how busy you are with work.”

He squints at you. “Do you not want me to be here?”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it -”

“Sometimes work can take a backseat.”

You beckon him forward, place a hand against his forehead. “No fever”, you pronounce. “That’s odd - the Hoshina Soshiro I know would never say that unless his mind is addled by illness-”

He pulls away with a splutter, cheeks a furious pink.

But awkward moments like this remain, no matter how much you try to keep your conversations light, breezy. There’s a tension Soshiro carries, especially apparent in the broad lines of his shoulders. He’s nervy, jumpy almost, the unguarded hitch in his breath when he draws in just a little too close. There’s something he’s keeping in, deep inside his chest that keeps trying to explode out of him whenever he’s not careful.

There’s a glimpse of that when you tell him of your plan to move back to Osaka to continue recuperating under your parents’ roof. You’ll miss your apartment where you navigated much of your young adult life, the routines you’ve built for yourself. But you’re tired of living in the hospital, sleeping on a too-hard bed, without much privacy from nurses who pop in and out of your room at odd hours at all times. Your parents agree to ferry you to check-ups and appointments, and they even got your brother to transport your plants to make you feel more at home.

“You’re not leavin’ for good, surely”, he frowns.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug. “Izumo Tech does have offices in Osaka, and there isn’t much tying me to Tokyo anymore.

There’s a sudden lull in the conversation as Soshiro falls silent, face stricken. He opens his mouth as if to speak, once, twice, before shutting it deliberately, Then his face slackens into a childish pout.

“Don’t go”, he whines. “Who would I hang out with when I’m off-duty?”

Caught off guard from this sudden change in mood, you refrain from pointing out that you’d each taken turns to studiously ignore the other before. “You’ll survive”, you pat his hand. “And, on the rare occasions you actually find the time away from work, you’re always welcome to visit me in Osaka.”

“I will”, he replies, so seriously that your traitorous heart skips a beat.

“I doubt you’ll get enough time off work”, you brush him off lightly before changing the subject.

You don’t expect him to visit, not when Osaka is two and a half hours away from Tokyo on the shinkansen, but he turns up at the doorstep of your parents’ apartment with roses, dusty pink like the flush up his neck.

“Hoshina-kun”, your mother exclaims. “Come on in!”

Something is up. Your mother bustles around, ushers him into your room, lays out before him an offering of cut fruit. Surprised at the tableau before you, you blink, looking up from your book.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I do have days off, y’know.” He says, easing you into your wheelchair.

“Thought you said killing kaijus isn’t a nine to five job”, you remind him pertly.

He tweaks your nose. “Don’t be smart”, his eyes crinkle as he laughs, rolling you out of the confines of your parent’s house to a nearby park to enjoy the crisp cool autumn breeze, settling you down in the shade beneath a sprawling gingko tree.

“Well, how’s work?”

He considers you with a sideways glance. “I refuse to answer”, he says primly. “If I do, you’ll make use of it to accuse me of being obsessed with my job.”

“Aren’t you?”

“This is exactly what I mean”, he throws his hands out dramatically. “Shouldn’t you just be happy I’m here -”

“Actually”, you tease. “Isn’t the train fare really expensive? Can you afford that on your pay?”

“The Defense Force’s generous enough to give me food, clothing and a roof over my head”, he replies drolly. “So I think my bank account can take the occasional hit.” Then, he shoots another mock glare your way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna talk about work or anything related to work.”

“Then I guess there’s nothing else to talk about”, you tap your chin thoughtfully.

“Idiot”, he wrinkles his nose. “We haven’t even talked about how you’re doing.”

“Me?”

Exaggeratedly, he takes a look around. “I don’t see anyone else I could be askin’ about -”

“You wanna hear about my boring doctor appointments?”

His eyes are wide, earnest. “I wanna hear about everything.”

The sudden seriousness of his demeanour catches you off-kilter. Haltingly you tell him about the long check-ups that take hours, the doctors being optimistic about your progress, the physiotherapy sessions you’ve started. You’re slowly starting to walk again, a few steps at a time, giving you hope that you’ll be on your own two feet by the time of your brother’s wedding at the end of fall, even if you have to rely a little on crutches.

“I’m talking too much”, you say, looking down at your lap.

“Don’t stop”, he urges. “Keep talkin’.”

A snort. “You’re gonna get sick of the sound of my voice”,

“What a silly thing to say”, his gaze holds yours, steady, sure.

There’s something impossibly soft in his eyes, a tenderness in the curve of his mouth. You don’t dare to put a name to it yet, don’t even dare to look too closely at it lest you lose yourself to daydreams that can’t possibly be true. Yet, in the purpling dusk, even though the seasons dictate that there be no summer flowers this late in the fall, there’s a bud of hope in your heart that starts to unfurl, petal by petal, twining itself between the ribs of your chest.

(i like you)

(i’m sorry)

You remind yourself that your heart is not quite healed. Stitches remain, fleshy scars pink and raised. Ventricles working overtime to compensate for the damage he’s wrought just months prior. Mercilessly, you prune those hopes like unwanted weeds, chopping away at errant stems and leaves.

“I’m tired”, you break away from his gaze. “Shall we call it a day?”

He makes it difficult for you to safeguard your heart.

Once a week, he makes the trek from Tokyo to Osaka without fail, appearing at your parents’ door with a bouquet of flowers and a bag bursting with fruit, whatever is in season - peaches and peonies, apples and chrysanthemums. Picnics when it’s sunny, cafes or supermarkets when it rains. Your mother has a sudden change of heart regarding him, always asking you when he’s coming to take you out next.

“Seriously, don’t you have work?” you demand. “You can’t keep coming down here, it’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” he asks quietly.

“It is”, you reply. “It’s a waste of your time and money.”

With careful, calloused fingers, he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. “What must I do to make you believe it’s really, really not.”

You flinch, cramming your thrumming heart back into the confines of your chest. “You’re ridiculous”, you say as calmly as you can. If your leg weren’t still broken, you’d flee in the other direction, put as much distance as you can between you and Hoshina Soshiro, for fear of losing your heart again to him.

He’s relentless, a quality that makes him an excellent swordsman and soldier, though it does not bode well for your heart. You spend the next few weeks keeping your conversations light, unsentimental, refusing to allow that unnamed emotion budding in his eyes flourish any further, he remains undeterred. You catch him watching you sometimes, with something you don’t dare to name that bleeds into you, spreading the seeds of hope deep in your gut.

“I’ll be back next week to see you”, he always says. “Stay safe.”

You should tell him to leave you alone, let you replant your heart in another pot, give it a chance to learn to stop looking towards him for his light. But the words choke in your throat, and it’s all you can do to look the other way.

You don’t get any respite even at your own brother’s wedding.

It’s too large, too crowded an occasion, your parents booking out a banquet hall in an upscale hotel to cram in their swarms of guests. As the younger sister of the groom, you’re expected to greet each and every guest, thank them for their attendance even if you’d much rather be at home, warm and snug in bed. Instead, your head threatens to split open, your hip’s on the verge of falling apart. You curse your stubbornness in insisting against bringing your wheelchair, the crutches you lean on cutting into the tender flesh of your underarms.

“Did anyone tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”

As it was in your dreams, he’s in a haori, deep blue with golden thread, but this time he looks right at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t seem to swallow your heart back down your throat.

“Save your flirting for my cousins”, you retort, turning away. “They’re all aflutter at meeting you tonight.”

He doesn’t let you flee. An arm loops around your waist, sears through the silk layers of your kimono and smoulders. “You’re cranky cos you’re tired, so let me help you.”

You blame your capitulation on the absence of your wheelchair, not because you’re light headed from the sudden surge of helpless affection in your gut, as much as you refuse to allow yourself to believe his words. You let him steer you into your seat, palm flat against your back, heat suffusing into your skin.

“I’ll be here if you need me”, he says simply.

You don’t need him, you want to say, you can’t, but your mouth can’t seem to form the words when he leans in, tucks a stray strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, his touch feather light.

“Vice Captain Hoshina!?” As you foresaw, a gaggle of younger cousins goggle at him, drag him away for selfies and autographs. You don’t get a chance to speak with him again once the wedding starts, the seating plan placing him with his parents and other business associates of your parents, a few tables away.

The sheer scale and grandeur of your brother’s wedding isn’t what you’d have chosen for yourself, the cavernous ballroom feeling too large and impersonal, speeches dragging on for too long, but your brother and your new sister seem to radiate contentment, though you suspect the champagne toasts might have helped.

As the sister of the groom, you’re the target of your older aunts’ inquiry as to ‘when it’s your turn next’, never mind that you burrow into your seat, trying to disappear from sight, and when that fails miserably, try to divert their attention to anything, anyone but yourself. If you had full use of your legs, you’d make a hasty retreat by now, but you’re so painfully slow on your crutches that you’re sure even the oldest grandma questioning you on your dating status (or lack thereof) would be able to catch up with you.

“Ladies”, a smooth voice cuts in. “How are you all doin’ tonight?”

A boyish smile with a cheeky snaggletooth works wonders on elderly ladies, you learn. It gives you the chance to slip away to the bathroom, splash water on your face, shackle your heart back in place.

This brief reprieve doesn’t last long. Soshiro emerges from the shadows, pushing off the wall to pad quietly behind you.

“What are you doing here?” you demand. “You should be back inside -”

“I’m here to make sure you’re safe”, he replies. “Unless you don’t want me to make sure you don’t fall and crack your pretty head open?”

“Stop it”, you say crossly, your crutches clacking loudly on the floor as you speed up, trying to put some distance between you two. “You’re giving everyone the wrong impression.”

He follows right on your heels. “Perhaps I’m givin’ the right impression -”

“Just - just stop, Soshiro.”

You burst through glass doors to push your way onto the open rooftop in the hope that the nighttime air will cool the heat rising in your cheeks, but you miss your step, crutches sliding on marble tiles and oof -

Warm arms wrap tightly around you. You tell yourself it’s the shock of your almost-fall that makes you sag against a broad, lean chest, compliantly allowing Soshiro to tuck your face into his shoulders, settle an arm beneath your thighs, carrying you over onto a seat. A thick, rich fabric rests on your shoulders - his haori, you realise, the warmth from his body seeping into your skin.

“Are you hurt?” he drops to one knee in front of you.

The intensity of his gaze flays your chest open, exposing your beating heart, its stitches frayed. The spectre of the girl with sad eyes haunts you, leaving you terrified that you’ll suffer the same fate as her in this lifetime too.

“I need you to stop”, you shove him back, a trapped animal brandishing its claws. “I want you to leave me alone. I don’t want your pity -”

“Pity?!” he falls back on his haunches, gaping at you, incredulous. “Is that what you think it is?”

“What else could it be?” you demand wetly, eyes stinging. “Nevermind, I changed my mind, I don’t want to know -”

“Haven’t I made it obvious these past few months?” he asks, and you shake your head stubbornly, no. “What I feel for you - I’ve been goin’ crazy from the moment they told me a buildin’ fell on your head, so fuckin’ terrified I was goin’ to lose you just as I realised how stupid I’ve been -”

Your head swims. “I don’t -”

“I’ve loved you since I was eight. I just didn’t realise it til I nearly lost you.”

You push aside the clouds of anger and fear blurring your vision. You see Hoshina Soshiro kneeling before you, slicing his chest open with your blade to reveal his heart, pressing it bloodied and beating into your waiting hands.

In this lifetime, in this moment, he is yours and you are his.

There is no guarantee that this will remain. Duty will always call upon him, and he will answer without fail. That is his destiny, as much as he is yours. Realisation crashes into you, relentless waves pulling you underwater. You will have to share him with the rest of Japan, possibly the world. This too shall end, be it tomorrow or years down the road if fate smiles down on you both.

But even if his heart belongs to you for no more than a day, it’s enough. It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“You love me.”

“Yeah”, he murmurs, moving so impossibly close that you see the violets in the depths of his eyes in full bloom. “And I kinda think you love me too.”

Instead of answering, you tug him towards you, tangle your fingers in dark hair, let your lips press against the seam of his lips. He doesn’t give you the chance to breathe, arm curling around your waist, his hand cupping your face so he can tilt your chin up to pour himself into you. You drink him in, greedy to take what you can get, mouth open against his, lost to the raging current of want, of love that pulls you beneath the waves.

“I think I do”, you say softly.

Hoshina Soshiro smiles at you, wider and brighter than the moon.

a/n: i hope this chapter soothes the anxiety from last week heh :>

squeal at me pls! muacks always <3

#hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro #hoshina soushirou #kaiju no. 8

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defensenow · 2 months

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0mg-bird · 2 months

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How To Breathe ~ B. Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bradley would drop everything to help you, his girl, get through hard things.

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attack! Talks of mental disorder.

For the longest time, you’ve felt like a burden when it comes to these episodes. No one understood what to say when you suddenly couldn’t breathe and the feeling of the world got too heavy. No one could comfort you until Bradley came along.

He never judged, in fact, when you told him about these panic attacks that strike you, he told you he was no stranger to anxiety. He felt the overwhelming feeling too sometimes, but he quickly learned the difference between the two of you, the first time you broke down around him.

Over the years, you’ve learned ways to subside these episodes, you determined triggers, you sought out medication to try and keep these things at bay.

Sometimes though, all the steps you take of prevention, just don’t work.

It was a beautiful night, you were dressed to the nines, along with many other women who accompanied their Navy men to this ceremony. Your hair was pinned up, showing off your shoulders, the neckline of your dress was tasteful in showing your delicate collarbones and the soft tops of your breasts. It was a deep midnight color that Bradley adored. In fact, it was hard for him to keep his hands off of you and act professional all night.

He had disappeared with some of the boys and you stood in the corner of the room with women you were introduced to by Bob’s wife. They were kind enough, though a few were more passive aggressive. They talked about nonsense really, they unfaithfulness they’ve had to deal with in the early parts of their marriage, all their questions about when you’ll have kids, why you don’t have kids and why you aren’t married. You felt the itch start, the one that made you feel a little dizzy and made it hard to swallow. You took a deep breath and pushed through, then one of the older women insisted on dragging you through the crowd and introducing you to many other wives who threw silent judgement your way.

The music that played was loud, you constantly bumped into people which made you constantly apologize. Your stomach flipped, your chest started to hurt, you looked around for a familiar face and they were all gone. You were in a sea of people all looking at you like you shouldn’t be there.

Here it came, the crash of panic.

Your breath quickened, you gulped for air and spun around, trying to find your way back to the people you knew. You pushed past people, a hand splayed over your chest.

“You made it back alive.” Bob’s wife, Lindsey, had joked before she took in your appearance. She sees the look of your blown eyes and drained face. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak, your head shook. “I need air.” You managed to croak.

Immediately, she rushes you from the event halls ballroom and quickly pulled you through the corridors. You pass Maverick and Jake who were in a discussion with other Captains, once they seen you blow by, there concern grew too.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Jake had asked, him and Mav following after the two of you. He pulled open the big doors that led to the back steps.

You were overwhelmingly embarrassed that more people had to see you like this, looking frail, tears clouding your vision as you heaved in and out.

You tried to hide this part of you from everyone, but because of the closeness Mav and Bradley had, Mav knew what this was.

“Where’s Rooster?” He questioned.

“Bob will know.” Lindsey said, moving her grip away and letting you lean on Jake- who is still wildly confused. “Follow me, Mav.” She rushes back inside, the manhunt for the pilot was on.

“Okay, you’re fine.” Jake panicked, looking around for a solution. He placed a firm hand on your arm, but you were so dazed with your thoughts blaring at you, you didn’t know what was happening. You leaned your weight against him, your frame still shaking.

Bradley had been in another room, catching up with pilots he hadn’t seen in a while. Utterly relaxed with a glass in his hand, he didn’t expect the way the door bursted open.

“Rooster, you need to come quick.” Lindsey rushed out, confusing the room.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, standing from his leaned position against a table.

Mav looked at him knowingly. “You’re needed outside immediately.”

Rooster put the pieces together, then he was off without another word. His dress shoes clacked against the flooring as he rushed to the open door to the back gardens. He could see your frame and the way Jake held you, his mind raced because even though he and Jake were good now, he wanted to shove his hands off of his perfect girl.

“Rooster I don’t know what’s wrong with her-” Jake began to explain, but Bradley only gave him a look to shut it. “It’s fine Hangman, she’s okay.”

“She’s hyperventilating!” Jake gently nudged you away from him.

“Don’t yell.” Bradley said in a low warning voice as the loud tone made you quake. He pulls you from Jake, then looks to the others in the doorway. “She’s fine, go back inside.”

They weren’t going to question Bradley, not when it came to you.

As they leave, he gains a more softer persona. “Hey, honey. It’s alright.” He coos, holding your face in his hands. Your makeup smeared from your hot tears, your lips wobble. “I…can’t…breathe.” It comes out broken, he just nods.

“Yes you can, breathe with me.”

“No!” You snap, squirming. “This dress- it’s too tight- I can’t breathe.”

Immediately, Bradley reaches behind you and yanks at the zipper, the force of it rips the material of the dress in some parts. It loosens the tight bodice of the dress and immediately you sob with relief.

“There we go, it’s all okay. This will be over soon, don’t let those thoughts tell you otherwise wise.” He reaches for your fisted hand. He spreads your fingers out, then pulls at the buttons of his dress uniform until he can slide your hand over his chest, pressing it against his ironed shirt so you can feel his steady heartbeat.

“You remember your breathing?” His voice is soft and a lulling comfort. “Come on, breathe in through your nose and hold it, then out through your mouth.”

“I can’t.” You shake your head, but he persists, on hand holding yours to his chest, his other holding the side of your neck. “Yes you can, you’re my brave girl, I know you can.”

Together, you breathe. He feels the pulse in your neck start slow and he wants to sigh with relief.

“Good job, baby. That’s my girl, keep breathing for me. Good girl.”

Your vision clears, you gaze up at him with reddened eyes. The storm is passing and here he was at the end of it.

“I’m sorry.” Are the first calm words from your mouth.

“No, don’t ever be sorry.” He smooths the top of your hair.

It sniffle. “I hate how I’m like this, always raining on parades.”

Bradley shake his head. “You never ruin anything, things like this just happen, my girl.”

You lean your body into him, arms heavy to fully wrap around him so you just grasp the sides of his coat. His strong arms are warm as they wrap around you, like a security blanket, instantly soothing you.

“You want to go home?” He asks and you don’t lift your head to nod, he just feels the movement on his chest.

Bradley only pulls back to slip his coat off and wrap it around you instead, trying to hide the back of your ripped dress. Your hands wrap around his arm as the two of you walk back inside. He stops to say goodbye to Maverick, explaining everything was fine but he was going to take you home.

You were quiet the whole ride, much like your two bedroom home when you arrive.

“Are you hungry?” Bradley asks.

“No.” You answer, laying the coat over the back of the couch and kick your heels off. He kisses the top of your head. “Why don’t you take a hot shower? That’ll help with the headache.”

You loved the way he always knew you, always knew the symptoms that come afterwards, always knew how to help.

You nod, making your way to the shared master bedroom. Your clothes fall into a pile on the floor, you walk into the bathroom and wrap a robe around yourself. In front of the mirror, you struggle to pull all the pins that hold your thick hair up.

“Brad!” You call out, sighing with defeat.

After a second, he’s coming in behind you. You look up at him through the reflection. “I can’t get my hair down.” You explain.

Without a complaint, he starts dropping your hair pins onto the counter. Soon, your curls are falling down softly.

The warm water falls down like rainfall as you enter the shower, you let your head fall forward as the tension in your body leaves. You rub at your face, wiping clean of any salty tears and makeup.

Bradley joins you after a moment, leaving a kiss on your wet shoulder. You turn to face him, a small smile on your lips.

“Ah, there’s my girl.” He grins, which in return makes you grin.

You stare up at him, determining that he was the love of your life and nothing was going to change that.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, seeing your deep look.

You shrug. “I’m just thinking that you’d be the best husband a girl could ask for and yet you won’t ask me to be your wife.”

Bradley laughs then pulls you into him, his hands holding the sides of your face. “You want to be tied to me forever?” He asks in sarcasm, as if you’re supposed to say no.

You nod instead. “I want to be the other half of you, I want you to be the better half of me forever.”

His eyebrows knit together like they always do when he’s feeling some sort of raw emotion. He leans his forehead down to rest against yours. “I’d be lying if I said marrying you wasn’t on my mind all the time.” He says.

Your fingers run through his wet hair. “But it’s soon.”

“A year is long enough for me if it’s long enough for you.”

You laugh, it’s a sweet melody he loves to hear, especially after an evening like the one you had. You lean up on your toes slightly to kiss him, warm water rushes around the two of you but it’s not an inconvenience. Bradley’s grip tightens ever so slightly, his lips pressed against yours in a sort of hunger, like you’re the only thing that can fill him. You pull away slowly, eyes still shut as you chew your bottom lip, thinking.

Your bright eyes open once you’ve found your words. “People get married sooner, all the time.” You declare, giving him your answer.

He fights a boyish vandal grin. “This is not a proposal.” He claims. “But it’s a promise of one, soon.”

Your mind might be a war zone, you might believe you’re damaged at this point, but here stood the strongest man you knew, and he’s washing your hair for you. His rough hands are utterly gentle as they help wash your skin, they’re wrapping a towel around you and leading you out of the shower. He’s pushing all those lies away, the only thing inside you now was a fuzzy burn of utter admiration and love. He falls asleep first, facing you, an arm snug around your waist and you’re left to trace the features of his face with your eyes. In this soft moment, wrapped in bedsheets, you determine that you might drown your entire life.

But he’ll teach you how to breathe.

#top gun fandom #top gun maverick #fluff #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader

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gaysindistress · 7 months

Text

gif credits to @sebastianstannibal

Here's part two to the fake dating drabble I wrote for @bucks-and-noble's Valentrope fest

warnings: smut and lowkey violence but not to f!reader. plain and simple this is porn. please do not read if you're a minor.

bucky's masterlist | main masterlist

“I’m apologizing right now for what you’re about to walk into.”

Bucky clears his throat and readjusts in the driver’s seat as we slowly drive down the long driveway lined with manicured hedges.

“What are you talking about?”

The wedding that I dragged him to is for a friend that Bucky isn’t particularly fond of, something I neglected to mention but I knew he wouldn’t agree if I told him. Honestly I’m surprised that he hasn’t caught on yet with how many signs we’ve passed on the way to the venue. He’s been rather distracted stealing glances at me.

“Aw fuck,” he curses when he finally does see the biggest sign yet. “This is Maisie’s wedding, isn’t it?”

Cocking my head at him, I bat my lashes and pout my lips, “Forgive me?”

He inhales sharply. Against his better judgment, glances at my glossy lips and then to my chest. The sweetheart neckline as well as the bias cut of my navy dress is exactly why I chose to wear it. Bucky’s always had a wandering eye when it comes to ‘an angel in the flesh’ as he puts it but right now it’s down right sinful. He’s eyeing me like the Devil lurks beneath his matching navy Armani suit and he’s ready to devour me whole.

“You owe me after this,” he finally says with a dramatic sigh.

The ceremony went exactly how I imagined it would ourlPampas grass, dried sage, and red flora that I’ve never seen before covers every inch of the aisle as well as every other surface. Burnt orange cheesecloths drape from the trees, the six different wood arches, and run across all of the tables. The signs that Maisie definitely had her bridal party help her make are everywhere and written on them are sayings that Bucky can’t stop making jokes about.

“Babe, I can’t make this up. That sign says ‘This way to buffet, booze, and bad dance moves.’ What ring of hell is this?”

“Oh my god, Bucky, you need to shut up. These are the type of people to say ‘bless your heart’ and pray for god to smite you in your sleep,” I whisper to him. I loop my arm around his and he’s quick to put his hand over the top of mine on his bicep.

“If it gets me away from this place, then I’d welcome it.”

I roll my eyes at him and keep us moving towards the open field where the reception is at.

“Y/N? Is that you?”

I tense beside my fake boyfriend and hesitantly look over my shoulder to see the one person I did not expect to see here; my ex boyfriend Marc.

“If that’s who I think that is,” Bucky grumbles and curses under his breath when he sees who it is. “I’m going to kill Maisie. Why would she invite that cunt?”

“Bucky, behave.” I mumble to him and turn to greet this cunt, “Marc, hi how are you?”

The first thing he does is look me up and down, eyes lingering on my chest just as I expected. Bucky’s arm slips from mine and finds its way around my waist where he tugs me into his side and squeezes my hip. Marc smirks at his actions as he finally makes eye contact with me.

“I’m good. I see your dog finally worked up the courage...”

Bucky cuts him by clearing his throat, “You’d do well to remember that this ‘dog’ isn’t with a bite.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Have the evening you deserve,” I tell him before I drag Bucky away and towards whatever shit bar they have.

The dog on my arm has other plans and pulls me off to the side where there’s just a tree with even more cheesecloth swinging in the wind. He glances around to make sure no one is around before letting his hardened demeanor fall away and to reveal the adorable face he makes when he’s stressed. It’s not healthy to think that someone in a vulnerable state is ‘adorable’ but I can’t help it when his brows furrows together, his jaw tenses, and he looks at me with all the concern in the world.

“Doll I need you to be honest with me right now; how many more people like that am I going to run into at this thing?”

That concern has morphed into something darker and it has me straightening my back, squaring my shoulders, and my thighs clenching.

“Well I didn’t know that he…” I trail off as Bucky draws closer. His blue eyes are piercing into the fabric of my soul the closer he gets to me and I find myself backing up to get away. Rough bark scratches at my back and my hair gets tangled into it as I crane my head up to look at the mob boss.

“I’m going to have to stop you there. Who else could be here?”

Chest heaving and breathing short, I shake my head at him. “I don’t know. I didn't see anyone else.”

A hand finds its way to my jaw and the other plants itself against the tree next to my head. He tilts my chin up and ghosts his lips over mine while calling me a good girl. My eyes flutter shut at the name and his low voice.

“Tell me your rules again.” He pulls away from me and watches me with hooded eyes as I glare at him.

“No kissing, minimal touching, and no violence,” I spit out at him.

“I think,” he starts, letting his eyes flicker to my parted lips as his thumb rubs under them, “we should revise them a bit.”

“What do you propose they be then?”

“No violence is changed to only when necessary,” his thumb presses into my bottom lip. “Minimal touching becomes whatever I see fit,” it pulls my lip down slightly. “And no kissing goes away altogether,” it slips into my mouth and I greedily wrap my lips around it, sucking at it while he lets out a shuddered breath.

I let it go with a pop and a thin line of spit breaks after his thumb comes to rest on my chin.

“What do you say, doll?”

Pushing away from the tree, I grip the lapels of his jacket and pull him flush against my chest. I push up onto my toes and flick his earlobe with my tongue before whispering, “this is all fake. You don’t get to change the rules because you don’t like them. They stay exactly as they are.”

The look of determination set on his face is immensely satisfying especially. I’ve seen how his past girls have completely submitted to him, allowing him to control every aspect of their relationship because that’s how he likes it. Bucky is a man that needs to feel powerful and stable at all times and that extends to even the smallest things. Many of our nights out have been ruined for some reason or another. Most of the time I don’t even know why, just that I’m being shuffled out the back door with a circle of heavily armed men around me while Bucky deals with the mistake.

“I know you’re not a gambler, my sweet y/n but I’d like to make a bet with you.”

I quirk a brow, “what kind of bet?”

“If you haven’t broken your rules by the end of the night, I’ll take you to Greece. If you break or even bend them, you have to go on a date with me.”

My hands stop brushing down his lapels and I stare blankly at him. “Greece and Italy. For three weeks.”

“Whatever you want, doll but,” he warns me with a finger raised between us and points it at me, “you can’t break your rules even a little bit.”

I snap at him, pretending to bite his finger and he yanks it back with a smile. “You have a bet but keep your finger to yourself.”

Bucky nods with a smile still wide on his stunning face. He backs up, giving me space to make myself presentable again before taking us back to the reception. It’s already turned into an event of debauchery and sin with guests taking shots, hitting pens, and forming a grinding circle on the dance floor.

Maisie finds me within moments and screams as she races over to me.

“Y/n babe! Oh my god! You’re here!” She shrieks and pulls me into a bone crushing hug. She has two shots in her hand and they nearly spill on my back but somehow the drink girl prevents that from happening.

Bucky chuckles before leaving us to go find drinks. Maisie shoots him a dirty glare before it turns into a drink smile and she’s vibrating with glee.

I arch a brow at her, “what was that for?”

She blinks at me. “What was what?”

“That look you gave him.”

“Ohhhhh,” she sighs and shoves a shot into my hand, “that. You know I don’t like him and now you guys are dating and ugh. He’s always such an ass and controlling and moody and I don’t understand what you see in him. He’s a dick and I just..”

“Okay okay, I get it. You don’t like him,” I roll my eyes at her, “but you said the same thing about Marc and he’s here.”

“No, there's a difference. Jake and him are friends. Also are you really arguing with me at my wedding? That’s really fucking rude,” Maisie tries to sound stern but giggles slip out between her words and her smile breaks her expression. “Come on! Come have fun with me. I wanna dance and drink and have fun! Take your shot, you pussy!”

I playfully growl at her before we both throw back the tequila shots. Before I can say something smart back, she has an iron grip on my wrist and is dragging me to the dance floor. The music pounds so loud that I feel it in my chest, worming its way around my body and getting me high off the adrenaline. Unable to feel the difference between my heartbeat and the bass, I allow it to overcome me as Maisie starts to bounce and sway in front of me. It’s as if the deep vibrations of the music are controlling and contorting our bodies in whatever way it sees fit. My eardrums feel like they might burst but the tequila is hitting faster than I thought it would and my only concern is dancing.

I find myself so completely entranced with the music, the drinking, and Maisie’s chaotic dancing that I don’t notice the big hands that find my waist. They pull me backwards causing my back to hit a solid body and the smell of familiar expensive cologne washes over me. Maisie grins as her new husband does the same to her and she turns her head so they can kiss like sloppily teenagers. The hands at my waist start to guide my hips into a lazy grind against theirs. Maisie’s overwhelming perfume masks the differences in the one behind me so much that I don’t even notice that it’s not the same as the one Bucky wears. Where I should be smelling Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille, Blue de Chanel is in its place.

My eyes flutter closed and my head drops back against the chest behind me. There’s a rumbling at my back from the chuckle that this man lets out. One of his hands leaves my waist and trails up until it’s resting on my neck. Cradling my jaw, he softly kisses under my ear before whispering, “you finally escaped your dog?”

I hear Maisie say my name and she draws my focus from the man behind me to her. She’s offering her hand out to me as she rubs her nose. There’s a thin white line across the top of her hand and her thumb.

“Maisie, is that coke?” I hiss at her and try to pull away from my dance partner. He doesn’t let me and I whip around to see that it’s Marc. The cologne makes sense now and I rip his hands off of me, “Jesus Christ get away from me!”

“Oh my god, calm down. You’re so dramatic sometimes,” Maisie whines before snorting the line she’d offered me.

Marc’s heated stare starts to get under my skin and a shutter races through me before I can stop it. My eyes frantically scan the crowd, searching for the oceanic ones that I see in my dreams every night.

They find me in moments.

A mix of emotions floods me as we lock eyes; first a wave of relief quickly followed by fear. Even from this distance I can see the tension in his shoulders, the muscle feathering in his jaw, the scowl set on his face, and the dead look in his eyes that he only gets when murder is on his mind.

Marc yanks me back into him and the countless memories of arguments and bitter looks rush back to me. When we dated he knew exactly how to piss me off, how to push every button I had and get under my skin. He would challenge me any chance he got, making me feel small and insignificant. He would say the cruelest things to invade my mind and destroy my self esteem.

“Stop fucking around, Marc.” Bucky sighs with a deep set scowl as he comes to stand before us. “Let go of her and I’ll think about letting you keep your hands.”

Marc’s grip tightens around my bicep as he scoffs, “oh I’m so scared. The big bad wolf is threatening me, whatever ever am I going to do? Fuck off Barnes.”

The crowd around us is none the wiser to the chaos that is about to erupt and quite frankly I don’t even think I know what’s about to happen. Maisie’s husband pulls her away when she tries to step between the three of us and keeps her against him. Bucky dips his head and rubs at his eyes as he lets out another annoyed sigh. He mumbles ‘alright’ as her his breath before flipping back his suit jacket, reading behind himself, and producing his favored Glock 19. It’s aimed directly at the invisible red mark between Marc’s eyes and my ex immediately drops me in favor of throwing his hands up in the air.

“Now step back,” Bucky utters as he slowly stalks towards us. I side step as best as I can to get out of the way. Marc does as he’s told and of course Bucky needs to pour salt in the wound. “The next time I see you I won’t give you a warning.”

Neither man moves until Bucky pretends to lunge forward and Marc stumbles backwards to get away. He turns his attention to Maisie while he tucks his gun away and extends a hand out to me.

“And you,” he starts with a sharp nod to her, “you do something like that again and I’ll wire your husband’s balls to a railroad track, do you understand me?”

“Bucky,” I whisper to him with a light pull on his hand but he doesn’t budge.

“Do you understand me?” He repeats and Maisie nods frantically while her husband looks pale and like he might throw up.

“Bucky,” I try again and he glances at me before squeezing my hand and leading me away.

“Excuse me!” I try again and come to a complete halt once the wedding is behind us. My hand slips from his and so does my sense of safety. Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment at my tone before going back to their usual dead expression.

He sets off in a near jog to the car, leaving me behind. “You fucking prick,” I curse before running to catch up with him. I grab his arm and force him to stop. “What the fuck was that back there?”

I apparently didn’t realize how close we were because when he turns around, we’re chest to chest. His nose is flared from how hard he’s breathing and his eyes are piercing as he stares down at me.

“No one,” he whispers as he leans into me, “gets to treat you like that.”

“I know but no violence was one of my rules and you…”

He cuts me off, “Doll, I’m not the man you seem to think I am. Who I am around you, how I act around you is not the same man everyone else sees. I wash the blood off of my hands before I visit you because I don’t want my girl to be tainted by the shit I do. I change suits so that you don’t smell the stench of guns and filth that permeates my business meetings. I keep men assigned to you around the clock so that no one gets close to you without me knowing. The man I am with you, y/n, is someone that no one else gets to see and that's the way I want to be. I don’t you to know the Bucky that my men know and that’s why I let you drag me here as your fake boyfriend and agree to your silly fucking rules. I respected the fact that you didn’t want to change them and I was fully prepared to bite my tongue but then Marc put his hands on you. That was unacceptable and I should’ve shot him right then and there but I didn’t because you would’ve never forgiven me. I can live without a lot but you aren’t someone I’m willing to give up.”

My eyes flicker to his lips, betraying my need to maintain control over my emotions and the situation. My hands drift up his arm and stop on his chest. His heart thumps steadily against my hand despite his confession and the night in general.

“I’m not willing to give you up either,” I cooed and pulled him down into a passionate kiss before he could stop me. He grunts in surprise before kissing me back with equal fire and cradling my face in his hands.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against mine, “You owe me a date.”

“Fuck off,” I mumble back and dive back into a searing kiss. His hands find my waist and pin me against him, causing his hard bulge to press into my abdomen. I can feel myself start to grow wet as he head dips down to press kisses along the curve of my neck. I inhale sharply, craning my neck further to the side to allow him more access. His lips latch onto my pulse point as my fingers lace into his hair, tugging at the short styled strands.

A particularly sharp tug causes him to groan against my skin and he pulls away to meet my lustful gaze.

“Backseat now,” he orders while taking a step back. It doesn't register what he means at first but another step away and reality sets in. I take my heels off, keeping our eyes locked as I slip off my birthday present from him last year.

“Doll,” he says slowly, “I said…”

“I heard what you said,” I throw over my shoulder as I strut past him and towards his car.

The second I open the car door his hands are gripping my waist to hoist me inside as he climbs in behind me. Bucky moves me to sit on his lap and he silences any chance of me arguing with a hungry kiss. His hands burn as they knead and grope at the silk of my dress, desperately searching for a handful of me as he licks at my lips to let his tongue in. His lips are soft, a beautiful surprise as his calloused hands as they slide against my own, no doubt smearing my lipstick all over.

Finally fed up with the silky fabric of my dress, his hands find their way under where he grabs a handful of my ass. The feeling of his warm hand against the slivers of skin that peak through my lace underwear causes us both to moan. The sound has me unbuttoning his jacket and shoving it off his shoulders before moving to his shirt. One of his hands stays on my ass, beginning to knead it as the other attempts to find the zipper at my back.

“Shit Doll,” he moans out as my cold hands get his shirt undone and explore the expanse of his chest. He bucks up into me and I break the kiss to dive my head down to his neck to place open-mouthed kisses there. Breathless moans and sighs fall from his lips as our hips move in sync.

The strong hand that is on my ass has migrated from groping the supple fat to playing with the waistband on my panties. He lifts his hips to sit lower in the seat and spreads his legs, prying mine apart in the process. Those thick digits slip down until they find the wet heat he’s caused. His palm cups me entirely and I whimper against his neck at the feeling.

“Fuck, don’t tell me you’re this wet because i threatened that cunt?”

All I can do is gasp when he pushes aside my panties and runs his middle finger through my folds. It slips between my folds and I curse his name. My back arches in as he runs another finger through them and spreads the wetness around my clit.

“Yes, oh my god, yes,” I pant out. If it wasn’t for his fingers pushing into me, I would’ve been horrified at the desperate desire that’s ripping wanton moans from my swollen lips.

The feeling of his thick fingers scissoring as his thumb finds my clit causes me to moan into his mouth. The familiar tightening in my stomach is building until it crashes over me while gasps and quiet chants of his name mark the beginning of the end. I clench around his fingers as my eyes flutter shut and I allow myself to fall into the blinding white light that’s consuming me. He removes his hands from my core to grip my hips again.

I lean in for a deep kiss as my hips start to rock against his clothed cock, grinding my sensitive clit over him with a gasp. One of my hands finds his belt and quickly unbuckles it before diving in his pants to find his cock. Bucky lets out a shuddering sigh at the feeling of my hand gripping him and giving him a few tugs, spreading his precum around the tip.

“Careful Doll,” he warns against my lips as I rub his tip against my clit, “You don’t want to tease me.”

“And what are you going to do if I decide…” he interrupts by maneuvering me by the waist and slamming me down onto his cock. My hands fly to his chest to steady myself from the sudden movement and we both let out sinful moans. He moves us at a fast and bruising pace, hitting every spot I didn’t know existed. Nothing compares to the way he feels, not my own fingers, a toy, or any past lover. I can’t help the way that I frantically grind down against him. I can feel the car begin to shake from the force of our bodies searching for our mutual releases. My legs feel like they are on fire from keeping myself upright over Bucky but it doesn’t matter. His strong grip does the work for me.

The smell of pure sex is thick in the air while mixing with the filthy wet sounds of hips meeting each other and two people finding endless pleasure in each other. My orgasm is fast approaching once again and so is his when he starts let out broken moans and curses. “F-fuck…” he groans, “I can feel it, doll. Come for me. Let go with me.”

"Yes please," I pant back. "Don't stop, please."

He squeezes his eyes tight as he thrusts up a few more harsh times before he becomes sloppy and moves a hand to rub at my swollen clit. The sudden touch sends a jolt through me and I cry out over and over again as my orgasm washes over me. Bucky pants out my name as he too releases and wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. As we both start to come down from our highs, he places light kisses against my forehead and hair.

Soft and quiet praises are muttered into my skin, “Did so good for me, doll. So proud of you. Absolutely perfect.”

Maybe dragging him to this wedding was a good idea.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #mob au #mob!bucky barnes imagine #mob bucky au #mob!bucky #mob!au #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #marvel smut #mob bucky smut #smut

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lonestarbattleship · 10 months

Text

The crew stand at attention on the flight deck of USS Saratoga (CV-3), during her commissioning ceremony.

Date: November 16, 1927

Temple University Library: P564015B

#USS SARATOGA (CV-16)#USS SARATOGA #Essex Class #Aircraft Carrier #Carrier #Warship #Ship #United States Navy #U.S. Navy #US Navy #USN #Navy #commissioning #commissioning ceremony #November #1927 #interwar period #my post

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withahappyrefrain · 28 days

Note

for the lil prompt list: thinking of our beloved Bob and fixing the others clothing when something is a little bit off (particularly when it’s you doing it to him when he’s in uniform for one reason or another) he’d be so endeared by you :(

Stop he would!!! 😭😭😭

You couldn't have been prouder of Bob. After the mission at Top Gun, he and several others in the squad were being rewarded with a medal of honor.

It meant getting to support your boyfriend. As well as (selfishly) seeing him in uniform.

Bob liked to keep his work and personal life strictly separated. Coming home in his flight suit was a rarity. It was why he had yet to introduce you to his coworkers turned friends.

That and because selfishly, he didn't want to share you.

But today, your own desires triumphed over Bob's. Dressed in his Navy whites, chest adorned by the medals he had already received from previous deployments.

He always looked handsome, like a movie star from the Golden Age. But something about his slicked back hair, face stoic as he stood proud and tall, had you unable to focus on anything else besides Bob.

Once the ceremony ended and the honorees were free to mingle with loved ones, you became laser focused on getting to your boyfriend.

Due to the crowd of what had to be his coworkers, Bob wasn't able to see you waving as you walked towards him.

Your voice would just have to do.

"Bobby!"

Bob looked over Jake's shoulder to see you, an absolute vision in your sun dress, waving excitedly at him.

Ignoring the confused remarks from his colleagues, Bob practically pushed Jake aside, all but running over to you.

Seeing him for the first time in eight weeks had your self control thrown out the window. You threw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking over his hat as your lips pressed against his.

The medals were pressing against your skin but quite frankly, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You were far too busy reveling in his kiss; his soft lips that were becoming reacquainted with yours, his large palms steadying your body since you all but threw yourself onto him, the delightful scent of sage flooding your nostrils once more.

Bob registered the gawking his coworkers were doing, but he didn't care. Eight weeks was a long time, particularly when he wasn't sure if he would come back from this mission.

He could only hope that you didn't feel the small ring-sized box that was in his pocket.

After breaking apart for much needed air, you beamed as you took him in; blue eyes shining brighter than the sun, his hat now sitting at an angle on his head, pink lips formed into a smile that could best be described as lovesick.

God you loved him.

"I'm so proud of you Bobby," you beamed, your fingers gently adjusting his hat, "and I'm glad others are recognizing how incredible you are."

Bob was at a loss for words, enamored by the way you mindlessly fixed his uniform as you sung his praises. It was an action you had always done, something you didn't even think about. In fact, it was that endearing gesture that caused you to meet Bob. And despite dating for such a long time, it made Bob's heart flutter every time.

You showed your love for him so effortlessly, pouring it into every action, no matter how small.

"Bobby?" You giggled, "You good?"

"Yeah," he chuckled, warmth flooding his body, "Just in love with you, that's all."

He made you want to kick your feet like a school girl. Instead, you settled for placing your hands on his upper back and pressing another loving kiss to his lips.

"Why don't we go meet your squad? I can hear their questions," you chuckled, knowing the team was currently arguing over how long you and Bob had been together.

Bob looked over, wincing at the sight of his coworkers arguing over an apparent bet about him. His grip on your waist tightened.

"Maybe not just yet. Don't want your first impression to be Bradley and Hangman arguing."

You simply smiled, fingers toying with one of his many medals, "That's fine."

Leaning in, your breath was hot on his ear, "Gives me more time to admire you in this uniform."

Maybe they would skip the meeting altogether and head straight home.

#my writing #bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd x y/n #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd x female reader

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sgt-tombstone · 3 months

Text

CoD/Military Writing Reference Masterlist

UPDATED 03AUG24

Here is a compilation of information (with references/links/citations) that I think the CoD fandom and fic writers in particular might find useful:

British Army:

Here is a list of ranks and abbreviations (with appropriate capitalization) (for anyone with the shinigami extension, sorry, it's the BBC)

Here is a list of the equivalent ranks of the British services and US Air Force (for some reason not the US Army or US Navy. Don’t ask me why lmao).

Here and here are some posts about the ranks in the 141 and general attitudes that they would hold for each other (and how others would see them)

Here is a detailed breakdown of the British Army organization (with average numbers and who is in charge of who).

Here is the wiki page for British Army uniforms (literally good luck, I’ve spent hours trying to figure out when soldiers wear what). As far as I can tell, the 141 would wear the No. 8 Combat Dress 90% of the time with the SAS beige beret. For formal events, they would wear the No. 2 Service Dress with berets instead of peaked forage caps. Interestingly, the Royal Regiment of Scotland can wear their No. 2 Service Dress with kilts (which I know Johnny would be livid about because he can’t). Super formal occasions are marked by the No. 1 Temperate Ceremonial, or “dress blues”.

Commissioned ranks are Second Lieutenant and above. These are members who hold positions of authority granted by formal documents of appointment signed by the monarch. In the US (which I am assuming is the same or similar in the UK), a commissioned officer has gone through officer training, which usually requires a university degree or a military equivalent.

Warrant Officers (WO) and Non-Commissioned Officers (NCO) are included in the enlisted ranks. They are members of the enlisted ranks who hold positions of authority. WOs are granted authority through a warrant instead of a commission and must be promoted from an NCO rank. NCOs are Lance Corporals to Staff Sergeants.

The only enlisted rank is Private. These are members who have enlisted and have gone through basic training in order to be counted against the Army’s trained strength.

Sergeants (Gaz and Soap) are among the highest-ranked NCOs and therefore have a lot of practical experience (more, sometimes, than commissioned officers). They have climbed through the ranks from Private all the way to the top of the enlisted ladder. Commissioned officers, on the other hand, have the option to skip the enlisted ladder altogether and jump straight to Second Lieutenant (assuming that they are entering the army with a university degree). However, it is canon that both Ghost and Price were promoted from enlisted ranks. Nevertheless, the NCO/CO divide would be stark; Price and Ghost both have pieces of paper signed by the Royal Crown that give them authority while Gaz and Soap don’t. That being said, Gaz and Soap are incredibly high ranking enlisted while Ghost and Price are (relatively) low ranking officers. While they have less authority, they have similar levels of responsibility and leadership.

Comm discipline is incredibly important in the military. Communication must be clear, concise, and (most importantly) unambiguous. There are many, many commands that can be given over the radio and some of them aren't as self-explanatory as they may seem. Here are some of the basics, lingo, etiquette, and FAQs about military radio communications.

SAS:

The SAS is nicknamed "The Regiment", its motto is "Who Dares Wins", and its color is pompadour blue. Contrary to popular belief, the dagger on the badge is wreathed in flame, not wings.

"The SAS is the mirror in which other special forces reflect." The SAS is the most elite special forces regiment in the world and they all know it. They take their jobs incredibly seriously and are held to a ridiculously high standard, both by their superior officers and by themselves. The 141, as a specialized task force, would take both their training and their commitment to their job to the extreme. The SAS has a fierce reputation of being the blueprints upon which every other special forces regiment was founded, and every single one of them takes an incredible amount of pride in that. It's easy to characterize Soap as a rookie, especially because of his reputation as the Perpetual FNG, but he alone could run circles around every single non-special forces soldier in the world (and a hell of a lot of the special forces soldiers, too).

The SAS consists of one regular and two reserve units. The 22 SAS (regular) is based in Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire and has five squadrons (A, B, D, G, and Reserve) and a training wing. The 21 and 23 SAS are the two reserve regiments.

The UK Special Forces do not recruit from the general public. All current members of the armed forces can apply for Special Forces selection, but most have historically come from the Royal Marines or Parachute Regiment. In 2018, recruitment policy changed to allow women to join the SAS for the first time and in 2021, two women passed pre-selection, making them the first women eligible for the full course.

The SAS Selection Process is held twice a year (once in summer and once in winter) and is a three-phase process that has an 8-10% pass rate. Between 2014 and 2022, there were more deaths in training and exercises than in combat against active threats.

Phase 1 is an endurance test, known as “the hills” stage, where candidates undergo a series of timed hikes between checkpoints with increasingly heavy packs. This phase takes a total of three weeks and culminates in a 40-mile hike carrying 55lbs that must be completed in 24 hours. By the end of this phase, candidates must be able to run 4 miles in 30 minutes and swim 2 miles in 90 minutes.

Officers undergoing SAS selection have a week-long phase which assesses their ability to plan operations while fatigued and stressed (sucks for Price and Ghost; Gaz and Soap would've skipped this step).

Phase 2 is Jungle Training, which takes place in Belize, Brunei, or Malaysia. Candidates are taught navigation, patrol formation and movement, and jungle survival skills; they are put into teams of four, where they simulate living for weeks behind enemy lines, living completely off of rations without a lifeline back to base.

Phase 3 is E&E (Escape and Evasion) and TQ (Tactical Questioning)/RTI (Resistance to Interrogation). This is the final phase. Candidates are given brief instructions on appropriate techniques (likely from former POWs or special forces soldiers) and then are let loose in the countryside, where they must navigate to a series of checkpoints without being captured. After 3-7 days, whether they have been captured or not, they then report for TQ, which tests the candidates’ ability to resist interrogation. During TQ, candidates are only allowed to answer with “the big 4” (name, rank, serial number, and birthday) and all other questions must be answered with “I’m sorry but I cannot answer that question” while being subjected to what is essentially no-touch torture (listening to white noise for hours, standing in stress positions, being verbally berated/humiliated, etc) for 36 hours.

After all of that, candidates are accepted into the SAS ranks, but still go through continuation training, during which many SAS soldiers are RTU’d (returned to unit).

The youngest person to ever (IRL) pass SAS selection was Lofty Wiseman in 1959 at the age of 18. In order for Johnny to have beaten that record, he must have been 18 or younger when he passed selection. Given that the minimum age for enlistment in the UK armed forces is 16, this is entirely plausible.

The names of regular SAS members who have died on duty were inscribed on the regimental clock tower at Stirling Lines, which was rebuilt at the Credenhill barracks. Those whose names are inscribed are said by surviving members to have "failed to beat the clock". The base of the clock is also inscribed with a verse from The Golden Journey to Samarkand by James Elroy Flecker.

Military Life:

During basic training, soldiers live in gender-segregated accommodations in a dorm-style room. Once out of basic training, however, many barracks are individual rooms with en-suite bathrooms (big win for our Sergeants). At most, trained soldiers would live in 4-person rooms separated by gender. The fastest and most reliable way to get off-base housing is to get married, but many commissioned officers get a housing stipend in order to move out of the barracks, meaning that Ghost and Price would likely (if they so chose) have houses near Credenhill, while Gaz and Soap would have individual rooms in the barracks. While deployed, all bets are off.

Many tattoos and piercings are permitted by the British Army. Here are the official guidelines. In terms of hair style/length, the rules are few and far between and incredibly vague to boot. As far as I can tell, Soap’s mohawk, Price’s sideburns, and Ghost's... everything are vastly out of regulations, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about any of the 141 following personal appearance guidelines (Gaz is likely the only 141 member within regs which is a little shocking considering most military regulations are unfairly biased against people of color, but that's neither here nor there). If you’re interested, here is the 2021 version of the guidelines, though many of them have been updated since.

As of 2002, unmarried service members are permitted to invite their partners to stay overnight in single-room barracks (again, big win for our Sergeants). However, these guests must report to the duty and sign in, which is a hassle, so sneaking someone on base is still a plausible course of action.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any information on the use of alcohol/drugs in barracks, but I assume that the regulations are similar to those of the US armed forces, where alcohol is permitted to any off-duty member (any member who is on authorized leave) above the legal drinking age.

Humor: military humor has a pretty infamous reputation for being dark as fuck. Soldiers joke about a lot of stuff because they deal with a lot of stuff, and humans naturally cope through humor. There aren’t a lot of resources for this, because soldiers don’t like that kind of stuff reaching civilian ears (for pretty obvious reasons). Active special forces soldiers like the 141 would have especially fucked up senses of humor because they deal with especially fucked up scenarios. Don’t push yourself for the sake of realism, though; if you aren’t comfortable writing jokes about active hostage/bomb/terrorist situations, don’t write those jokes. However, if you think of a fantastically dark joke and want to include it, know that it would be perfectly in character (especially for Ghost) and true to real life. They absolutely would casually joke with each other about racism, homophobia, xenophobia, war crimes, torture, etc. The important part is that they all know that it’s always a joke; shared humor is one of the most common ways that soldiers bond with each other, and being able to take the piss with each other is key to unit cohesion. If you don’t like that or if that makes you uncomfortable, don’t write it!

Fraternization: In general, fraternization is strictly prohibited. It’s grounds for a reassignment at best and a court martial at worst. One or both parties may be dishonorably discharged. Realistically, any relationship between anyone in the 141 (with the exception of Soap and Gaz, who are of equal rank and therefore their relationship does not affect the chain of command, big win for SoapGaz shippers) would be strictly prohibited and treated as a criminal offense. It is up to you whether your characterization of the 141 members warrants any action upon the discovery of fraternization or if it would be ignored in favor of keeping the team together. An argument could be made either way, so it’s a judgment call.

Call Signs:

The IRL SAS does not use call signs; they are almost universally used for pilots across all military divisions, which means that regular soldiers, even those in Special Forces, don't get call signs. However, as the CoD universe evidently uses call signs, here are some things you should know:

No one really knows how call signs originated. Some say that they started as nicknames given to pilots in the early days of flight. Others say that they originated as a way for ground control to quickly and easily refer to pilots over the radio. In any case, call signs have cemented themselves firmly in aviation culture

Call signs are not supposed to be cool. Ghost in an anomaly. The vast majority of people are not given call signs like Maverick or Iceman. A call sign is supposed to be (playfully) teasing and embarrassing; it's what the military calls "humility culture". They are often a derivative of a last name, based on physical features or personality, or related to a mistake the soldier made early in their career.

A call sign, once given, is rarely changed. Call signs follow soldiers for the entirety of their careers and beyond, and it is not unusual for fellow soldiers to only know each other by their rank, call sign, and last name (some can go their entire careers without knowing each others first names; a call sign basically replaces a soldiers first name).

Call signs are voted on and chosen by the soldier's squadron; they have very little (if any) say in the process. The squadron's commanding officer has the ability to veto a proposed call sign and often will if it crosses any lines (racist, sexist, etc) or if it isn't funny enough.

Here is a forum of US Naval call signs and their stories. I highly recommend giving it a read, especially if you need name ideas or a good laugh

General Writing Reference:

Resource for describing physical things (settings, weather, colors, textures, shapes)

Sickness Descriptors

Keeping Tenses (one of the most common writing mistakes in fic writing; this blog has a lot of very informative writing tip posts!)

WordHippo (One of the best dictionary/thesaurus/rhyming dictionary websites I've found and unfailingly keep open while writing/editing)

Tumblr account dedicated to writing characters of color

Tumblr thread with resources/references for international clothes and other items

Tumblr post with links to building/architectural terms and references

Misc Helpful Links (Will be Updated):

https://www.eliteukforces.info/special-air-service/ (detailed information about the SAS, selection, training, operations, weaponry, skills, and roles)

https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/british-army-ranks (British Army ranks in order with brief descriptions of roles/responsibilities)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_British_Army_installations (List of British Army bases and barracks, both in the UK and overseas)

https://www.quora.com/Does-the-British-Army-really-have-mixed-dorms-as-in-the-TV-show-Our-Girl (Quora forum detailing British military barrack living conditions)

https://taskandpurpose.com/news/military-pilots-call-signs/ (Blog post about aviator call signs and their use in military culture)

https://www.military.com/history/history-of-aviator-call-signs-and-how-pilots-get-their-new-name.html (Blog post about the history of aviator call signs in the military)

https://www.tumblr.com/sighmurderbot/735894836939472896/are-you-like-me-suddenly-obsessed-with-cod-and (Tumblr post - CoD mission generator)

https://www.army.mil/ranks/ (lots of very helpful information about US Army enlisted, warrant, and officer ranks as well as corps and division sizes/operations. Whoever designed this website needs a raise tbh)

If you found this useful, feel free to drop a like! I like knowing that my hard work is being used and appreciated!

#call of duty #cod #cod writing reference #military writing reference #I spent a really really long time on this #and it'll definitely be updated as I do more research for fics #does anyone know if posting this on ao3 would be against TOS?#tombstone's epitaphs

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