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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.

Whatever, really.

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies.

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.

She’s positive about that, at least.

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate.

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why.

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really.

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.

She’s happy for Scarlet, really.

They won the game.

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier.

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously.

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.

And yet.

He sticks his hand out.

It’s disarmingly earnest.

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.

She takes his hand.

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later.

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.

When the Yankees make the postseason.

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.

Much like the goddamn fireworks.

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault.

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either.

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them.

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand.

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter.

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart.

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs.

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open.

They both jump.

So, that’s something.

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of.

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being.

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby.

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected.

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead.

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together.

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.

She does her very best to memorize the movement.

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable.

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.

Emma included. Emma, especially.

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins.

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then.

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now.

Got drafted, technically.

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Good Day!

As I told earlier, I finished my Soap x Reader Fic and yeah here it is.

I suck at titles and that shows.

Midnight Coffee Rush

John MacTavish x Female Reader

Warnings : Smut. Read at your own Risk or whatever.

Cross-posting to AO3 later 😳

THUD!

You softly slam your head on the desk as you stare blankly at the blinking cursor on your laptop. An article is due next week and you haven't really started on anything yet. Your editor keeps on calling you earlier today on how she can't work on last minute submissions. You assured her that yours won't need that much editing and she trusts you with that, but still, a deadlines a deadline.

Scanning your empty apartment room for ideas, you decide it's best if you take this ordeal outside and look for open places to work on. Coincidentally, the local café "John's brew" happens to open for 24 hours starting today. You feel uneasy at the name of the shop but that won't stop you from your goals today.

After a chilly midnight walk across the streets of your city, you finally make it to the shop, it looks like it can compete with the local Starbucks as its outer layout gives off the same vibe.

You push open the glass doors and the bell chimes from above you, this made the barista at the counter turn his head and greet you with a friendly smile. "Welcome to John's Brew!"

You stand just across the counter as you look up to view what the store has to offer while the barista waits patiently for your order. You order some fancy named coffee, wanting to try out why it has a star next to it's name as the barista, who now you know goes by the name "Gary" based on his name tag, explains that it's their best selling and unique blend coffee. He then passionately tells you how the coffee you chose is created by the owner of the shop and judging by the tone of his voice, he's excited for you to try it for the first time.

"Thanks Gary, here's my card." you reach out for your card and he cheerfully accepts it.

"What name should this go by, Ms. L/N?" he asks readying his marker.

"Just Y/N." you say. Gary raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"Sorry, I'm sure I heard that name somewhere." he dismisses his thoughts and writes your name on the cup.

"We'll you're a barista, I'm sure you've heard a lot of names in your line of work." you jokingly reply. It made him laugh as he gives your card back and you make your way to the corner of the room.

The music is soothing and the ambience is more than enough to keep you going, you pull out your laptop as you start typing ideas for your article.

Gary took the liberty of delivering you your drink saying "You looked very focused" and "There isn't that much customers anyway" and you smiled at the service he's done. He stays for a while insisting that he wants to witness your initial reaction as soon as you taste the coffee. So you slowly blow off the heat and took your first sip.

Your eyebrows raised and your cheeks blushed as the warm beverage tickles your tastebuds a wave of nostalgia brings shivers down your spine.

***

"So, what do you think of this?" A shirtless man with a signature mohawk and scar on his left eye approaches you just as you get up of bed. You remember smiling at the view, his deep blue eyes pierce through yours as he excitedly offers a cup of coffee he claims to mix himself.

"Mmm! This tastes, well... something even I can't describe! It's good? delicious? heavenly maybe?" You giggle as he inches closer to you crawling up the bed and reaching on your face for a kiss, blindly reaching for the cup and putting in on the bedside table.

"Not even the words from your thesaurus can't describe?" He whispers as he pulls the kiss away, eyebrows wiggling. Your heart melts at the sight of him.

"I'll tell you the perfect word when I find it." You giggle as you reach for his face and pull him to yours, as he softly crashes his body on you, rolling around the bed.

***

"Maam?" Gary taps your shoulder and you immediately flinch and turn to him.

"I'm sorry." you laugh nervously.

"It felt like you had a good time going on with that drink. We're having a contest as to which word best describes it. If you want to submit your word, I'll leave this pen and sticky note on your table." he cheerfully explains as the door chimes, making him rush back to his counter.

Shit. You thought to yourself. Of course it had to taste the same, even the name of the shop checks out. Your heart starts to thump louder and louder as you put the pieces together, you convince yourself it's just the coffee, but then again the evidences never lie. John's Brew, that exact taste, no word yet to describe it.

You flinched as you turn to the heavy door slam to your left, just by the counter. A man, walks out of it wearing a very fit long sleeve tucked into business pants, you assume it's the manager. Then again, you see him scratching his head, which happens to have a rather unique haircut. A mohawk. Holy Shit.

***

'Congratulations Ms. Y/N L/N! You have been accepted on the writer program. Please report tomorrow for your orientation.'

The text read just as you wake up. Your face lit up in excitement as you squealed like a kid. Your life would change for the better.

A very wet John MacTavish popped out of the bathroom, his face was full of worry as he quickly wrapped himself with a towel.

"What's wrong?! Something out to get ya?" He asked, a bar of soap on is arms ready to throw to the intruder.

"I just got accepted!" you squealed excitedly at him, hugged him thight not minding how wet he was. He slowly wrapped his arms around you and you felt that you're the only one excited about this news.

"Congrats. But what about your life here? What about me?" he muttered, his facial expressions dropped.

"I'm sure we'll work it out? It isn't that far, right?"

"I'm sure we'll work it out"

"Not now John, I have articles due."

"I'm too exhausted for today, John"

"I'm sorry. I fell asleep."

***

The loud growl of your stomach shocked you back to reality. Come to think of it, it's already 2 in the morning and you're almost through with your article. A muffin won't be that much of a distraction. You turn to the counter and see John catering to a lady on a bright red dress. She probably came from a club and now trying to sober up with a coffee. You pretend to type on your keyboard but secretly view the event from the corner of your eye. They are laughing and he escorted her as she is walking tipsily to the sofa. They exchange some words you barely make out and can't help but feel rage bubbling inside you. But then again, you don't have the slightest audacity to do so. You slowly ignored him while focusing on your job. You left his messages on read and calls on voicemail. You feel guilt rushing through you. Out of impulsive emotions, you quickly decide to finish the article home as you grab your laptop and coffee and rush to the exit.

"Ma'am! You left your sticky note." John's voice echoes across the shop. This made the few notable customers look at the both of us in curiosity.

You slowly turn back to him leaning on the counter, his elbows resting on the counter looking at you, he knows what he's up to. You remember telling him to stop flexing his biceps in front of you in public. It's kind of an inside joke for the two of you and he seems to remember it all too well.

"Your word. For the contest." he points out to the bulletin board of sticky notes on the other side of the hall.

"I... can't think of anything yet..." you stammer as you exit the door, walking as fast as you can away from him.

"Y/N, wait!" he quickly grabs your arm. You almost expect that he'd do this even after all those times.

"John I-" you quicky turn to him, hot tears start forming on your eyes as he pulls you close to his warm embrace.

"Yeah. You've been very busy... I know." He mutters as you sniffle on his chest, smelling his musk that never changed even after all these months.

"Congratulations on your most recent award, you know. Article of the month, and the month before that and that one time you wrote about the wildlife in Africa..." he trails off while rubbing your back as more tears fell from your eyes. He'd been watching your career grow, even after all this time. It somehow feels you don't deserve him. And you believe you really don't.

Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile.

"I'm sorry..." you croak.

"Why are you sorry, Y/N? You met someone else out there?" he asks. Then again, you both didn't really have a proper conclusion to your relationship. You initially felt like you were slowly drifting away from each other as your careers grew, but here he is, having the same sparkle in his eyes as when you last saw each other.

"No... but, it's been very long and I have been ignoring you... breaking my promi-" He suddenly pulls you close and kisses your lips, you deny him at first but you slowly grip his arms and let him have access to your mouth.

Longing is the only feeling you both feel right now as you slowly kiss back and respond to his mouth. His kiss gives you assurance that even after all this time he yearns for you to come back, his assurance that you did what you had to do to get where you are now even at the cost of completely shutting him out. But of course you weren't, you also long for him every single day, but life has to keep going, and you believed that he'd found someone else after all those times. But this moment made you feel wrong about him, and it's now your chance to get things right between the two of you.

"You know, I always assumed you're still my girlfriend." he smirks. He is true though, there was neither a formal nor informal break up effort on both sides, just indifference due to many reasons.

"Well, I assumed you looked for someone else... and I'm to shy to ask how things have been..." you croak, trying not to cry again. You realize your stupidity once more, but he wipes off your tear with his thumb and lifts your chin up to look at him.

"You still owe me a word, you know." he jokes as he walks you back to the cafe, arm wrapped around your shoulder. As soon as you both enter the door, Gary greets his boss while mopping the floor.

"You were right boss, she is pretty!" The barista smiles and gives John a thumbs up to which he replies,

"Guess I'll be back in my office doing paperwork, Gary. You take charge here okay?"

"Yes, Captain!" he jokingly salutes and continues his work.

"You done with that article?" he asks, a tone of concern in his voice.

"Almost.." you reply shyly. You still can't digest everything that happened so far, but your heart keeps on thumping and your mind's been trying to scream something to you.

"You know, I could use some company while I do some paperwork..." the trails off, the tone in his voice shifted into something you felt excited about. Something along those words mixed with that accent sends flutters across your insides.

"If you'd want me to..." you reply as he opens his office door letting you in. It was a small office a sofa just beside the door, two chairs infront of a large office desk filled with scattered papers, ledgers and journals. He quickly folds his laptop and puts it in his bag as you take off your coat, admiring the view. Plaques, certificates and awards plaster across the walls, along with pictures of his staff calendar schedules and some other things scribbled across the whiteboard. He offers his hand and you give him your coat, only to be pinned to the door.

"God, I missed you so fucking much." He breathes as you stare at his cold blue eyes blazing with desire, you know full well where this is going and you have no objections. You wished for this to happen as soon as your plane touched the city.

Unable to form any words, you quickly pucker your lips, signaling him to move closer and kiss you. Now that you're both alone, his kisses felt much more intimate, needier and his tongue explored every possible area he could. You hear the door lock itself and his hand slowly caresses your ass through the tight jeans you're wearing, pressing himself so you could feel the tension growing beneath his slacks. You slowly slide your hand through it and earned yourself a chuckle from him, as he moves his lips below your ear and around your neck, hearing each smack of his lip and sniff of his nose.

You let out a soft moan as you feel overwhelmed on what he does to your body, you couldn't focus on what's going on, your hands rubbing his hard crotch, his hands softly caressing your ass or his mouth doing wonders around your neck. He continues to do this until your pants and whines become erratic and fast and stops just at the right time for you to catch your breath.

You open your eyes to him, who seems to be enjoying your reunion, a sexy smirk across his face. You let out a smile whist still panting, and he seems to like what he sees, letting a soft chuckle.

"I remember that look on you. You're up to something.." He recalls as you push him to the sofa to his side, straddling on his crotch as you unbutton his long sleeves.

He grunts as soon as he plops on the sofa and groans as soon as you slowly wiggle your ass on top of him. You could clearly see the building frustration in his face as well as in his jeans.

You quickly undone seven buttons as he quickly tosses it somewhere and viewed his muscular physique as you sit on him. He became hairier and you find it very sexy, trailing your hand down his body, all while staring at him as seductive as you can. He smiles at the gesture as you slowly unbutton your shirt, never breaking eye contact, until he can't resist anymore and got up from the sofa. He lifts you down and you stand on the floor as he works your way to slide off your jeans. He quickly buried his face on your pussy as soon as he sees it and devours it like a hungry wolf. He never dissappoints as the feeling made you shudder, grabbing onto what's left of his hair in excitement. This goes on up until you softly pull his head out and move to unbuckle his belt, sliding his slacks all the way down as his cock springs free as soon as you take his boxers off.

You stare at him as you slowly jerk your hand around his cock, his eyes almost in a trance, as you teasingly kiss the tip, which was slowly oozing of precum. He grabs your hair and tucks it behind your ear as you slowly swallow his cock, giving him a blowjob that you've always imagined of giving him when you meet again. You're tongue slowly swirling around his length, feeling every vein and skin around it. You countinued mixing it up with your hand and mouth until he groans in anticipation and pulls you out of him.

He slowly gets up and shoves all his paperwork away from his desk and carries you to it, spreading your legs as he slowly pushes his tip on your opening.

You whimper at the first entrance, it felt different than usual, maybe because it's been quite a while since you to have done it, but that didn't stop the both of you from continuing. His eyes mesmerize you as he slowly picks up his rhythm, you can see his chest muscles bounce as he thrusts himself deep in you. He slowly rubs the upper area of your pussy as he thrusts, giving you a sensation that makes you wanna scream in pleasure. But given the circumstances, you only let out small gasps and whimpers. However, his grunts and moans are also getting louder, so you decide to let loose and follow his volume.

"Fuck." You whimper as he continues his fast pace as evidenced by the loud slapping noises. He quickly flips you to the desk and continues to fuck you from behind. Each thrust felt like the desk is inching closer to the wall, you didn't protest as you loved the sensation, how your walls clench as his warm cock slides in and out of you. You feel his motions change and you know full well what that means, you moan softly signaling him thay you're also almost there as he makes his final thrusts and shoots his warm load inside you, feeling the rush of his cum drip as he pulls his cock out.

He pulls you up and reaches for a kiss, a long yet intimate one as you both use the language of kiss to assure that you'll still be the same way no matter how distant it may be.

"See you after my shift?" he murmurs as he puts on his clothes, now all wrinkly and messy.

"Yes." you smile reaching for another kiss.

After preparing to go home, you quickly grab a pen and wrote the word you describe the drink, plaster it on the board and make your way out of the café.

#horRAYfic #codmw #Soap x Reader #john soap mactavish

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breadoffoxy · 4 years

Text

The D Box

Summary: What happens when you're moving and your friend accidentally unpacks your sex toy box? Chaos and advantageous situations.

Written for the BTS Ghostie Writers Bingo Bash. Prompt: "I’ve made a mistake.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f. Reader, Yoongi x f. Reader x Jin x Jungkook

Genre: Smut, NSFW

Warnings: NSFW, Angst, Smut, Foursome, FMMM, unsafe sex, oral sex, sex toys, language, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, anal sex, vaginal sex, animal tail butt plugs, vibrators, hair pulling, exhibitionism, sub!Jungkook, sub!Reader, Dom!Yoongi, Dom!Jin

Word Count: 6,318

A/N: Thanks @chelsea-chee for helping me figure out some of the logistics for this fic. Foursomes are hard.

"Remember we need toilet paper. Oh, and paper plates because we don't want to worry about dishes. Did we add dish soap to the list? Toilet paper..." You scratch your head trying to remember everything.

Namjoon stands half way out your door. "Yep, we went over it y/n. Don't worry, I have it all memorized."

Hoseok waves his phone from where he stands behind your mutual friend, a list of all the supplies you need up on his screen. You nod at Hoseok reassuringly, but Namjoon thinks the nod is for himself.

"Great!" He claps his hands. "Now that that's settled, we'll be going now." Your clumsy friend turns, nearly missing the small step at the end of your little porch, following a laughing Hoseok to Hoseok's bright yellow car parked in front of the street.

You hide a snicker behind your hand, but it gets cut off into an indignant, "Hey!" when two excited bodies bump into you on their way out the door.

"Sorry y/n!" Jimin and Taehyung exclaim at the same time, giggling as they head over to Jimin's sleek black car.

"Don't forget the sauce this time!" You yell across the yard.

Taehyung salutes you, shouting "Yes, boss!"

Opening the car door, Jimin points at you with keys in hand. "You guys better have so many boxes unpacked by the time we are back, or I'm going to eat your tacos!"

"Don't you dare touch my tacos Jimin!" You yell back aggressively.

"YA, stop yelling! You're going to irritate your new neighbors!" Your friend Jin screams somewhere within the house.

Yep, you were off to a great start.

The sound of tires screeching fills the street as Jimin takes off with Taehyung to pick up your food order. You shut the door, screaming internally.

"You ok?" Yoongi asks. He looks up from his phone from where he's sitting on your cheap futon surrounded by boxes. His form is swallowed by a large, comfy looking, bright hoodie.

You walk over and slide down on the floor, leaning against a stack. Gazing around the room, you look at the boxes that fill up the tiny living room area. Pretty much your whole life right here.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." You say, wiping a hand down your face tiredly.

You haven't had a restful moment in a while . You just escaped a crazy, toxic roommate. It was a struggle to find a place you could afford on your own, having to depend on roommates for years. It was liberating, but at the same time you were scared to be all alone.

"Don't worry." Yoongi looks back at his phone. Shaking his head, his beautiful dark brown, nearly reddish bangs sways around his forehead. "We'll get you all set up and everything will be ok, trust me."

" Thanks, Yoongi." Your heart feels a little warmer, knowing your friends were with you, that he was here with you. Shyly, your fingers play with the ends of your sweater.

"What do you mean ' we '." An agitated voice says, making you look up to see an irritated Jungkook carrying a heavy box labeled kitchen like it weighs nothing.

Jungkook's cute strawberry red hair contrasts slightly with the serious face he is wearing and his bulging muscles. He's wearing an unbuttoned light blue shirt with a white shirt with a deep scoop underneath. You look away before you start admiring the sweat glistening on his chest.

"I'm the only one moving things to their rooms." Jungkook huffs.

"I'm doing my job." Yoongi leans further back into the uncomfortable piece of furniture, making it look anything but. "I'm the moral support. Good job, by the way."

Jungkook's eyes widen at his elder's praise. "Aw, it's nothing really."

"Way to carry the team, Kooky." You add, giving him a thumbs-up.

"Find another box for me boss." He grins at you, smiling cutely at the nickname. He could never be mad at the two of you really.

"Jungkook where is that box?" Jin peeks his blonde head around the corner where your minuscule hallway kitchen is. He waves his arms clad in a comfy looking sweater around in impatience.

"Don't tell me what to do." Jungkook grumbles, making his way towards the kitchen.

"Well then hurry it up." Fires back Jin .

You just shake your head from the muted bickering. Those two never stop. Standing up, you start circling the boxes, trying to find the labels you wrote in black marker. Slowly, you start organizing the boxes by room, making it easy for Jungkook to move them to the right places. Yoongi, true to his word, says words of encouragement from his spot on the couch as you work. The clattering of dishes can be heard in the kitchen, Jin taking over and organizing that space for you.

"This should be the last bed room box, Kookie ." You hand him a box with a 'D' labeled on the side. "Looks like it's a desk box, so I don't know if you want to start putting it out on my desk?"

"For sure." He nods, taking the box from you, walking down the short distance to your bedroom.

He took off his blue shirt long ago now, and you can't help but eye his back appreciatively as he leaves the room.

"Don't make me jealous y/n." Yoongi warns behind you, not looking up from his phone.

You sputter incoherently, staring at the dark-haired man with wide eyes. He looks up from his phone with a devious smirk.

"I'm kidding." He chuckles and looks back at his phone, texting rapidly. "The kid has a nice back."

Oh. Your heart falls a little bit at his teasing. Now you're the jealous one.

"He does." You concede pitifully.

Your remark makes Yoongi pause his texting. A confused and worried look crosses his face at your tone and he tries to catch your eyes with his. You already averted your gaze from the man, looking around the room for something to distract yourself with.

"I'll take this one to the kitchen." You luckily find a box with a 'K' labeled on top of one of the remaining stacks. Sliding it off, you walk away quickly, and pretend you don't hear the questioning call of your name from the man sitting on the couch.

Somewhat haphazardly, you put the box on your tiny counter. You see your tall, broad, blonde, handsome, plus the whole thesaurus on adjectives for beautiful, friend Jin unwrapping your assorted coffee mugs and organizing them in one of the small cabinets.

"I hope there was nothing fragile in that one." He looks over a little concerned before continuing his task.

You grab the scissors on the counter and cut the tape on the box. Silently, you open it and start unpacking its contents, unwrapping bundled silverware and utensils.

Jin stops what he is doing to turn and face you fully. "Ok, this is the part where you are supposed to be 'I know what I'm doing Jin '." He changes the pitch of his voice to sound like yours at the end. "Seriously, what's up?"

"I-" you start, but don't know how to continue. "Where should we put this silverware. The door next to the fridge, or this one here?"

"That one makes better since with the organization I think." Jin suggests, trying not to push but the curiosity and worry is evident in his posture.

You pull out the silverware holder at the bottom of the box and start mindlessly filling it with the now scattered silverware on the counter.

"All this is so new, you know." You shrug, focusing on the task in front of you instead of the man beside you. "Guess I'm a little scared. Mainly just tired probably. I'll be ok."

"I'll be right back." Jin pats you on the shoulder as he scoots around you in the narrow alley kitchen.

Continuing your task, you don't notice when he returns until a picture frame of you and the rest of your friends helping you move is placed on the corner of the counter. He gives you a smile, angling it just right.

"See, look. It feels homier in here already." Jin smiles at you, his hand comes up to rub your shoulder reassuringly. "We'll be here for you."

"Thanks." A resemblance of a smile appears on your face, and you bump your hip into his.

The blonde man's smile turns softer at the action. He grabs a handful of other utensils to put in a neighboring door. His eyebrows furrow suddenly. "Also, Yoongi looks kinda pitiful in there. Did he say something untactful and make you upset? I can make him beg for forgiveness."

You let out a puff of air. "Nothing happened, we were just admiring Jungkook's backside and he made a joke. Nothing bad, I just..." you shrug, not really sure what you want to say anymore.

"Ah I get it." Jin rests his hips on the counter, turning to face you with his arms crossed. "You want him to admire your backside, isn't that right?"

" Wha - no pshhhh ."

You look away quickly, eyes falling on the picture next to Jin on the counter instead. Suddenly, a horrific realization strikes you.

" Jin , if you talked to Yoongi, you got that picture from the living room, right?"

"Yeah, got it from a box with a lower case 'd' on it. Should I not have?" Jin looks at you a little lost on why you are asking now about it.

Everything seems to freeze as your mind hyper-processes everything. You only had one desk box, and if it was in the living room, then the box Jungkook was going through was definitely not your desk box.

"I've made a mistake."

With that, you dash out of the kitchen, leaving a very confused looking Jin behind. You nearly slam into the wall as you round the corner into the hallway, nearly scaring the life out of Yoongi. You skitter towards your room and stand in the door way frozen, much like the man giving you a deer in the headlights look as he holds a large, thick, silicone dildo in his hands.

The box with the capital 'D' didn't stand for desk, but for dick. It sits opened in front of your friend, revealing a plethora of toys and you feel yourself die with shame a little on the inside.

Jungkook gets over his shock at your sudden appearance, and he wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively while waving the dildo. Its flexible, curved build, makes the tip bounce at the motion.

"So-" Jungkook can be a cocky ass and he knows it.

"Jungkook, no." You try to cut off anything he's about to say.

"-you have quite the collection here. How often do you use this." he points the dildo at you, and you glare at the rather generous sized head.

"Put it back in the box, now." You demand.

"Put what back in the box y/n?"

"Don't be a brat Jungkook."

"Oh, come on just say it." He raises an eye brow as a challenge, and his finger presses the button at the end of the device.

The dildo hums lowly as it starts vibrating on different settings. You glare at him, hoping he would get bored and put it away, but instead he starts clicking through the different speed settings. He stares at the dildo in wonder at the highest setting, and that is when you make your move.

You run, tackling the man on the bed. It feels like you hit a solid wall, and the air is knocked out of the both of you. Scurrying up his body, you try to grab the vibrating dildo before he recovers. The dick box becomes a victim to your scramble as your foot kicks it, knocking it off the bed and its contents clattering to the floor noisily.

Just as your fingers graze the dildo, Jungkook recovers. The next thing you know, you're being flipped and now you are the one laying on the bed with Jungkook hovering over you. One of his hands easily encompasses both of yours and he holds them above your head. Both of you are panting heavily, his face too close to yours and his breath fans your face. Your eyes are lost in his and something about this atmosphere feels too heavy to just be a friendly game.

Ever so slowly, the purple dildo comes closer to your face. You hear it more than see its approach as your eyes are glued onto the dilated eyes above you. The soft tip brushes against your lips, the vibrations making you jolt from pleasure and unexpected anticipation.

"What-Jungkook, get off her right now!" Jin yells from the door way, shocked.

The spell between the two of you is broken, and Jungkook flies off your body as if electrocuted. Jin stomps over and rips the dildo out of the younger man's hands and turns it off.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you avoid the worried glance of Jin, and become mortified when you see the figure silently standing in the door way. When your gaze meets his, Yoongi looks down and picks up something off the floor. He stands back up and you can now see him holding your magic wand.

Just fucking great.

You hide your face in your hands in shame and let out a mortified groan. "I made a mistake, I'm so sorry guys. Just please ignore all of this."

"It's no big deal." Yoongi says, before turning the magic wand on experimentally. "It's just sex toys."

"This is a lady's private collection." Jin says, trying to defend your honor.

"Well, the lady does look like she needs to relax." Yoongi says as he approaches the bed.

He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at you. You can't decipher the emotions in his eyes. Yoongi bites his bottom lip nervously, and Yoongi never does nervous. Not with you at least. The tip of the vibrating, silicone head touches your leg, making you jump.

"I know this is a sex toy, but it's also a massager. You've been so uptight lately- sorry- I just want to help. Can I?" He asks sincerely.

The look in his eye is one you can't refuse. Biting your own lip in return, you nod. He moves the wand up and down your leg gently, soothing your tired limb.

"Give that here." Jin tosses the purple toy on the bed before snagging the magic wand from Yoongi.

Your shocked that the man doesn't drop it in the box, but instead crawls on the bed behind you. Soothing vibrations massage the tired muscles on your back, making you moan in appreciation.

"Y/n wants her backside taken care of, isn't that right love?" Jin says as if it's the most obvious thing.

With your eyes now closed, you shift to make more of your back accessible . You enjoy the impromptu massage while trying to dispel the sight of sex toys everywhere in the same room with your friends. In your blissful state, you completely miss the goading look Jin sends Yoongi over your shoulder, and the dark-haired man's scowl he throws back at the blonde.

"Woah, y/n, are you a furry?" Jungkook calls out excitedly.

This has your eyes open instantly, head whipping to the side to look at the youngest, ready to deny everything. In his hands are two tails. One a bright pink bunny tail and the other a red and black fox tail. Attached to the ends of both are flared, glass plugs.

Will the shame ever end?

You slap a hand to your face, hoping to knock the embarrassment out. No point trying to convince the red head now. "It's more for aesthetic than anything, I think it looks cute. The fox one is easier to...ah nevermind."

"What? I'm curious." Jungkook asks. You don't know if the appearance of his bambi eyes is genuine or if he's acting naive to make you explain embarrassingly.

Yoongi leans over slightly and plucks the fox plug from Jungkook by pulling on the end of the tail.

"I bet it makes it easier to masturbate." He says casually, eyeing the toy appreciatively.

"Don't say it so casually!" You shriek.

Leaning forward, you try to snag the tail from your friend. However, you don't make it far as a hand slaps on your shoulder, stopping you from lunging at Yoongi. The magic wand switches rhythms and moves lower down your back.

"Y/n needs to relax, stop taunting her you two." Jin orders.

Jin's about to say more but an alert goes off on his phone. He removes his hand from your shoulder and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Yoongi bushes the fox tail up and down your leg teasingly. The fur tickles your skin and you kick him. He grabs your ankle before it leaves his side, a dark warning in his eyes.

"Looks like they are all stuck in traffic." Jin's voice cuts through the air. "Seems like they'll be awhile."

"Perfect." Yoongi purrs, eyes never leaving yours.

"I'm so hungry, why is that perfect?" Jungkook whines.

"So, hear me out." Yoongi starts.

"I don't think I like where this is going." Jin sighs disapprovingly.

"Since we got extra time, why don't we really help y/n relax? We can cure Jungkook of his curiosity too." Yoongi proposes, completely ignoring his elder.

Jungkook pauses his petting of the pink, fluffy anal plug. "uhhh-"

Jin scoffs, "As if she would agree to th-"

"Let's do it." You agree, shocking everyone into complete silence. The quiet humming of the magic wand now sounds deafening.

"W-what really?" Jin asks completely astounded.

You stare determinedly into Yoongi's shocked eyes, "Yeah, why not. Maybe a good orgasm could get me to chill. Are you up for it?"

"Oh shit." Jungkook gapes at you. The bunny tail falls from his fingers and onto the bed.

The magic wand's head disappears from your back, and an arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into Jin's chest and away from Yoongi. Jin places the wand's head on your upper thigh, dangerously close to your core. "Are you sure?"

Looking up at him, you plead, "Yes, please take care of me."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, the wand is placed between your legs, pressing hard into you and making you whimper. The strong vibrations are nearly overwhelming, even over your jeans. You weren’t used to not being in control as you only used your toys on yourself, and it felt oh so different with your friend behind you running the show and the two others watching you with their jaws hanging open. It turned you on in a way you’ve never been before.

“Jungkook, be useful and grab her leg would you.” Jin commands.

The youngest snaps out of his daze and sits down on the side of the bed similarly to Yoongi. He grabs your leg and pulls it towards him. Yoongi also spreads your other leg out more, exposing you to them even further.

You whine in frustration when the hand around your waist tightens, halting your hips from humping into the toy. Jin presses a button on the wand, making the speed increase even mroe.

“ Oooh , f-fuck, nnnngh ." You're a moaning mess, shaking at the unrelenting vibrations.

Warm lips brush your ear, and Jin whispers. "That's it love, just ride it out. Why don't you look at him?"

Not even realizing your eyes were closed, you open them and look with half lidded eyes at Yoongi. His grip tightens on your leg as he looks at you with blown out eyes.

"Think of all the times you used this on yourself, you naughty girl. Did you think of him, hmmm?" Jin continues to whisper in your ear.

"Mmmm, Yoongi." You gasp, as your mind falls into that head-space.

Teeth tug on your ear, pulling until you look up at Jin. "Do you think of all of us?"

"I-uggggh-y-yes." You admit, the shame of him knowing your secret turning you on even more.

You feel the rumble in his chest more than you hear it. The pride rolls off of him in waves.

"Show us the face when you come, go on, let go."

His words make you snap, and you come, fluids immediately soaking your underwear and creating a visible wet patch through your jeans. Your eyes roll back into your head as your body shakes. Jin keeps the wand in-between your legs, forcing you to ride out your orgasm. He only turns it off when your hand pushes at the hand holding the toy.

"Wow-that was..." Jungkook starts, words lost as he stares at your post orgasmic body.

"Y-yeah that was something alright." You pant out.

"Just something." Jin pouts, pushing you forward.

You can't help but laugh as you fall sideways on the bed. You turn your head to look at his tall frame behind you. A happy expression is on his face as he finally sees you smile genuinely. " Thanks, Jin ."

"Anytime, wait errrrr, I-" He cuts himself off as you start laughing hysterically. That is until the fox tail gets thrown into your face.

"What the hell Yoongi." You sit up, and are surprised to see Yoongi looking at you grumpily.

"What did I tell you, don't make me jealous." Yoongi says firmly. He picks up the bunny tail off the bed and looks at Jungkook. "Strip."

"R-really?" Jungkook's voice cracks. Quickly, he clears it and tries again, this time a lot deeper. "Really?"

Yoongi looks back to you and asks gruffly, "Is this clean?"

"Of course." You huff indignantly.

"Is it ok with you?" Jin asks, still ever the gentleman despite the earlier scene.

"Yeah." You lick your lips as you eye Jungkook. "That is, if you are ok with it Kookie."

Jungkook gulps. "P-please take care of me." He quotes.

Literally, how can the man be so cute and hot at the same fucking time. It is unfair.

"Then strip, baby boy." Yoongi repeats.

Jungkook stands up and quickly throws his shirt off. You can't help the "Fuck." that escapes your mouth at the sight of his chiseled chest. You want to lick it so bad. The red head continues to undress, stepping out of his pants to reveal strong thighs, but stops as his hands brush the band of his boxers.

To make Jungkook not alone in his nudity and hopefully more comfortable, you grab the ends of your sweater and pull it over your head in one fell swoop. This brings the attention back to you, and you feel three sets of eyes bore into your skin. You shimmy out of your jeans, your soaked underwear not doing much to hide your wet, swollen folds. Rolling over to be on all fours, you start crawling across the bed and towards Jungkook, leaving your head directly level with his hard cock.

"We can do it together Kookie, if you want?" You suggest. You shift your weight so you can move a hand up to trace his defined abs. The muscles ripple under your touch.

"Can we?" His breath stutters as you lean forward and lick a trail up his stomach.

" Of course, Kookie. May I?" You trace the tops of his boxer.

Jungkook nods vigorously. "Please touch me, all of me."

"Now that's a good bunny." You tease, brushing your hand down across his straining member.

Two hands appear on Jungkooks waist, and you finally notice Yoongi stood up and placed himself behind the red head. He pulls Jungkook's underwear down, leaving Jungkook completely bare.

From your position, it's easy for you to rest your weight on your elbows and lean down to take Jungkook's cock into your mouth.

"Ahhhh y/n." Jungkook whines, watching you bob your head up and down on his dick.

You tilt your head to look up at him, his expression completely fucked out. You smile up at him as best as you can with his cock in your mouth as he brushes his hands through your hair softly.

The bed dips next to you and you feel two hands deftly unhook your bra. Yoongi brings his hands around Jungkook to help slide it off completely, while Jin's hands skim your bare back before tugging your underwear down. You help him kick it off, leaving you and Jungkook completely naked between the fully clothed Jin and Yoongi.

Your lips come off of Jungkook's cock with a pop. "Yoongi, there should be some lube in that box somewhere."

Yoongi searches for the lube, and you try to see if you can peek around Jungkook to help spot it from your position. A smack on your rear makes you yelp, but you can't turn your head as Jungkook still has a needy grip on your hair.

"Don't start neglecting little Kookie now y/n." Jin massages your ass with his hands, just to give it another spank. "Go on, give him some nice licks."

You moan at Jin's dominance, liking his control over you. Wanting to please him, you stick out your tongue and start licking Jungkook's cock, making him moan in return. Just the tip though, to be a tease as you don't want him coming yet.

"Good girl." Jin praises, still groping your ass. You arch your back, going lower on Jungkook with your mouth, so close to his balls, while your ass hangs higher in the air.

"Found it." Yoongi exclaims, holding the lube in the air like a prize. He squirts a generous amount of lube on his finger before tossing the bottle over you to Jin. "This will probably be easier if you kneel on the bed."

Familiar hands grab your waist and pull back, dragging you across the bed to make room for Jungkook mid-lick. You can't help moaning again when your hair gets pulled from the action. Jungkook kneels on the bed, soothing your hair back as he sits on his knees in front of you.

Yoongi lifts his lubed finger and slowly circles Jungkook's hole, the dick in front of you twitching as a reaction. "How does this feel Jungkook?"

"Different, but good I think." Jungkook answers shakily.

It's your turn to feel a lubed finger circle your tight hole. You try to angle your hips so Jungkook and Yoongi have a better view of the finger dipping into you. When Jungkook's hips thrust forward, you assume a finger is slowly entering him as well.

"A-aaah, Oh god." Having your mouth sucking his dick, and Yoongi's finger in his ass is becoming too much for the man. "I'm going to nnngh shit-"

Your mouth leaves Jungkook's cock when Jin smacks your ass again. Yoongi's finger leaves Jungkook's asshole as well. "Well, we can't have that yet. Your still not a little rabbit yet." Yoongi smacks Jungkook's ass too before picking the rabbit tail up, covering the plug with a glob of lube.

"Wait, wait I want to see." Jin exclaims, with his finger sliding into you further. Your pussy clenches around nothing in want.

"You hear that, hands and knees, just like y/n." Yoongi commands.

Wanting to please and be pleased, Jungkook has his hands on the bed with his ass in the air in a heartbeat. You nearly coo at the sight. The red head still looks slightly nervous so you reach a hand underneath you to gather up your slick juices. You hold your now glistening finger out to Jungkook and he looks at it with wide eyes.

"Take a- nnnnngh" The finger in your ass pulls out, and the glass of your fox plug circles your hole teasingly. "a taste mmmmmh ahhhhhh."

Jungkook envelops your finger in his hot mouth, sucking it clean. He moans around your wet digit as he watches the anal plug enter you slowly, red fox tail now sticking out of your ass. You wiggle your ass playfully, making Jin laugh before slapping your bruising ass.

"We have a little vixen on our hands here." He chuckles. You feel a weight on the tail pulling at you as Jin plays with end of the toy. Your finger is nearly bit as the toy finishes being pushed into Jungkook's ass.

Quickly, you pull your finger out of his mouth as he grits out. "Y-yoongi ugggh."

"Looks like we have a little bunny here too." Yoongi chuckles at Jungkook's panting form, giving his firm butt a spank.

" Mmm such a pretty little bunny." Jin agrees. "Now go get him little fox."

You lunge forward, tail swinging, and mouth going down on Jungkook's cock. He chokes out in surprise, making you almost choke as he accidentally thrust his hips forward.

"Careful rabbit." Yoongi warns, pulling at the pink rabbit tail before stuffing it back in.

"Ahhhh ah!" Jungkook is a mess, his hips rotating in a chaotic rhythm between your mouth and the toy Yoongi is thrusting in and out of his tight asshole.

It doesn't take long until Jungkook comes, his hot, white cum squirts into your mouth. You swallow around his cock, milking him dry as Yoongi continues to thrust the toy in and out to carry out the young man's orgasm.

The two of you stop your ministrations on the bunny man as he tries to squirm away from over stimulation. He collapses on the bed, panting heavily.

"You ok there Jungkook?" Jin asks worriedly.

Rubbing the young man's back, you try to help him calm down. Your hand reaches to take the tail out of him, but he wiggles his butt away from you.

"N-no, please, I want to keep it in. If that's ok?" Jungkook whines, turning to look at the toy.

"Of course, it looks cute on you." You pat the pink puff ball, making him groan as the plug jostles in him slightly. You quickly take your hand away. "Ah, sorry."

"S'all good." He slurs, smiling at you tiredly.

You sit back down on your butt. The fox tail splays out behind you, while your legs are bent and spread open in front of you. Yoongi's eyes are glued to your wet pussy, and you bite your lip nervously. After all that's happened, there's really nothing left to be embarrassed about.

"Yoongi." You call out, and his eyes shoot up to yours. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

The dark-haired man bites his own lip as his eyes run up and down your body. With his big hoodie on, you can't tell how affected he is by the situation. You get back on your knees and pull the ends of his hoodie up, ready to remedy it. Yoongi raises his hands in response, giving you permission to lift it up over his head. You do the same with his shirt, and your fingers trail down his torso to rest at the tops of his jeans.

Looking up, you want to get confirmation to continue, but before you can ask, soft lips are on your own, and your being pushed down against the bed. You gasp in surprise, allowing a hot tongue to enter your mouth and dominate your own. A moan from you echoes into his mouth, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Using the element of surprise, you roll over, taking Yoongi with you. This leaves you straddling him, his hair fanned out against your bed. Yoongi bites at your lower lip and pulls, and you respond by grinding down on him, hard.

"Ahh, fuck y/n." His hands fly to your waist, trying to stop your motions. He doesn't want to blow his load right away.

Your teasing grin is wiped away when a bare knee comes onto the bed, right in front of you. Following the limb up, you see a huge dick, hard and red, straining up against a toned chest. The sight of bare broad shoulders nearly makes you choke.

How can a man be built this handsome?

Jin smirks down at you, as if he knows exactly what you are thinking. "I almost want to keep you."

Before you can give a snarky reply, or even think of one, Yoongi's hips thrust into yours, making your breath hitch. He continues to dry hump you, making sure you don't forget the position you are in.

"Y-yoongi mmmnnngh." you can't help that your hands start traveling over your own body, and fondling your bouncing breasts, delirious for more.

"Not a chance" Yoongi talks over your moans, glaring at the man half kneeling on the bed.

"Hmph, fine then. Hey, Jungkook." Jin calls out to the bunny watching from his curled-up spot. "Why don't you relieve Yoongi of his pants?"

Jungkook springs to action, crawling over to Yoongi and reaching between Yoongi's and your bodies. Yoongi holds you up so you don't start humping Jungkook's hand as the younger man unbuttons and unzips Yoongi's jeans. Hopping off the bed, Jungkook grabs the ends of Yoongi's jeans and gives a solid pull, taking it off in one go. Everyone looks back at the youngest surprised.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" Jin interrogates.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jungkook fires back smugly.

"Yes, that's why I fucking asked you, idiot." Jin seethes, glaring at the man with the bunny smile, now reaching to pull off Yoongi's underwear. With a quick tug, every one of you is now completely naked.

You take a moment to admire Yoongi's build as you rise up, positioning your pussy over his thick cock. Slowly, you slide down on him, taking your time. It's better than you ever fantasized and especially better than that purple dildo you own.

Yoongi hisses when you bottom out all the way down to his hilt. His fingers grip into your sides, leaving indents in your flesh. You take a moment, getting used to the stretch before slowly swiveling your hips. The reaction you get is immediate, both of you moaning loudly, and unashamedly.

A hand weaves through your hair, and pulls, using it as leverage to drag your head forward. You come face to face with a well-endowed cock. Jin guides it over your lips, and you open them obediently, allowing him to stuff his cock into your tight, little mouth. He uses the grip on your hair to control the speed in which you bob your head up and down.

If all that wasn't enough, Jungkook starts playing with the tail sticking out of your ass. Waving the end of the tail excitedly, you groan around Jin's dick as the plug shifts inside you. Jungkook gets more adventures and quickly grabs the base of the tail, fucking the plug in and out of your asshole. Eyeing Yoongi's dick plunging in and out of your vagina, Jungkook sets the rythm to match his elder's pace.

It's a sight to behold, that's for sure. Your riding Yoongi vigorously as your approaching your high, getting your face fucked by Jin, and a curious Jungkook probing at your ass with a fox plug. One of Yoongi's hands reaches up to fondle the balls smacking against your face, and Jungkook quickly follows Yoongi's example by fondling Yoongi's balls with a hand as well.

While your moans are muffled from Jin's cocks, the three men's moans are music to your ears. Their grunts are soft, and blend in beautifully with their panting breaths. With each of your holes being fucked tirelessly, it doesn't take long for you to come undone again. It sets off a chain reaction, your pussy clenching around Yoongi makes him explode into you, cum filling you up. The sight of Yoongi and you orgasming underneath him has Jin cumming into your mouth. You do your best to swallow as you ride Yoongi through the both of your orgasms.

"This is so fucking hot." Jungkook stares at awe at the scene before him. He's completely enchanted by the sounds of everyone's whines and moans, so desperate and needy, and stops fucking you with the fox tail.

Jin lets go of your hair, allowing you to collapse on Yoongi. The tall man pats your head before leaving to find something to clean everyone up with. Yoongi helps you roll off of him and his dick, tucking your exhausted form into his side. A soft look crossing his features as he brushes your hair away from your face.

"Hey." he says with a small smile.

"Hey, you." you reply with a matching smile.

"Hey, me." Jungkook adds in, feeling left out.

You giggle, snuggling more into Yoongi as he kicks out at Jungkook.

"Jungkook, I love you, but please leave." Yoongi says with a threatening tone.

"Fine, I see how it is." The words he says doesn't match the bunny grin on his face. He walks out of your room to help Jin find something to clean up with, pink tail still in his ass.

A finger comes up to your chin, tilting your face up. Your lips meet Yoongi's in a gentle kiss that makes you melt. He might have a hard time with telling you how he really feels, but this kiss tells you everything. So much so, you almost miss the sound of the front door banging open.

"Tacos are here!" Jimin's voice cheers loudly.

"Toilet paper too!" Sings Hoseok.

Yoongi scrambles up, the fastest you've ever seen him and he slams your bedroom door closed. He locks it and turns to look back at you completely exasperated.

"Shouldn't we help them out?" You ask worriedly.

"Ahhhhhhh why are you naked!?" Namjoon shrieks.

"Why aren't you naked!?" Jin shrieks back to successfully confuse Namjoon.

"Is that a rabbit tail Jungkook? Nice." Taehyung's deep voice echoes through the hall.

"Uhhhh, y/n made a mistake?" Jungkook tries.

"Nevermind." You grumble, making Yoongi smile at you deviously. "Let them suffer."

#btsghostie #btsghostiebingo #thehouseofbangtan #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts foursome #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi smut #suga fanfiction #suga smut #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook smut #jin fanfiction #jin smut #fmmm #my writing #the d box

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.1 (BAON)

Summary: Stretch and Edge are happily living their best lives together, despite the occasional setbacks. This might be another one.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags To Come

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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"that's it, babe, i'm finished. stick a fork in me, i'm done."

Edge looked over to where his husband was flopped back in the grass, an arm slung over his eye sockets. His sweatshirt had been shed some time ago, followed by his tank top and now he was stripped down to his lovely, if somewhat sweaty, rib cage. He couldn’t blame Stretch for his exhaustion, they’d been working hard since early this morning and even he was starting to feel weariness setting in.

"Not quite finished, but close," Edge allowed. "It's looking very good."

That was enough to Stretch to rise all the way onto his elbows in outrage. "excuse me, it is looking fantastic. amazing. brilliant. gimmie a second to find a thesaurus and i'll toss a few more adjectives your way."

Edge had to admit that he was right. Their new pond was shaping up into a fine addition for their backyard. Surrounded by large stones to support the two small waterfalls, the narrow path that led to it from the coop was surrounded by plants that were both visually appealing and of types that any domesticated poultry would find an appetizing snack. What couldn't be seen was the dedicated filter and drain that would keep the water clean and the automatic vacuum that would run at night to keep bottom muck free for their little aquatic acquisition.

He'd spent days researching the best way to build it, another few designing it and ordering the necessary supplies. If they were going to have a duck pond in their increasingly hectic backyard, then they were going to have the best one that he could possibly manage, but it wasn’t only the aesthetic that made all the effort worth it. There was also the way Stretch scrambled up and shifted his sprawl across Edge’s back, hugging him tightly. “hey, babe, thanks for doing this.”

“You’re welcome,” Edge leaned back into his arms, “but I honestly can’t fathom why you would ever think I wouldn’t.”

“i don’t think you wouldn’t,” Stretch said. The words were muffled, his mouth pressed close to Edge’s temple. “but you made it a priority over your kitchen when you really didn’t have to."

The kitchen was still waiting on its remodel and that was certainly his next project, but the issues there were entirely cosmetic; the kitchen was still useable, if less than aesthetically pleasing. A small duckling would not remain small for very long and needed a pond as soon as possible. The little basin Cheese had been using was not an adequate substitute.

“Of course, I did,” Edge reached back to gently touched Stretch’s cheekbone, traced the arch with his thumb, glove whispering against bone. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t put my grand duckling first?” He highly doubted he would have said the same when they first came to the surface. In fact, he would have assumed anyone who even suggested such a thing to him was a raving lunatic. These days, adjusting his life for not only Stretch but also chickens, neighborhood children, and experiments that would be right at home in any mad scientist’s laboratory was not only automatic, it was also a pleasure.

Stretch snorted, nipping teasingly as those fingers wandered down to his jaw. "yeah, okay, grandpa. welp, we got the water and we've got the plants in it. we put in those tablets you got to regulate the ph and we've got the little waterfalls going. can we bring cheese to it now?"

Edge drew away, crawling across the grass to pick up his clipboard. He made a show of checking the list until Stretch was practically rolling on the ground in moaning impatience.

"I believe we can introduce our newest family member to their own personal playground," Edge allowed. He nearly fell back on the ground when Stretch scrambled over right into his lap, flinging his skinny arms around him.

"yes!” Stretch cheered, “time for swimmies!" Too loudly and right into Edge’s audial canal. Before he could plot any sort of revenge, ticklish, pleasurable, or otherwise, Stretch was already squirming free and bouncing to his feet. He might have used up all his energy allotted for labor, but it seemed he kept a reserve stored for excitement.

'Swimmies?" Edge mouthed, but he only shook his head and climbed to his feet to begin picking up the tools scattered about, setting them back into his toolbox. Despite the day's work, his leg was only just starting to ache. He stretched it out with a grimace but didn't yet reach for his cane. After so much bending and moving today, he'd likely need it tonight and possibly some time with an ice pack as well. It was definitely getting better, slowly but surely. Today was simply pushing him to his limits.

"cleanup can come later, babe, you gotta watch!" Stretch called.

Obediently, Edge sat in one of the deck chairs Stretch had pulled over that morning for breaktime. "Watching."

With a flourish worthy of a game show host, Stretch opened the coop door and three chickens plus a duckling came scurrying eagerly out. Before they could get far, Stretch scooped up Cheese, holding the little bundle of yellow fluff and cooing to them. Already they were visible larger, soon they would begin to shed their baby down and real feathers would begin growing in.

The tiny quacks rose in volume as Stretch carried Cheese towards the pond and before he even made it to the walkway, the little duckling was squirming loose. Stretch set them down hastily before they could fall and Cheese made a beeline straight for the pond, splashing in, their little webbed feet paddling furiously as they quacked enthusiastically.

Nugget was less than pleased with her adopted child's watery delight. She stood on the artificial shoreline, flapping her wings and loudly expressing her displeasure. Cheese ignored her loud scolding and cackles, swimming happily, and finally Nugget began to sulkily scratch around the fresh landscaping in search of bugs, occasionally giving her child a grouchy glare. Noodle and Dumpling were less concerned with the latest member of their flock and were already inspecting their new territory.

"guess it works," Stretch laughed. He was nearly clapping his hands in glee as he watched Cheese contentedly swim circles around their new watering hole.

“It better, after all that effort.” Edge set both hands at the small of his back and stretched, groaning as his joints popped. “Let them swim for a while and then we can go get cleaned up so I can start on dinner.”

Stretch scrambled for his phone, wincing as he checked the time. "shit, i didn't tell you, i'm meeting andy in town tonight. sorry, babe, it slipped my mind."

"Not a problem.” His dinner plans could be easily adjusted to account for leftovers. More curious, and suspicious, was those two going out for the evening, particularly without himself and Antwan invited along. “What are the two of you up to?"

“checking out a few bands,” Stretch said promptly. He scooped his sweatshirt off the ground, his voice briefly muffled as he pulled it over his head. “see, catty gives andy a list of local bands who profess to be monster supporters to check out. word gets arounds that being supportive of monsters can get you gigs at our events and the embassy pays well.” That was both explanation enough and a guilty relief. Neither he nor Antwan were fans of the sort of music that Catty was likely seeking. “andy is checking their sound but also trying to poke around and see if it’s all just lip service since the only asshole we want on the payroll is your bro.” He leered, running his tongue lightly over his teeth. “you’ll have to wait for my lip service until i get home.”

“an impressive feat, considering your lack of lips,” Edge said dryly. He waited for Stretch to secure their flock back in the coop, despite Cheese’s heartbreaking protests for a longer swim time. Then he took a step towards the house and while he was sure his expression didn’t change in the slightest, he accepted the cane when Stretch pointedly handed it to him. “Thank you.”

“uh huh, try saying that a little less like ‘fuck off’ and i’ll buy it,” Stretch said cheerfully. “gonna head upstairs to change. hey, wait.” Just inside the door, Stretch pushed Edge up against the wall, both arms braced on either side of him as he leaned in. The sharp thrill that rumbled through Edge’s soul was sadly disappointed when all Stretch did was say firmly. “promise me you won’t spend the whole time i’m gone working. do some of your action figures or make some muffins. do something else, okay?”

“I promise.” Still caught in the loose cage of Stretch’s arms, Edge stripped off his dirty gloves and dropped them to the floor, then reached up to cup his face lightly, cautiously, between his bare hands as he leaned up to kiss him with gentle affection.

“liar,” Stretch murmured against his mouth. He stole another gentle kiss, another slightly less gentle one, then drew back, “you’ll tell yourself just one more thing and then get caught up in something important so when i get home, you’ll be sitting on the sofa and your leg is gonna hurt like a bitch because you didn’t move for five hours.”

“That does sound like me,” Edge agreed, stealing a last kiss before letting Stretch escape upstairs.

What he did not say was that the house tended to be too quiet without Stretch in it. Even when he was only sleeping next to Edge, his presence carried a certain weight that seemed to fill the room. Work was more immersive than any of his hobbies and he would be less likely to be constantly about to speak to Stretch only to remember that he wasn’t there.

Ridiculous, really, that he could miss Stretch before he was even gone, and he wasn’t about to say a word. He wouldn’t try to hold Stretch back for the world, certainly not from his friendship with Jeff.

He was setting up his laptop on the coffee table when Stretch came back downstairs, dressed entirely from Edge’s side of the closet, the warm pulse in his soul was far less from affection and more foreshadowing of the night he hoped would come when Stretch returned. Edge might not have chosen to wear a striped shirt with that jacket, but it was undeniably attractive on Stretch’s tall, slim form, particularly coupled with jeans that clung to his femurs, all the way down to the borrowed boots on his feet.

Stretch was never oblivious to his gaze and playfully struck a pose that would have given Mettaton a fit of jealousy.

“like the coming attraction?” Stretch said teasingly. He gave a little shimmy and Edge’s mouth went dry.

“Always.” He let it come out in a rough growl, watched the brief flicker of orange color Stretch’s eye lights.

His tongue flicked out over his teeth, his own voice lowering to that whiskey-sweet rasp that Edge loved so much. “don’t lose your raincheck, you’ll get to call it in when i get home.”

He leaned down for another kiss, one that Edge gladly granted. But before he could head for the front door, Edge caught his hand, drawing it to his mouth to press a light kiss right above Stretch’s wedding band. Later, he couldn’t say why he added, “Love? Be careful.”

It wasn’t his normal version of a sendoff, obvious in the way Stretch startled, blinking down at him. “aren’t i always, mama bear?”

“Absolutely not.”

“okay, well, i’d argue that. but my reputation kinda precedes me and you’re also something of an expert witness.” He twisted his hand in Edge’s loose grip, fingertips brushing against his jaw. “i will be tonight. deal?”

“Deal.”

With a last kiss, Stretch was out the door, heading off for a night of music and fun, and Edge was alone.

He headed for the kitchen first, absently reminding himself to get working on the schematics for this remodel next. The meal he’d planned for tonight suddenly lacked appeal and instead, he decided to make it tomorrow when Stretch would be home. A sandwich would do for tonight. Before he left with his plate, he rummaged through the freezer for an ice pack to keep the dull ache in his leg from rising to a throb.

By the time he was settled on the sofa, the silence in the house was already nagging at him, the memory of his husband dressed in his clothes lingering at the back of his mind, and with it, some nebulous agitation, something that he couldn’t properly express.

Better to cut it off now before he was truly distracted. Edge opened his laptop and soon was absorbed in his work. To the point he didn’t really register the time until his phone chimed and when he picked it up to check the message, the first three words turned all the lingering, warm anticipation in his soul to ice.

We have him.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Note

Hewwo I really love your writing and I want to improve my own to a form similar to yours. If it's okay, can I ask what your writing process is or if you have any writing tips? Sorry if you already answered questions like this. I am not a native speaker by the way, can i also ask about how you built your vocabulary as well? Thank you very much in advance and I hope you're having a great day/night! Drink lots of water and don't forget to eat three meals a day.~

hello, anon! you’re actually the first to ask about something like this and i’m honored you think my writing is good enough for me to give advice on (and honored that you think it’s good enough to take inspiration from!).

i have two different writing methods, which are as follows:

long fics (10k+ words)

i write an outline and have my friends look over it to make sure that the scenes are both impactful and enjoyable, along with being organized. the most important part of writing a long story is making sure the timeline is coherent and that you have proper buildup to the climax of the story.

before i write a scene that contains foreshadowing to a future event, i write down what themes i wish to convey with this scene, along with any future information that will be relevant later in the story. this is helpful because you never write something all at once if it’s this long! you might forget important details, so having notes is always nice.

if i’m hesitant on writing a scene, i’ll talk it out with some of my friends and see if i’m still comfortable with writing it.

one of the biggest things i can recommend is being adaptable! being willing to change your story plans is crucial, because (typically) the first idea you think of isn’t always the best one. in my own experience, i change my ideas a lot as i write something. this is because i will get bored writing otherwise.

this is from my own experience, other writers may disagree, but i NEVER set word count goals for myself. i write when i want to write, otherwise i will get discouraged when i do not meet said goals.

take breaks or you will hit burnout fast!

have a glass of water and set a timer every 15 minutes to relax your eyes from your screen and drink some of it. it gives your mind a chance to soothe itself from the bright lights of a screen and also gives you a short break. and you stay hydrated!

short fics (<10k words)

when i write short fics, i typically don’t have an outline (unless if it’s a series) and i just go with my gut

if i don’t really like where a story’s going and i know it’s short, i finish it anyways because a finished product is better than giving up in my eyes? at least i know what not to do next time!

sorry a lot of these tips don’t pertain to actual writing! they relate more to planning. :( i’ve been writing stories for fun since i was 6 or 7 (i have journals upon journals of my first stories in my basement!) so most of what i do is just... gut instinct at this point? i apologize if that’s not very helpful of me to say. ;.; i don’t think of myself as very talented but like... i wish to say this in case it happens: please don’t compare your writing to mine! i’m sure your writing is lovely in its own right.

now that that’s said, here’s some stuff i can actually help with, which is under the cut because this is getting long:

word choice / vocabulary

first off, the best thing you can do for yourself is read something complex. like... the type of book where you have to pull out your phone and look up what words mean. if you’re not exposing yourself to new words, even if it is annoying to have to pause, you won’t learn new words.

this typically means ditching the fanfics and looking for actual published novels, typically older ones. i love fanfics (i write them lol), but the word choice in fanfics is typically limited to casual conversational language as they are written for fun, not necessarily to challenge the mind.

next, the best thing you can do is use a thesaurus. i personally use thesaurus.com but it’s different for everyone! but this is dangerous. using a thesaurus can be one of the worst things you can do for your writing if you don’t use it properly. you use a thesaurus to get synonyms for words that are commonly used, but may have a lot of other alternatives (i.e. happy, sad, etc.) and NOT super specific words.

ONLY use words listed as synonyms in a thesaurus if you know them and it’s safe to assume your readers likely know them as well! for example, i used the word ‘insouciant’ as a joke in my last fic. however, if i used that seriously, that probably would’ve been bad as it’s a SUPER rare word. nothing will ruin a reader’s experience faster than a story that blatantly uses too many words from a thesaurus and, worst of all, uses them improperly.

let me give an example:

starting text: “she was happy to see that he had returned safely. she could see relief in his eyes that she was safe as well. he smiled happily at her as she ran into his arms.” this is good enough, but it’s rather plain. it’s an easy read, but nothing about it is super engrossing.

good thesaurus example: “she was overjoyed to see that he had returned without harm. she identified relief in his eyes that she had stayed out of harm’s way as well. he smiled enthusiastically at her as she sprinted into his embrace.” it sounds a lot nicer before and definitely more polished, but nothing about this requires someone to whip out their phone in frustration to google a word. the point of typical writing is not to challenge your reader’s intelligence but to entertain them.

bad thesaurus example: “she was jocular to perceive that he had reappeared in an unharmed manner. she prognosticated solace in his blue orbs that she was guarded as well. he smiled jovially at her as she charged into his forelimbs.” this is a bit of an exaggerated example, but this is actually how i feel some authors tend to write. it’s very blatantly using a thesaurus, it uses words incorrectly, and it overcomplicated things to where it feels like the reader has to do a mental exercise to read it.

tl;dr for this section: if you don’t know a word, do not use it. if you are familiar with a word, it’s probably good to use as long as your writing still seems natural. thesauruses are your friend but can be your enemy.

i would like to clarify that i am a native speaker and it’s not necessary to read books forever in order to keep your grammar and word choice up to date. i have not picked up an actual published book within the last 4 years (don’t laugh at me i know this is bad). however, in learning to expand your grammar, reading books is essential.

some miscellaneous writing tips i have include:

you don’t have to take every request that comes within your inbox if you do decide to do tumblr writing. i probably, much to the behest of the people that submit, throw a good chunk of my requests out. write what you’re passionate about and your writing will improve and your followers will be happier.

if someone criticizes your writing, this does not mean they’re trying to criticize you (usually. don’t go on twitter if you want this to remain true). they are providing something most people don’t want to offer: advice. many times you will find yourself surrounded by people who will applaud you for writing nearly anything. this is not good. living in an echo chamber will ensure that your writing never improves. you want to ask people for advice and find those who will give you genuine advice, even if it may hurt to hear.

try to discern what authors you like do with their writing versus authors you don’t like. consciously making these comparisons will allow you to directly apply them to your own writing and help you emulate someone’s style as well.

please don’t write meme references into your work. it will get outdated fast. try to write something you can look back on within a few years and not cringe at. :) this is just my personal opinion lol, someone might disagree.

i do not proofread my writing. it makes me second guess everything. everything on my blog, as you see it, lacks proofreading, aside from inheritance, in which i had a beta reader glance over it. for beginner writers, this is probably shit advice if you’re not used to grammar BUT that’s just how i roll and i wished to share that.

the most important thing i do for my writing is have a good music playlist in the background. NOTHING will make you write better than listening to music that fits the mood of what you’re writing. find a premade youtube playlist or slap together a spotify playlist of songs you think fit the mood and get grooving to it. you’ll find that you’ll write better and you’ll enjoy the process of writing much more with the mental stimulus.

don’t write jokes in which you have to overexplain them. if you have to explain to the reader what the joke is, it won’t be funny. humor is difficult to write, but no jokes involved are better than a bunch of failed ones.

don’t worry about pinpointing fanfic characterization of a specific character perfectly. i get praises for my characterization of diluc and kaeya within inheritance a lot, even though i specifically altered them from canon (??????? this confuses me a lot that i get praised for this but anyways) and haven’t even read the webtoon. as long as it’s within reasonable expectation, you should be fine. zhongli shouldn’t be written as going off the walls crazy with excitement just like venti shouldn’t be written as super serious about frivolous matters. as long as you get the general gist of a character, people will enjoy it.

try to find some writer friends. they don’t necessarily have to be in the fandom, but being able to shoot off ideas with other people is amazing at improving both your plot and your writing overall. (shoutout to @shannara because for as much as i annoy him, he’s always willing to listen to me blab about any story and any idea, even though he doesn’t read reader-inserts nor should he care about my dumb OCs, but he cares about mine because he’s a cool dude)

don’t get discouraged if a fic doesn’t get good reception. in fact, it’s probably better if your first few fics don’t blow up in popularity if you do post them because it’s humbling and you can decide if you’re actually writing because you enjoy it or if you’re just doing it for clout.

i hope this made sense and if you (or any other people reading this!) need any more writing advice, my ask box and DMs are always open. if you ever want me to beta read something, please send a DM and i’ll see if i can as long as it’s like... not super long and i have spare time.

sorry this turned out to be so long but it turns out i had far more to say than i thought! good luck writing and i believe in you!

#long post #mail #advice #i hope this helped? i'm not very good at this sort of thing.#Anonymous

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kayrogers · 4 years

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to all the girls i've loved before ][ p. parker

a tatbilb au

Paring(s): LJ!tom holland x PK!reader

Inspo: TATBILB cause Peter is a total soft boi and also I'm a slut for rom-coms

Word Count: 1700+

Warning(s): cursing and awkward kissing

Part: prologue | part ??

A/N: this has literally been a draft in my notes for like over a year, but college has been creatively hitting me in the stomach with a baseball bat so I only wanted to start it when I got a semi-break. Obvs updates will not be regular just like everything else I write because I am the worst, but I mean thanks in advance if ya read it!

‘ Dear [Y/n] [Y/l/n],

First of all, I refuse to call you [Y/l/n]. You think you’re so cool, going by your last name all the sudden. Just so you know, that only makes you one of the guys. That’s it.

Did you know that I didn’t stop thinking about our kiss every time I saw you in school for at least the rest of seventh grade? Sometimes I think you do. Because you always seem to know everything. And you always smile when you see me blushing like you know you’re the reason why. That’s what I hate about you. Because you do just know, or at least you act like it. You’re too cool to be bothered by anything, or be wrong EVER.

Well here are some things you don’t know that I think:

You swear all the time and say the grossest things. I’ve heard every dirty joke Flash has ever made, and you beat him without trying! And you just assume everyone will think it’s cute cause you’re a pretty girl and you curse. And if they don’t, who cares, right? Wrong! You care. You care a lot about what people think of you.

You always show us bugs you think are cool and it’s gross. That’s terrifying and I hate when you stick them in my face cause I’m grossed out. It’s rude.

You’re so good at everything. Too good. I have to try harder around the guys to be half as cool as you.

You kissed me for no reason! You knew Flash wanted to kiss you. Everyone knew that Flash wanted to kiss you. He made all of us spit-shake on not kissing you if we ended up in the closet for 7 minutes in heaven because he liked you. But you still did it. Why? I wanted my first kiss to be special, and with my future girlfriend. All romantic, you know? That’s what it was supposed to be. And it wasn’t any of that. Thanks to you it was the most un-special kiss it could be AND I got my ass kicked by Flash!

The stupidest part is, that kiss made me like you. I never did before. Didn’t think of you as anything but one of the guys. Flash has always said you’re the prettiest girl we know. And yeah, that’s true. But I still didn’t LIKE you. Missed the hook that every other guy was on in middle school. A lot of people are beautiful. Doesn’t make them interesting or intriguing or cool.

Is that why you kissed me? Cause I was the only one who wasn’t wrapped around your finger? Well it worked! Ever since then, I saw you. I mean really looked at you. Behind every scratch, bump, and bruise from whatever sport you were playing, I saw you. How you weren’t just beautiful, that word isn’t good enough. You just exist effortlessly.

And yes, I did go through the thesaurus for that adjective. You’re hard to describe, [Y/n].

After you kissed me, I liked you for the rest of seventh grade and almost all of eighth. It’s not easy watching you with Flash. It’s also not easy when he shoves it in my face all the time cause he doesn’t like me anymore. So thanks for that! But I get it, if I had you I wouldn’t be able to shut up about you either. You make him feel special. Because that’s what you do, right? You’re good at making people feel special.

But not me anymore. I haven’t really seen you over the past year. And any time I do, you’re with Flash. Your spell has worn off [Y/n] [Y/l/n]. I am proud to say that I am once again the only boy in school to not be hooked into you. All because I got too much of you at once and now I don’t think I’ll want to be under that spell ever again.

What a relief!

Peter Benjamin Parker ’

You felt your brows furrow, cheeks equally red from a shyness you hadn’t felt in years and slight anger. Clearly he wrote this years ago, but why send it now? Right after Flash cheated on you?!

Did he like you? Did he hate you? Why did you care? It was just Peter-fucking-Parker.

You purse your lip, placing the letter back on the desk. Your blood boiled, heart skipping a beat. Every single reaction in your body was opposing and you hated how much it affected you.

So what would be the best course of action? To act like it didn’t effect you at all. At least, that’s what you saw as the right decision. It’d be easy, just let Parker down and tell him you didn’t feel the same. Because maybe that’s what this was? Maybe Peter did fall back “under your spell” and now that you were finally single he had to tell you? That was the only idea which came to your mind anyways.

You looked over at your closet, eyes focusing on your favorite shirt. It was a white crew neck sweater decorated in the entomology of beetles, and you decided you would be wearing that to turn him down.

“Don’t like my bugs? Yeah okay, Dickhead.” You muttered and pulled the item out before forming the rest of the outfit which consisted of running shorts and sneakers. Classy, right?

You took a picture of the letter before folding it back up and placing it into the envelope. Why? Well not that you’d admit it, but you were never complimented like that before. And that part of the letter made you feel kinda nice actually. He paid attention to you back then, which could have been sweet once upon a time. Now? Now you didn’t know how to feel about it and that bothered you immensely.

Later, in school, You mulled over how you would confront the boy. It was weird, really weird. You and Peter hadn’t really talked since middle school and the most the two of you interacted in high school was you apologizing for Flash being a dick to him about 24/7. And now he was apparently infatuated with you once and you had to tell him that you didn’t feel the same. But as the clock ticked on, you knew you had at least one class with him and that was gym.

You anxiously gripped the letter in your hand, jogging along the track and looking for a familiar set of brown curls. It didn’t take long for you to catch up with him, spotting Peter and Ned half-walking the whole thing while the gym teacher wasn’t looking.

“Yo Parker! Wait up a second.” You called and his head whipped around, his eyes instantly going to your sweater.

‘Do bugs really bother him that much?’ You thought and held back a frown before shrugging it off. There were more important matters.

“Nice shirt! Is it accurate?” Ned instantly chirped up and you let yourself smirk, he always had such an excited demeanor in a way that could light up a room if anyone bothered to notice him.

“You think you’d catch me wearing pseudoscience? What the hell do you take me for?” That smirk grew into a smile as you spoke to Ned, not noticing the pale color staining Peter’s face. Because while you were focused on Ned, Peter was focused on you.

Specifically, the letter in your hand.

“You’re right, I apologize. What brings you over here anyways? You usually lap us twice by now.” You looked over to Peter while Ned talked, watching how he was unable to even look up from your hand.

“I wanted to talk to Peter, actually… alone?” You scratched the back of your neck while Ned let out a big ‘ohh’ and quickly made himself scarce.

The boy looked more nervous than you had ever seen him, running his hands through his hair so much that every knot could have been plucked out by now.

“What um- what’s up, [Y/n]?”

“Listen, I’m gonna make this quick to save both of us the awkwardness. I think it’s really nice that you think I’m one of the prettiest girls in our grade and stuff… but me and Flash just broke up and I really don’t see you that way-”

The only thing you heard from him was an exasperated ‘what?’ before practically watching the boy fall in slow motion. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and you gasped out loud when his head hit the ground.

“Oh my god, Peter!” Dropping to the ground after him, you immediately move his hair from his eyes and wave your hand in front of his face.

“Are you okay? Parker? Do you know your name? What day is it?” You gave a choppy version of the concussion questions your coaches asked after a particularly bad hit to the head, panic evident in your eyes.

‘Did I just concuss this kid?!’ you thought wildly.

Slowly, he sat up, taking a couple breaths while you kept your hand on his shoulder. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said exasperated and you watched his eyes grow twice their size as he glanced to his left.

Storming towards the two of you was a recognizable scowl, an envelope in her hand. Michelle Jones. She was MJ to you, once upon a time, but you couldn’t think of the last time the two of you said a word to each other.

“Oh god!” Peter rolled his eyes, grabbing your attention yet again.

In a blink, the boy had managed to grab your waist and pin you underneath him, one hand was gently caressing your head while the other wrapped underneath you. You couldn’t even take a breath before his lips were on yours, surprise flooding your system. His lips were soft and you hadn’t even realized how your body instantly reacted to him as if you had done this a thousand times before, kissing him in a quick but simple rhythm. But once your brain did register it? You grabbed his face, separating the two of you.

“Parker, the fuck?!-”

“Bye!” He blurted out before letting go of you and running off at a speed you didn’t even think was possible for him.

So this left you, alone, confused, and strangely breathless on the ground.

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

taglist(s):

tatgilb -

permanent -

@ultrunning @jesseswartzwelder

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tatbilb #tatbilb imagine #tatbilb au #au #spiderman homecoming #marvel imagine #spiderman imagine

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godkilller · 3 years

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ROLEPLAYING A FIGHT

DETAILS AND EXAMPLES.

As I touched on in my previous tips ‘n tricks post, fight threads should never happen in a void. There should be concrete connections to your character’s main storyline, their goals, their motivations, and other contributors to why and how they’ve found themselves in this current situation. That ALSO being said, the fight should literally not happen in a void: WHERE IS THIS CONFLICT TAKING PLACE? Describe, as an ‘establishing shot’, where your character is. Are they outside, is there a lot of room for them to run around and get into a scuffle? Are there trees, cars, buildings nearby? Will there be a high potential for objects (and people passing by) to get harmed / damaged in this battle? Does your character care about causing destruction during a fight, are they the type to say “let’s go somewhere else”?

Describing the space your characters are in is an excellent way of UNDERSTANDING WHERE YOUR CHARACTER STANDS, literally, because POSITIONING IS REALLY IMPORTANT! You don’t have to go absolutely crazy detailed when dishing out specs on where your characters are, but a general sense of “an opening within a clustered bamboo forest” or. “a half-constructed abandoned building” can really determine how the fight goes within that space, and most importantly how your character moves through that space.

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER MOVE? Are they fluid, are they clumsy? Do they hunch, do they stand tall? Describing essential details pertaining to your character’s appearance, their demeanor, can help solidify them in that space. Do they sway when they talk? Do they jitter when they’re nervous or anxious? A conflict is brewing, are they looking for an escape? Do their eyes keep darting to other distractions, or to look for an opening?

THE FIRST MOVE. Who makes it and why? Example taken from a threeway thread involving Matsumoto Rangiku, Nnoitra Gigla, and Ichimaru Gin. Featuring @oboete-iru & @despairforme respectfully. Gin’s POV:

“ ❝ I saaaid... that’s e-nou-gh. Besides, why would ya go ‘n break her wieldin’ arm if she ain’t a thre---- ❞ in a flashing beam, a bared blade, his left foot swept back to brace as black-lined white billowed to reveal Shinso’s lunging bite directly past Rangiku’s hip------to drive a deep unrelenting strike into his upper ribcage; close to the armpit of the limb that held her still in favor of convincing the uncoiling reflex of his fingers. Gin aimed with precision, and with deliberate proximity to the very target he wished to not be thrown into the line of fire----quite impossible for the Espada to potentially thrust her into the fray considering Gin’s angled approach... lulled by his interrupted speech. The traitor sought to be swift; the blow would surely send the Espada backward in its connection------and hopefully result in her release. ”

Throwing the first punch is a decisive moment for many reasons, but it also should still speak to your character: DON’T EVER FORCE A FIGHT THREAD FOR THE SAKE OF ONE, if your character would rather talk their way out of a situation, exhaust that route first before going feral at your thread partner.

With that aside, let’s dissect this moment.

We get some dialogue to start the moment off, because Gin is a character who will casually chat, but he’s also cunning -- he interrupts himself to create a more abrupt attack. The motion is described as swift, so NOT MUCH IS SAID ABOUT EXACT MOVEMENTS, but we get what we need: his blade is drawn (”a bared blade”) it’s moving fast (“a flashing beam”) Gin has added strength to this strike by falling into a wider stance (“left foot swept back to brace”) and we also get where he’s aiming “directly past Rangiku’s hip to drive a deep and unrelenting strike into [Nnoitra’s] upper ribcage, close to the armpit” We also get motivation: Gin wants Nnoitra to let go of Rangiku, striking to “convince the uncoiling reflex of [Nnoitra’s] fingers” -- so we get this all relatively quick. In fact, it’s all almost condensed into one big sentence.

I don’t really worry about proper sentence structures and lengths because in fights, things should not be adhering to neat sentence pacing, they should be paced the way the fight is unfolding. Gin moves fast, and a lot of things happen at once, so that’s my style choice when writing a lot in one sentence. You can do things differently, this is just my preference!

Notice that none of the language implies that Gin’s target is being struck. The words and phrases used are open for Nnoitra to respond to, to react to, rather than to submit to. I describe things as “quite impossible” for Nnoitra to, say, throw Rangiku in front of Shinso in time -- because I want to stress the speed of Gin’s attack, and guide Nnoitra’s writer away from doing something I feel wouldn’t be realistic without the outright act of godmodding. I say this, however, by still giving Nnoitra the OPTION to do exactly what I have just stressed as DIFFICULT TO DO. Maybe he can still try to throw Rangiku into the way! It’ll be a tight window, but hey, surprise me! Writing this moment also shows that my character is actively deciphering yours, deciding what they could do and preparing for that: Gin knows Nnoitra’s dirty, and thus he’s taken a measure to avoid Rangiku paying the price by striking quickly and at an angle that would make it hard for Nnoitra to bring her harm.

At the end of this Moment(™) I top off the attack by mentioning that IF IT HITS, it’ll do X. Not only that, but IF MY ATTACK HITS, IT’LL DO X TO YOUR CHARACTER, AND HOPEFULLY CAUSE X. This sets up a potential chain of events for your writing partner to consider. If they decide that Nnoitra is going to take this hit, they can also consider: will Nnoitra be sent back through a wall, or will he drive his weapon into the ground to slow his skidding enough to avoid that? Will this be enough to make him let go of Rangiku? I have now given Nnoitra’s mun a few things to think about, or “goals” to either reach or adjust the outcome in their following reply. Nnoitra now has to a.) react to an incoming strike b.) be moved by it, either via being struck or by dodging, and c.) deal with holding onto or letting go of Rangiku, with the option of d.) a counterattack at Gin, or at Rangiku, in response to Gin likely pissing him off.

Describing motion that impacts a character other than yours: KEEP YOUR LANGUAGE OPEN, you can legit drop a “if this hits” to keep yourself from unintentionally godmodding contact onto your opponent. If you’re ever unsure, write like your character is thinking: they’re not thinking that their sword has already landed, they’re thinking about what’ll happen IF it does, or WHEN, but in an open-ended sense. The character themselves should never just manifest a blow landing in their heads as they’re swinging it, if that makes sense.

Open-ended language go-to’s for me: “aimed with the desire to cause (insert what’ll happen if your blow were to land, like ‘causing an immense force to blast all debris, and even dare to throw [opponent] backwards’)” or “their weapon sought to (insert what their attack trying to do, like cut off an arm, slash across a chest, or chop at the other’s weapon) with a wide strike” or “they parried, then moved to attempt a disarming scrape of their blade against the other’s, the swinging momentum a convincing pull to urge the swift release of the blade” etc. etc. I’m staying very vague, but the concept’s there!

THESAURUS TIME! Does your character move fast? Swift, fast, quick… those can get a little boring if your character is ALWAYS moving in that nature. So try to sometimes spice things up by playing with words that can replace your common descriptors.

https://www.thesaurus.com/ is your fellow student who’s working on a group project with you -- you shouldn’t lean so heavily on it because they’re not your friend, but it’s there to help you get the job done and together you can spruce up a neat end result.

MAKE SURE THEY STILL MEAN THE SAME THING, and don’t go too crazy as to lose your reader or distinctly destroy your pacing, your style, and your voice. Sometimes simplified is better, like describing the WOOSH of a fast moment as opposed to saying “this moved fast” -- “a WOOSH of the blade” rather than “he swung his blade quickly” can sometimes make a moment more exciting and easier to read without things droning on.

Hey, speaking of droning on, (this post lmao!!! Amirite lads???) does your character’s weapon have multiple ways of being referred to? Since a fight stars your character and their trusty weapon, having a few different ways to title it in your reply can be a lifesaver from sounding too repetitive. Shinso is Gin’s Zanpakuto, a Shinigami’s katana, and it’s in a wakizashi form. This can be called a short-sword, a wakizashi, a soul-slayer, a blade, a sword, a Zanpakuto, a ‘fang’ (swords or blades in general can be called fangs, especially if your character has animal symbolism tied to them), a beam (when it’s being shot) … and a few other things, too, to avoid me having to constantly write “Shinso” or “wakizashi” when moving it during a fight thread. I try not to alternate TOO much, because then it becomes obvious, kind of like when people start deliberately avoiding ‘said’ and it’s a dialogue-heavy scene… don’t go out of your way, this is just to help you avoid having 34 mentions of ‘sword’ in your 5 paragraph reply.

So you threw the first punch, but what happens next? Well, you can actually end your reply once your blow’s been polished up and finished. But a little bit of juicy introspection can’t hurt, too! Your character’s just started a fight, what are they thinking? What’s the damage? Did your character just do something destructive or brash? Tell us how, and what’s to be made of the attack your character just threw. Here’s Gin’s following moment after striking at Nnoitra:

“ … it’d feel nice ( akin to a surging punch ) to slam his blade into the pitiful pawn’s side. One hundred sword lengths called for, due to their confinement, a collision course that involved Nnoitra taking a shortcut through a neighboring wall. No matter the Espada’s tough exterior, solid defenses, Shinso would not stop shy. ”

There’s some more info pertaining to Gin’s attack in here, drizzled with a brief introspection that Gin will feel immensely satisfied if he gets to land a decent hit on Nnoitra (coupled with a “pitiful pawn” quip that notifies readers that Gin really DOES NOT LIKE this character, nor does he think very highly of his status, which may or may not be a chance for the character of Nnoitra to surprise or impress Gin via a hearty fight)

The details of exactly how far Gin’s blow would carry Nnoitra are important due to the nature of Gin’s special ability / sword. Shinso will “not stop shy” implying that Nnoitra’s going to either have to dodge or get slammed, because the blade that’s hitting him won’t stop its travel until it’s 100 katana-length’s long. Now, back up to the first section of this post: describing your character’s surroundings. Gin and Nnoitra are in a hallway, and Gin struck in a way that means the hallway is not going to suffice in terms of room. SO DESCRIBING POTENTIAL DAMAGES IS IMPORTANT: it paints the scene better. If Nnoitra is going to take this hit, this also means that a wall is likely going to crumble and collapse due to how tough and tanky Nnoitra is. Cue a classic anime moment of dust billowing up, rocks tumbling, and rubble shifting.

In all of this, don’t forget to respect your opponent -- Gin’s strike may land, but right from the get go there’s never an assumption that Shinso will be able to pierce Nnoitra’s tough skin. Knowing about your enemy’s special traits and abilities can help you make these moments more respectable: I know that Gin’s Shikai will not be enough to cut past Nnoitra’s hierro, his ‘steel skin’ defense. The most that’s described is the action of Shinso batting Nnoitra aside and into a wall, despite it being a sharp blade, it’s not described as an impaling moment.

That being said, don’t pull your punches if your character is a powerhouse! Respect others, don’t godmod, but also look out for defending your character’s own strengths! This can involve you studying up on how strong your character is in their universe, and finding some relations and comparisons to draw from in order to properly ‘rate’ them against your opponent. This can also lead you to a very IMPORTANT step, though not always required if both writers feel comfortable enough to proceed unplanned: TALK TO THE WRITER.

Discuss what you think your character is capable of vs. their character in a respectful way, open to hearing “actually, I don’t think that would happen” or “maybe we can go this route instead, since my character can x y and z?” Learning how to protect your character’s power while also being mindful and open to your writing partner’s character can lead to a really fun exchange and a memorable fight. You can literally drop a tentative “hey, I’m replying to our thread and Gin wants to punch Nnoitra in the face” and be responded to with a “go for it, it’ll probably break Gin’s hand” or “oh snap! that’s his one weakness!!!” LOL. I mean, unrealistic, but seriously talk to your writing partner about things if this is something you’re both passionate and excited about!

PLEASE, PLEASE REMEMBER THAT FIGHTS SHOULDN’T HAPPEN IN VOIDS, if you feel like your characters should be interrupted, or end in a draw, or lose interest / dissolve back into talking rather than fighting, then do this! Will your character chose to run away if the fight starts going south for them? Will your character try to offer a merciful end, will they be open to sparing the wounded enemy character if they feel they’ve successfully won? Does your character end up saving the other character by getting them medical help? This can go so many different ways than just blankly fighting and someone winning whilst the other dies.

CONSEQUENCES! What will the consequences of this fight be? For Gin, he has struck out at a supposed ally in defense of a Shinigami intruder that by all means should be considered the enemy. He can get into some trouble for this, or at the very least gain some speculation on where his loyalties lie if word gets out about what he’s done. Other consequences include, too, the very real threat that if Gin fails, Rangiku’s going to be killed. Find how this fight between characters can ADD MORE WEIGHT. Gin really wants this battle to end quickly and quietly. It’s going to drive him to act in a no-nonsense manner, too, because he doesn’t have time to play around. THIS IS VASTLY DIFFERENT, DUE TO THE CURRENT CONSEQUENCES, IN COMPARISON TO HIM PLAYING AROUND WITH ANOTHER MUN’S CHARACTER IN A LESS STRESSFUL SETTING.

Long term consequences, and calling back to a past fight thread in a later thread can make things extra spicy. For example, now Rangiku knows that Gin’ll fight one of his own to defend her; he can no longer pretend to be some emotionless husk standing on the opposing side in the war, he can be confronted about this moment -- by Nnoitra, too, or by other characters who are told about what happened. Gossip’s a bitch, right lads?

Now let your character recover: have them take that nap, or indulge yourself in some juicy hurt/comfort threads with an ally of yours, or some angst about a lost fight hitting your character’s confidence and mentality hard; do they train, do they rest, do they seek out someplace safe to heal, do they hunt down their rival / opponent for a second try? Are they now afraid of certain things, do they have trauma? Near-death experience, or a major injury that now hinders them?

This is a great resource to writing injuries (tw for blood and other graphic depictions of violence, injuries, detailed there) If you’re not squeamish, you can really dive into the medical side of things and study up what kind of damages your character may be faced with. It’s alright to not be totally realistic, though, considering much of what’s being written is based entirely on fake super-powered scenarios.

Sometimes, when struggling on how to describe movement, I’ll go onto Youtube and look up “Battle choreography” or “top ten realistic swordfights” or other relatable content to assist me creatively. Watching things in slow motion or multiple times to nail the positioning can help immensely. By watching similar-themed fights, I can see how those people are moving and try my best to describe that motion in written form. I try to avoid TV/Movie scenes that have been obviously hounded on for their anti-realism, especially sword fights, the common victim to Hollywood’s ridiculousness. But hey, if your character is an absolute mad lad and can pull a John Wick moment, then pull up that badass clip and go for it!

THERE’S SO MUCH TO EXPLORE, SO HAVE FUN WITH IT!

#[ roleplay resource ]#[ out of character ] masquerade; hide your face #long post #PHEW.#this was extra hard and annoying considering a few of my laptop keys have been popping off.#also: i'm not trying to toot my own horn by using my own writing as examples to dissect: i'm well aware that my writing isn't perfect.#i just didn't want anyone to feel weirded out if i put their writing under a spotlight.

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fandomandflowers · 3 years

Text

About Beta Readers: For Authors

This is a guide for those who are wanting to work with a Beta Reader.

I posted a guide for Beta Readers here, but even though this is aimed at authors, I think it is good to read as a Beta Reader too, as a lot of the messages apply both ways.

(There is also the fact that many Beta Readers are also Authors, and many Authors are Beta Readers)

These are just my thoughts on the matter having been a Beta Reader, had help from Beta Readers, and having friends who are writers and Beta Readers alike.

It should also be known that I don’t always listen to these. I’ll not say no when I should, or I’ll leave a fic in the middle for months before picking it up again while my Beta Reader hangs on, just waiting to know what happens next. But even so, I hope that anyone who reads this will take the information into consideration and do their best to consider things from a different perspective:

Beta Readers don’t work for you.

I wasn’t planning on putting this up the top, but actually, I think this rule is most important (watch out, I’ll say that a lot!) They work with you. They don’t work for you. While there are some who work for hire and money, that is not my point!

So work with them. Talk about your ideas. Ask questions. Open dialogue. This is an opportunity for you to grow as a writer, to learn from mistakes, and to see things from a different perspective.

And just as they don’t work for you, don’t expect them to do all of the work for you.

They’re not your personal spell-checker! That is what Grammarly is for, so use it. And if you can’t use it, then find a basic spell-checker. They’re very helpful! It is also helpful to have a dictionary and thesaurus so you don’t sound repetitive. Grammar guides and “The Emotion Thesaurus” by Angela Ackerton are good to have handy while writing.

I think one of the more annoying things as a Beta is when you put all this work into correcting SPaG, sentence structure and repetition; then the author just accepts all the corrections, not even looking through them. It is fine if you agree with every suggestion/ correction, some Beta Readers are just amazing like that. But what I mean is that you should be reading and considering each of them. This way you can see where you are making the same mistakes over and over, and learn, not repeating the mistake again.

Some things I have learned from Betas: When to capitalise titles, when to use a full stop rather than a comma in quotation marks, that it is great to be passionate about what I write, and that con-crit is super helpful when you ask for it.

Respect a Beta Reader’s limits.

If your Beta Reader tells you they have Arachnophobia, then it is your job to let them know if there are spiders in your piece of writing. This goes for everything. Just because you don’t get triggered or squicked by something doesn’t mean they don’t. Everyone has different things they can and can’t tolerate and different reactions. There are certain things where if I read them then it can lead to me spiraling and not being able to think of anything else for days.

It is your job to know what is in your fic. If someone says they won’t read a certain thing and it is in your fic. You must tell them. They might be okay with it, they might ask you to black it out, they may have to leave you to find another Beta. But you won’t know unless you tell them. Because I know for me, nothing will make me want to leave a fic more.

Know what you want.

Before you even start looking for a Beta Reader I recommend you have some clue what sort of help or advice you’re looking for. I am likely to think all of these notes are the most important, but trust me when I say that this one really is. Or if not the most important than for sure one of the most helpful notes.

Some things you should think about before asking around for a Beta Reader:

Are you after a critical analysis, or a cheerleader?

Is there a time restraint?

Is your writing in the final stages, or are after ideas?

What are you needing checks for? (these are some common ones)

SPaG

Britpicking

Flow and pace

Plot holes

Sentence structure and wording

Canon accuracy

Realistic dialogue

How you’re going to talk to them throughout the process

What content warnings you may need to give

The word count. (less something you have to think about, but definitely something you’ll need to communicate)

Once you think you have a general idea of what you’re after, then you need to actually tell your Beta Reader. They’re not mind-readers. This is really the most helpful information to receive as a Beta Reader.

If you have no clue what you’re really after then that is okay, just say that! You can ask your Beta what they think needs work… If they’re a regular Beta or have done it a couple of times then they’ll probably have a pretty good sense.

Communicate!

I’m trying not to be a Google Docs advertisement here but seriously, it is amazing! You can see each other in the doc, in real-time! There is a chat function in the top-right corner. Maybe I need to write a Google Docs fan piece. (*Writes that down in my notes*)

If your Beta corrected something and you don’t know why, having the ability to point it out and ask why is great! Talking things through and having someone to bounce ideas off of is one of my favorite parts of having Beta Readers!

It is also important that you be open and honest with them, if you have a preference for a certain platform then tell them! If you’re both going around in circles saying ‘oh, I don’t mind,’ then nothing is getting done, is it?

If you’re having issues in your personal life and can’t devote as much time to writing or looking over things with them, then tell your Beta that. Don’t ghost. Talk.

Commit to your story.

Be passionate! Care about your story! You don’t have to be in love with every aspect, you can not love it in general for all I care… But there has to be some sort of attachment to it, because if you don’t care about your own story, then why should I?

While there are different types of Beta Readers, for the most part, if you’re asking for someone to look over your work then you’re usually not far off posting. If that is the case then please do so! Or at the very least tell your Beta Reader

Don’t make us feel excited about the fic and never finish or publish it! If there is a valid reason then that’s okay, but really, if you’re looking for a Beta Reader you should either let them know that you may never finish it, or that you may not publish.

I am 100% guilty of this. And I am sorry to my friend A. who is still waiting for me to write an ending. I’ll get there, I promise!

If a reader says no, or drops out, don’t get angry at them.

Please! Things happen. Don’t get angry, it just makes everyone feel worse in a situation no-one is happy with to start. Besides, if you get mad then it is a pretty easy way to make sure they won’t come back or Beta for you again.

You’re allowed to say no, too.

This is my favorite note. This applies to everything in life, and sometimes it can be difficult to remember that you’re always allowed to say no.

If you put out the details of a fic and say you’re after a beta Reader, you’re allowed to say no to anyone who puts their hand up. As a matter of fact, I recommend it! It is your fic, your writing, your baby. While it is nice to help out people who’ve never Beta read before it is also important that you feel comfortable with the person who is about to be looking at your writing. (Especially with the amount of self-projection I put into my fics.)

You’re allowed to say no to suggestions. If your Beta Reader gets offended that you’re not accepting all of their suggestions then I would be questioning if they’re the right fit for you. I always recommend you read through every suggestion and think about them before accepting or rejecting them.

You’re allowed to say no to a Beta in the middle of them going through your document, (just tell them first.) It is your creation, and you should always feel safe and comfortable with whoever is looking at your rough, unfinished work.

You’re allowed to say no to anything and everything.

Don’t say ‘I don’t take criticism well’ to your Beta.

It is perfectly valid not to take con-crit (constructive criticism) well; I certainly don’t. The point of a Beta is to give you con-crit to help you improve. It is okay to have feelings about your writing; I am very sensitive about everything I write. But if you’re asking for a Beta Reader, then that is what you’re asking for. You can tell your Beta if you’re more after cheerleading or critical analysis, or maybe a bit of both. (Always communicate what you’re after.)

But if you tell your chosen Beta that you’re not good at taking con-crit, then it can put them in a tough spot; they may feel like to be able to help you then they have to hurt you, and I don’t think anyone ever wants to feel like that. And for me, if it is a choice between hurting my friends or leaving them. Then there is no choice, I will leave.

If you’ve already told them in another context that you’re not good at taking con-crit and they are worried, then tell them that there is a difference between unsolicited con-crit and asking for it. A big difference.

Stan our beloved Beta Readers.

I know someone who records themself reading the document and correcting things as they think of them. That is pretty gosh darn cool! I wasn’t sure where to put that… but I think it is important to say that writing and Beta Reading, they’re fun! That is the whole point, so have fun! Chat about your creation and as I frequently do, gush about the characters! Talk about your favorite lines! Because you’re allowed to love and be proud of your work. I recommend it, it is such a lovely feeling.

We stan our Beta Readers. They give us so much help and encouragement; help us learn and grow. I hope that every passionate writer finds a Beta Reader just as passionate. Because making friends, to me, is the best feeling in the world.

#beta reader #fandom #fanfiction

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basilflowers · 4 years

Text

About Beta Readers: For Authors

This is a guide for those who are wanting to work with a Beta Reader.

I posted a guide for Beta Readers here, but even though this is aimed at authors, I think it is good to read as a Beta Reader too, as a lot of the messages apply both ways.

(There is also the fact that many Beta Readers are also Authors, and many Authors are Beta Readers)

These are just my thoughts on the matter having been a Beta Reader, had help from Beta Readers, and having friends who are writers and Beta Readers alike.

Beta Readers don’t work for you.

So work with them. Talk about your ideas. Ask questions. Open dialogue. This is an opportunity for you to grow as a writer, to learn from mistakes, and to see things from a different perspective.

And just as they don’t work for you, don’t expect them to do all of the work for you.

Respect a Beta Reader’s limits.

Know what you want.

Some things you should think about before asking around for a Beta Reader:

Are you after a critical analysis, or a cheerleader?

Is there a time restraint?

Is your writing in the final stages, or are after ideas?

What are you needing checks for? (these are some common ones)

SPaG

Britpicking

Flow and pace

Plot holes

Sentence structure and wording

Canon accuracy

Realistic dialogue

How you’re going to talk to them throughout the process

What content warnings you may need to give

The word count. (less something you have to think about, but definitely something you’ll need to communicate)

Communicate!

If you’re having issues in your personal life and can’t devote as much time to writing or looking over things with them, then tell your Beta that. Don’t ghost. Talk.

Commit to your story.

I am 100% guilty of this. And I am sorry to my friend A. who is still waiting for me to write an ending. I’ll get there, I promise!

If a reader says no, or drops out, don’t get angry at them.

You’re allowed to say no, too.

This is my favorite note. This applies to everything in life, and sometimes it can be difficult to remember that you’re always allowed to say no.

You’re allowed to say no to anything and everything.

Don’t say ‘I don’t take criticism well’ to your Beta.

Stan our beloved Beta Readers.

TL;DR

Beta Readers don’t work for you.

Respect a Beta Reader’s limits.

Know what you want.

Communicate!

Commit to your story.

If a reader says no, or drops out, don’t get angry at them.

You’re allowed to say no, too.

Don’t say ‘I don’t take criticism well’ to your Beta.

Stan our beloved Beta Readers.

#beta reader #basil guide #writing #advice #fanfiction #snarry

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jawnkeets · 4 years

Note

How are you so clever??? I’m new to your blog and I’ve been looking at your posts (not in a stalkery way but because they’re so cool) and you seem super intelligent! Like you always reference things I’ve never heard of and use fancy words and it’s just really awesome. How did you get so clever? Do you read a lot or are you just naturally clever? If it’s from reading then what books would you recommend to someone who’s interested in literature and also broadening their general knowledge? Thanks

awwww. well thanks for the lovely ask!! this is way too much detail bc i’m procrastinating work but

i read a ton as a kid, mostly horror books - i was obsessed with the supernatural, and especially vampires, and the idea of things changing into other things (in a magical way, but also stories where characters develop and end up very different, tales of betrayal etc). my favourite series when i was little was the spiderwick chronicles, followed a little later by the saga of darren shan. i didn’t read any classic literature at all though, as i’d decided i hated it for some reason. as a kid i always prided myself on my creativity/ imagination rather than my intelligence (it’s a distinction i’d always drawn and still do after a fashion), but i was and have always been obsessive, and also used to sit and play memory games for hours, too; i remember one where i’d have a list of cards and i’d put one down, say what it was, turn it over, add another one, say what the previous one and this one was, turn them over, and continue until i couldn’t remember every single card in order, and then i’d start again. i wrote a lot, especially poetry, and used a thesaurus often because i loved words. i had a very very vivid imagination and refused to live in the real world until the age of about 11 or 12. then from 14 onwards i read almost nothing (apart from like idk two of the hunger games books) until i was 17, when i finally started reading classic literature, triggered by the great gatsby, which changed my attitude to learning completely. until then i’d despised secondary school partly because of the way learning was presented (i got good grades at gcse but went through the syllabus and exams mechanically with little genuine love) and partly for… other reasons, and had almost given up on taking academics seriously. but i got very lucky and had an incredible english teacher throughout sixth form, who encouraged me to take risks and break from methodical, formulaic writing. at the end of the first essay i had to do for him i still remember that he wrote ‘literature is for you. now and always. carry on.’ at the bottom, and that changed my life. he also introduced me to philip larkin and romantic poetry outside of class. after that, i was gripped by the desire to read and discover as much about the humanities as i could, make links between works, discover new ones, recover the feeling that i was possessed by after finishing gatsby. tumblr genuinely helped with art, literature quotes, and making it all seem accessible, e.g. seeing text posts making jokes about shakespeare, keats, etc helped to demystify a bit. yes, dark academia, i’m also looking at you for making learning seem exciting, but tentatively and with narrowed eyes. general knowledge-wise, it helped me to begin to break down the barriers between ‘subjects’ at school (even if you’ve left school, it’s pretty branded into our brains); they’re sometimes very fuzzy and even arbitrary, and to separate into strictly-defined categories like this is not the only way learning can or should happen.

a work that i thoroughly recommend to everyone who asks where to start is letters to a young poet by rainer maria rilke. he relates so perfectly this idea that the first step is to let yourself be filled with how amazing and vast the world is, and how much there is to read, listen to, and see. that’s not something you can learn from reading, and it’s not something you can be taught by anyone (unless being inspired by someone counts). it’s instrumentally important because it will drive you, but i also think it’s inseparable from understanding (and to me, it is understanding, just understanding without the right words yet). this is the highlight, and it was the mantra stuck up on my wall at 17 when i decided i wanted to learn, and learn seriously:

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

i was relatively articulate before i started reading the classics/ reading widely, but not exceptionally articulate. here’s an example of two essay openings - one i wrote when i was 16, and one i wrote during my first term at university (2 years apart):

i’d say that since then my essays have probably improved by a similar proportion, as i’m as embarrassed to read the second as i was the first when i wrote the second, and the typos r annoying me (am too embarrassed to post recent writing :’( - doesn’t count if over a year and a half ago, hence posting the second :p). obviously, then, this isn’t natural intelligence (everyone has to get knowledge, big words, etc from somewhere, right?), this is natural receptivity and willingness to learn, which i genuinely believe anyone can gain at any point, coupled with A LOT of reading the opinions of others (i.e. literary criticism and theory), and reading literature from many different periods to discover how language is moulded by individual poets and by ‘eras’ more widely. but this is also synthesising everything i absorb into a personal vision (this is the hill i will die on soz i don’t think theory should be ‘objective’ like what does that even mean). you can and should put yourself into it!

in terms of what to read - if you like the rilke (really hope you do!!) then depending on what you like about it, you can search from there. try some of rilke’s poetry. or if you like that ineffable feeling it brings, try the romantics (keats’ ‘ode to a nightingale’ and blake’s songs of innocence and experience are good to start with!), or larkin’s ‘high windows’ and ‘the mower’. also try shakespeare’s hamlet, because that is INCREDIBLE (watching it is always easier, and the more shakespeare you watch/ read the easier it gets! andrew scott’s hamlet is the best imo). from there it’s a question of asking what you liked about what you just read (time period/ vibe/ themes/ subject/ style of writing) and finding things similar - often google works and i made use of it a lot to start with, tumblr too, otherwise ask people who you know (on the internet/ teachers/ friends etc). this is a personal journey, especially to begin with, i think (you have to jump in somewhere), and there’s no one who can give you a list of books to read in the order best for you, because - annoyingly, i know - that’s something it’s best if each individual works out through trial and error, and part of the fun in truth. there are western canon lists out there, e.g., which contain some fabulous works, but have very obvious problems.

a really really rough chronological development of english lit: beowulf, any of the canterbury tales, hamlet, paradise lost, pope’s satire, romantic poetry, victorian novels (e.g. david copperfield, jane eyre), the waste land, waiting for godot (it would also help to read the iliad, the aeneid, and metamorphoses too, and as much of the bible as you can, especially genesis, exodus, isaiah, job, and the gospels, but genesis and the gospels first if ur stuck/ overwhelmed). this is the lightest of pencil sketches, but if they’re works that go some way towards defining each ‘era’ or ‘period’, then it becomes a little easier to search for works branching off from these that are influenced by or chafe against them. you can always come back to me if you’re struggling with what to look for next :+) also, i have a list of my poetry favs, if you want to check that out (it includes the stuff mentioned in the previous paragraph, as well as others).

hope this helps (?!) ❤️

#asks

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

A Two-Man Advantage

That gif has absolutely nothing to do with this story! I don’t know that Killian and Roland ever actually interacted on the show! It doesn’t matter! So today this gif set posted and @shireness-says said she would like to see some pre-Blue Line Killian and Roland, so here is about 5K of just that, set in, like, September 2013. So, this is the start of the season Killian comes back to the Rangers after he gets hurt. With a side of snarky Ariel, Vankald-type emotions and allusions to things that happen at the very start of Blue Line. It’s all coming together, guys!

-----

“Just for five minutes.”

“I don’t—“ Killian said, but Robin widened his eyes and the rest of the words appeared to evaporate. Right on the tip of his tongue. He slumped, practically going concave in front of his locker and it wasn’t that he was nervous, per se, but he was—

Nervous.

There was really no other word for it.

Well, maybe terrified.

Killian had never been terrified of this game. Or the ice. Or the possibility of those two things together. But that was before everything else happened and the apartment he’d only just recently moved into felt impossibly large and far too small all at the same time.

It was messing with his head.

A lot of things were messing with Killian’s head.

Because they were closing in on the end of camp and his hand didn’t hurt that much anymore—or least not as much as it had right after the accident and that had to count for something, even if Ariel was determined to take all the credit, and they had a game to play in three days. Seventy-two hours. Two more vaguely restless nights of something that could possibly be referred to as sleep. Honestly, he hated the paint on his apartment’s walls.

And the look on Robin’s face.

Imploring, that was the word for it.

Killian was practically a walking thesaurus. Or something less lame sounding. He really hadn’t slept in a very long time.

“Five minutes,” Robin repeated, like Killian wasn’t almost painfully aware of the constant passing of time. His eyes couldn’t get any wider. It couldn't have been healthy. “Maybe even less. Three, if I can get away with short sentences.” “They’re interviewing you,” Killian reasoned. “You’re not getting out of there for fifteen minutes at least.”

Robin grimaced. “I mean, you never know. If we rush through stuff and—” “—Then they’re only going to think that you’re trying to blow them off.” “I am. Obviously.” Killian barked out a laugh, some of the tension that had taken root between his shoulder blades over the last year and a half loosening slightly. That was unexpected.

All of it was, really.

He was terrified of this game.

The return. That’s what one column had dubbed it, which was almost too heavy-handed, but Killian had already lost track of the number of times he’d read it and he didn’t even need the link saved to his bookmarks anymore.

He could probably recite it verbatim.

That would annoy Ariel. Maybe Killian would do that later, then.

“The starving public wants your opinion on our chances this year,” Killian shrugged, and he hoped it wasn’t a sign when he fell off the stool.

“And I’m the only one capable of forming coherent sentences on this team.” “Wow, scathing.” “Five minutes.” “Did we not just agree to at least fifteen? This conversation doesn’t make any sense.” “Yeah, well, get used to that,” Robin muttered. “Because the conversational tendencies of a three-year-old are not much better.” “Almost four,” Killian objected. He wasn’t sure why he was arguing on behalf of Roland. “And,” Killian added, “as much as I’d love to hang out with the kid while you give sound-bites—” “—This is an interview for the Daily News, weren’t you listening to me before?” Killian shook his head. “Absolutely not.” “Are you sleeping?” “Absolutely not.” Robin sighed. Killian did his best not to bury himself in the back corner of his locker. That probably would have done damage to even more of his body. And then Ariel would never let him skip PT again.

“Maybe this will do you some good, then,” Robin said.

“Babysitting your kid?” “I’m going to punch you.” “Don’t do that, Red will get mad at me.” “Yeah, well,” Robin shrugged, “you’re setting yourself up for it, at this point. You’re really not sleeping?” Another head shake. That one hurt a bit — as if Killian’s brain was bouncing off his skull as well, and one of the media relations people was already calling for Robin from the other side of the locker room.

“And it’s not really baby-sitting,” Robin continued. “It’s more like—fifteen minutes of making sure he doesn’t break anything.” “Ask Scarlet.” “Are you kidding me?” Killian scoffed. “I’m going to tell him you said that.” “Seriously, does my punching threat not actually threaten you?” “Not at all, no,” Killian said, pushing up when he noticed the small blur in the corner of his eye and Roland Locksley always seemed to be holding a hockey puck. It was equal parts endearing and confusing. Killian couldn’t imagine where he kept getting them from.

“Hook! Hook! Hook!”

“Rol, Rol, Rol,” Killian echoed, and his left knee cracked when he ducked down. Roland slammed into his chest anyway, still chanting directly in Killian’s ear at the same time his arms flew up, an elbow colliding with a shoulder and the word game was shouted more than once.

Whoever gave Roland the hat he was wearing did not understand the concept of children’s sizes.

And Robin’s lips had very quickly disappeared behind his teeth.

“Scarlet would end up on the ice with him, or something. And I can only ask him to do this so many times before it starts to get annoying.” “You're asking Scarlet to watch your kid a lot?” Killian asked.

“Five seconds ago you told me to ask him right now.” “We’ve really got to work on your concept of time.” Killian exhaled, which might have been a very large mistake or another way to help ease some of the pressure currently accumulating at the base of his spine. “First it’s five minutes and then fifteen and now this conversation’s only been five seconds long. What’s your obsession with fives, by the way?” “When do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Killian made a ridiculous noise — the feel of it scratching at the sides of his throat and those evaporated words, weighing down his tongue in almost perfect harmony with the weight of the three-year-old suddenly hanging from his side. He wobbled a bit when he stood back up.

Mostly because Roland’s knee was digging into something that might have been his pancreas.

He’d never graduated college.

This was all he had going for him.

That probably explained the insomnia. And the issues with his spine. He was a very depressing person.

“He wanted to hang out with you,” Robin added softly, like that would make a difference. Killian grit his teeth. It totally made a difference.

He leaned back — all too aware of the location of Roland’s knees and the puck that was already trying to move into the spot his fourth vertebrae was currently occupying — only to be met with equally wide eyes and a smile that wasn’t worried about the first preseason game of the year.

Roland was very excited about the first preseason game of the year.

His hat was falling dangerously close to his eyes.

“Alright,” Killian said, only a little annoyed that the word came out a bit like a sigh. “But you should make sure to tell whoever interviews you that you play dirty, Locksley.” Roland hummed, a knowing sound made all the more obnoxious when he crossed his arms lightly over his chest. And rocked back on his heels. “I don’t see how that’s true at all. You were requested, Jones. By name. Or, you know—nickname.” “Yuh huh.” “Ask Gina if you want to double check.” “And where is Her Majesty right now?” “With Scarlet, talking about some kind of something that—” “—Is that the official name, then?” Robin didn’t look impressed. His arms definitely tightened, at least. And Killian’s smile threatened to do permanent damage to his cheeks, a weird stretch they absolutely were not used to in the inherently depressing string of moments that had become his life over the last year. He shouldn’t go out on the ice any time soon — the bitterness in the very center of him would probably melt it.

“You fall back on sarcasm when you are freaking out about things,” Robin announced, and Killian didn’t quite freeze, but he also wasn’t sure how much more of this his spine was going to be able to handle. Roland’s knee dug deeper into his side.

“Freaking out is very juvenile, don’t you think?” “No, I do not. And I get it, I do. But—” He clicked his tongue, a half-hearted shrug. “The game’s still the same and you’re—” “—Not,” Killian finished. “Far from it.” “Something about evolution, I guess.” Killian let out another laugh, darker than the first, hissing in a breath when Roland tilted his head up at the sound. “Something like that,” Killian mumbled. Someone called for Robin again, footsteps joining the voice, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to stay in the locker room with a nearly four-year-old kid. “Ok,” he added. “What do you want to do for fifteen minutes while your dad tries not to embarrass the franchise, Rol?” “No one’s embarrassing anyone,” Robin argued, waving a quick hand towards an impatient journalist.

“Except maybe the kid. In this hat.” Killian tugged lightly on the fabric, pulling it over Roland’s ears, but that only served to press his hair across his forehead and the laugh that rang out around them was as loud as it was comforting.

“The hat was a gift,” Robin said.

“From who? Someone who wanted to make sure Rol doesn’t see anything?” “I can see, Hook,” Roland objected loudly, squirming in Killian’s hold and none of this was probably great for his hand. He wasn’t very worried about his hand at the moment.

“Yeah, how many fingers am I holding up?” He shifted his weight — and the weight of the kid in his arms — ignoring Robin’s pointed stare and the increasingly loud huffs of the understandably annoyed reporter, so he could hold up several fingers. Someone was tapping their foot too. That might have been the new media relations person.

Killian couldn’t remember her name.

He was an asshole. A worried, terrified, absolutely exhausted asshole.

And Roland had to push up his hat to see, smile somehow getting even bigger when he yelled “Three! Like me, right, Hook?” “Exactly,” Killian nodded. “Tell your dad to go away so we can hang out, huh?” “Dad, go!” Whatever noise Robin made at that was a little strangled, but Killian was admittedly far more preoccupied with the state of his lungs and their ability to function better in the last twenty-four seconds than they had in the last twenty-four weeks.

It was annoying when Robin was right.

And, strictly speaking, he wasn’t sure what had changed — that anything had, really. But there was this kid and this team and they both wanted him to do something good when he got back on the ice in three days. So, Killian figured he owed it to both of them to at least try.

“Ok, ok,” Robin muttered, a step forward so he could kiss the top of Roland’s head. Or, hat. “I will call you guys when I’m done and—” “—Dad, I want to hang out with Hook!” Killian smirked. “I’m cooler than you, it seems.” “Yeah, you’re something,” Robin muttered. The reporter was starting to sound out of breath. Killian had to press his forehead to Roland’s shoulder to stop himself from laughing. “Alright, fifteen minutes and—” The reporter made a noise. It didn’t sound particularly pleasant. “An indeterminate amount of time,” Robin amended, “and I’ll be back and—just, please try not to break anything. Bones or otherwise.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Killian said. “We’ll be fine. Right, Rol?” He nodded enthusiastically, enough movement on his chin that it probably would have impressed several major league baseball scouts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, what are we going to do, Hook?”

“Who bought your hat?”

Roland opened his mouth — presumably to answer the question, or just to shout more plans, but then the reporter was trying to ask his own questions and Killian gave Robin an exaggerated wink before walking out of the locker room.

“Your dad thinks you’re going to break a lot of things, doesn’t he?” Killian asked, doing his best to get Roland back on his feet. It didn’t work. “You have a habit of doing that?” Roland blinked. “What’s a habit?” “Oh. Uh—well, it’s...you do it a lot. More than once. Like you seem to have a habit of knocking things over and moving your limbs a lot.” No response. And Killian wasn’t really sure where they were walking, but his feet kept moving and, technically, he was supposed to be at PT in ten minutes. He hadn’t mentioned that to Robin.

It absolutely did not matter. Because the footsteps approaching Killian’s back were far closer to a sprint than they probably should have been and he swore he could taste Ariel’s frustration in the air.

“Killian! Where do you think you’re going?” He turned slowly, not able to stop the way he winced at Ariel’s expression. The size of her eyes rivaled Robin’s, but there was a spark there that Robin hadn’t had — a determination that probably could have fueled most of the Tri-State area, or at least the island of Manhattan and—

Roland waved.

“Hi, A,” he yelled. Directly into Killian’s ear. Again.

She didn’t soften, really, was still doing her best to glare at Killian — but Ariel’s shoulders dropped slightly and she definitely exhaled, a step into Killian’s space. “Hey, Rol,” she said. “What are you doing here? With Killian?” “Hook and I are hanging.” “Hanging?” “Hanging,” Killian nodded. “And I wasn’t going to skip, Red. Honestly, I just—” “—Was going to bring a three-year-old to your PT appointment?” “Depends on how long Locksley takes with that reporter.” “Interviews?” “Unless you think Locksley’s giving up state secrets or something,” Killian said. “What would we call our scandal? GardenGate?” Ariel scowled. “That’s not even creative.” “Please, that’s hysterical. You’re trying not to laugh, Red, I know it.” “I’m trying not to do something, but—” She made a face, pushing up on her toes so she could fix Roland’s hat and the stupid thing was just determined to fall over his left eye. “Where did this come from?” Ariel asked. “Is this a hat for a giant?” “No,” Roland grumbled. “It’s mine!” “Yuh huh. And you’re not a giant, right?” “No, no, no, A. I’m three!” “We did this part, already,” Killian added, grimacing when Ariel flicked his bent elbow. “And we’re open to suggestions on activities that don’t include the ice or broken things.” “Concern over broken things gives me pause. And you act like you're not going to try and get on the ice at some point. That’s admirable.” “Apparently that’s a habit of Scarlet’s when he’s the one babysitting. The broken things.”

“Thanks for the clarification.”

Killian shrugged, trying to stay casual or nonchalant or something that didn’t betray his lack of sleep and growing concern over how well he’d skate, but then Roland started yelling, repeating the word habit in quick succession until it sounded like one syllable and a very large letter. Maybe Killian should have been more worried about his potential hearing loss instead of the state of his left hand.

Or his preseason conditioning. “Are we honestly calling what you’re doing right now babysitting?” Ariel asked. “How do you think that’s going for you?” Killian rolled his eyes. “You flatter me, really, you do. These are also not suggestions.” “I wasn’t asked to babysit.” “Yeah, well, you’ve got that very important job to do.” She stepped on his foot. “Hey, c’mon,” Killian snapped, but he couldn’t really stumble backwards when he was still holding Roland and he was positive Ariel had planned it that way. Her smile had taken on a very pleased look. “We are open to suggestions and extra additions to the hang.” “Are you inviting me into your top-secret club?” “I don’t think it’s really all that top secret. I mean, you found us in the hallway.”

Ariel chuckled, a quick click of her tongue and fingers tugging lightly on the back of Roland’s team-branded t-shirt. “You’re very annoying. But, yeah—ok. My afternoon was mostly focused on you anyway, might as well hang out with someone I like.” “The compliments have to stop.”

“God, this is an unorganized conversation. Well, if you’re not going to the ice and you can’t stay in the locker room, then you can come upstairs.” Killian tilted his head, suspicion finding its way up his spine. He was thinking far too much about his spine. “That sounds like you’re just trying to get me to go to PT, Red.” “Wow, imagine that.” “Taking advantage of the situation.” “Please,” Ariel objected. “I’m offering you a place to sit down instead of just wandering the hallways for however long Locksley’s interview lasts.” “Probably longer if it does involve state secrets.” “Idiot.” “Mhmm,” Killian agreed. “What do you say, Rol? We go find some tape in Red’s office and—I don’t know, learn how to wrap ankles or something?” Ariel groaned, throwing her whole head back, which felt like overkill, but Killian didn’t move his gaze away from Roland or his slightly flushed cheeks. He nodded again, quick and a little jerky, more than enough movement that the hat fell off in the process and Killian couldn’t say anything before Ariel was ducking down and tugging the stupid thing over his head.

“Wow,” she drawled. “You’re a fashion icon.” “Ha ha ha.” “No, no, you look good, really you do.” He wasn’t sure he got enough frustration into his narrowed eyes, but Roland was laughing again and maybe that was the only thing that mattered. “You haven’t given me an answer yet, you know,” Killian said, hitching Roland further up his side so he couldn’t yank on the hat. “We go get your ankles taped so you don’t get hurt when you do inevitably get on the ice?” “I’m not helping you sneak this kid onto the ice, Killian,” Ariel hissed.

“Did I say that?” She sighed.

Roland beamed.

“Yeah, I think this is a good plan,” Killian said, a quick nod and smile flashed in Ariel’s direction. She stuck her tongue out. “This is your moment to shine, Red. Show off your skills. We could time you, if you wanted.” “Has anyone ever told you are strangely competitive?” “I think it’s been mentioned once or twice, yeah.” Killian didn’t add that it hadn’t been the case in the last few months, but if anyone knew that it was Ariel and, presumably, the person who was calling the ringing cell phone in his pocket. He assumed it was Elsa. It usually was.

He was ninety-two percent positive she and Ariel had regularly scheduled video chat meetings to talk about him as well.

Killian ignored the vibrating piece of technology, swinging Roland onto his back to avoid muscle strain in his forearm and that left him gasping just a bit when a knee moved again, but he was also walking already and Ariel had to jog to keep up. So, as far as victories went, that was a pretty good one.

They marched upstairs, Roland’s quiet commentary a steady soundtrack up several flights, and Killian wasn’t out of breath exactly, but a three-year-old was deceptively heavy and maybe he should have rethought this plan.

He hoped that wasn’t another sign.

Of something.

His phone started ringing again.

Killian dropped Roland onto the nearest table, a mess of limbs and laughter and a foot that immediately collided with his right thigh, both of them ignoring Ariel’s glare. “I’m starting to see how things wind up breaking around you, Rol,” she muttered, already rifling through drawers and throwing a roll of tape at Killian. He caught it. “God, that’s going to do horrendous things to your ego.” “You act like I’ve got one,” Killian argued, and that was more out-of-place depressing nonsense.

“Oh man, now I feel bad.” “Don’t Red. It’s not a big deal and—” “A, A, can we tape now?” Roland asked, barely getting one word out before he was on to the next one. He hauled his legs up, elbows on knees and a gaze that made it seem as if taping his ankles was the single greatest thing they could have been doing.

Killian had no idea what was happening in the middle of his chest.

Not quite warm, not quite uncomfortable, just kind of — nice. In the most basic form. He glanced at Ariel, one eyebrow arched expectantly and the roll of tape twisting around his index finger.

She scrunched her nose.

“He’s got a repeating thing, doesn’t he?”

“He’s three,” Killian said.

“Yeah, yeah—oh shut up,” she added quickly, when he opened his mouth to point out she was doing the exact same thing. “Luckily for us, repeating is a key part of taping ankles. Ok, Killian, take your sandal off.” “Wait, what?” “Gotcha there didn’t I?” “I don’t—” he started, but Ariel was already trying to tug his sandal off and the whole thing had reached absurd levels far quicker than he expected it to. He was going to lose the babysitting competition to Will.

That was disappointing.

And unspoken.

“I can’t teach Rol how to tape ankles if he doesn’t get to do it,” Ariel explained. She held her hands out, getting Roland back on the floor and Killian wasn’t sure when he’d sat down on the table instead, but he’d lost control of the situation as soon as the situation began, so it probably wasn’t important. “Give me the tape, Killian,” she added.

He threw it. It landed on the floor.

“Not helping,” Ariel growled. “Ok, Rol, so see how Killian—” “—Hook,” he interrupted, and Killian couldn’t help the smile tugging at the ends of his mouth.

Ariel nodded. “Hook needs to flex his foot for me.” “How am I going to push off then?” Killian asked. “You’ve got to be able to have some movement even with the tape, Rol. Otherwise you won't be able to go fast and—” “—I want to go fast!” “That’s definitely the point.” Ariel rolled her whole head. “I’m not going to make you immobile. God. Just—do you turn your ankles a lot when you angle in on net?” “Eh,” Killian shrugged, a fairly pitiful deflection when Ariel’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Sounds like a yes. Why didn’t you say that? We should probably avoid that.” “We’ve got other things going on.” “Self-sacrificing is not a cute look on you, you know.” “Am I trying to be cute for you? When am I going to meet this guy you’ve been dating?” “There is a child here,” Ariel sneered, swatting at Killian’s shins when he grinned.

“I bet he’d like to meet your boyfriend too. He owns a restaurant, right?” “Yes, uptown. And, uh—I don’t know, maybe we can go up there after your game.” “My game personally?” Ariel gnashed her teeth, another victory in a competition Killian was very likely having with himself. He wanted to score in the preseason game. If only to prove something to himself. “Rol,” Ariel continued, “can you grab that can off my desk?” He rushed over, knocking several other things over in the process, and Killian yelped when Ariel sprayed his foot. “That is freezing!” “What is it?” Roalnd asked. “Pre-tape,” Ariel answered. “So things get a little more sticky and Hook stops hurting his ankles when he takes that wide angle to get into the high slot.” “And score?” “Absolutely.” “Is that a note of confidence I hear, Red?” She flicked his shin again, Roland talking a mile a minute about goals and angles he absolutely did not understand, and Killian’s chest was doing that thing again. Expanding. To fit his larger-than-normal heart. “He’s going to score, don’t you think?” Ariel asked Roland.

He jumped. Killian assumed that was the answer.

And he knew he was going to score in now, less than seventy-two hours.

“Here,” Ariel continued, tugging on pre-tape and actual tape and moving Roland’s hands so he could twist both of them around Killian’s foot. “Yeah, just like that, make sure you get it on his skin. You’ve got to find a rhythm, almost. Killian, stop moving.” “I’m not trying to,” he groused. “Stop moving, Hook,” Roland yelled, and he was running out of oxygen to sigh as dramatically as he wanted to.

“You’ve created a monster already, Red.” “Please,” she muttered, “look at those hands, he’s made for this.”

Roland nodded, more twists and tears, far more tape on Killian’s ankle than he’d used in his entire career. “I think that just means he’s got quick wrists,” Killian said. “Makes him good in shooting lanes.” “Is that all you think about?” “Should I be thinking about other things?” “Hook, Hook, you should get a power play goal,” Roland announced, letting Ariel move his hands when he circled the arch in Killian’s foot half a dozen times with tape.

“You think? Killian asked.

“It’d be good.” “I mean, any goal would be good, but—yeah, ok. A power play goal and tell you what, if I score, you can keep that puck and then you won’t have to keep stealing them from wherever you’re getting them.” Ariel flushed.

Killian’s jaw cracked when it dropped. “Oh my God, Red. Are you getting pucks for this child?”

“No. Of course not.” “No?” “No.” “A takes them from the room,” Roland said.

“What room?” Killian pressed, the color in Ariel’s cheeks starting to rival her hair. “The equipment room? Does the equipment manager of this team know that?”

Ariel’s face might have been on fire.

And Killian refused to control his laughter, free and easy and something he hadn’t felt in a very long time, Roland joining in even if he didn’t entirely understand the reason behind it. “From the room,” he said again. “But, but—what’s his name, A?” “Kristoff,” she grumbled. “Yeah, he gets mad sometimes.” “Because people keep stealing his pucks?” Killian suggested.

“Ok, that is not what’s happening. And, you know what—it’s fine. This is a professional hockey team and they absolutely have the money to spare on the few pucks I’m—” “—Stealing.” “Shut up, Killian.” He snickered, another nod that was definitely more sarcasm than anything else. “10-4, Havfrue. I deflect to your area of kleptomaniac expertise.” “God, you are insufferable. I take it back, you can’t come to the restaurant or meet the very nice people I met the other day who live a couple blocks away.” “Just them specifically?” “I bet Scarlet is a better babysitter than you.” “Wrong, nothing’s been broken yet. So. Rol, just keep taping, kid.”

Roland did as instructed, bending at the middle so he could look at the underside of Killian’s heel, and he was using far too much tape, but no one said anything to him and—

“Ah,” Killian gasped when Roland somehow yanked on his leg. In a way he was not at all prepared for. Everyone in the room froze, Ariel looking like she wasn’t breathing at all and Killian only felt a little absurd when he slid off the table, trying to balance on one foot when he crouched down.

Roland refused to meet his gaze, lips disappearing almost exactly like Robin’s had. He flinched when Killian rested his hand on his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he promised softly.

Roland blinked. Several times. And there weren’t tears, but the threat of them hung heavy and, if asked, Killian would guarantee that’s why he did what he did next. He was also very curious. And very...sure.

“Who got you the hat?” he asked, a finger pointed at the thing still barely clinging to his hair. “Mr. or Mrs. V?”

Ariel gasped.

And Roland’s eyes got very wide, a slower-than-usual nod. “Ms. V did. She—she said it was for good luck. For the games.” A chest-thing hat trick was happening — all warmth and feeling and now Killian was actually going to have to call El back if only to make sure she knew what a giant pair of saps her parents were. She probably already knew.

Killian took a deep breath, tongue darting out to lick very dry lips. Roland kept staring at him, nervous obvious on his face, and Killian’s knees weren’t all that happy about his prolonged crouch, but he didn’t try to move and he didn’t really want to. “For luck, huh?”

“Yuh huh. Good goals.” “I think we can work on that this season, don’t you?” “Yeah?” It was an impossibly large question. After everything — accidents and slap shots, hospitals and beeping machines, good and bad, wins and losses, careers cut short and second chances that Killian knew he couldn’t waste again. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he echoed. “Good goals and lots of wins. And—” He reached up, pulling the hat off and it wasn’t easy to stay balanced when he got it back on Roland’s head, but they also avoided getting hair in the kid’s eyes, so that was another victory. He was going to brag to Will about his babysitting prowess later. “I think this means you’re Mr. and Mrs. V’s new favorite, which means you’re basically family, right?” Ariel made another noise. Not quite a gasp, but absolutely more emotional and Killian didn’t look at her.

He didn’t need his own eyes going glossy.

The lump in his throat was problematic enough.

“I mean,” he continued, “Mr. and Mrs. V are pretty much—” “—Your mom and dad?” Roland asked.

Killian hissed, not sure of that answer either, but that wasn’t the conversation he wanted to have and the lump was definitely getting bigger. “Something like that,” he admitted. “So, you’re like—grandson once removed. Or something.” “Something,” Ariel mumbled. She was sitting on the table now, hands moving quickly when she tried to brush away incriminating emotional evidence on her cheeks.

Killian smiled. “My point is, Rol, you’ve got this great nickname for me and I don’t have one for you. That’s a bad family look.” “I get a name too?” Roland exclaimed.

“Should be something good. As good as Hook is. That’s—” “—Nautical,” Ariel said. “You know, Captain Hook and all that.” “Is that offensive?” “Are you offended?” “I mean—” “—What about mate?” she cut in. “You know, like...first mate? You’re definitely Hook’s best friend, Rol.” “That’s true,” Killian nodded, if only to make sure the look on Roland’s face stayed there for a few more moments. Like he was hearing the greatest news in the world.

“You’re my friend too, Hook,” Roland said. Definitely the greatest news, then.

“Good. That’s—that’s good. Ok then, mate. Now that my ankle’s all taped up, what do you say to sneaking onto some ice? Bet we could get Scarlet to go along with it?” Roland didn’t answer, just started jumping again, arms around Killian’s neck and legs circling his middle when he stood back up. That made it more difficult to get his sandal back on, eyes flitting Ariel’s direction, but she didn’t say anything, just smiled and shook her head in something almost like acceptance.

“C’mon,” she said, “I know a place where we can steal some pucks.” And it wasn’t hard to get Will to agree to the quasi-practice, grabbing skates from the equipment room as well until Robin swung open the door to find them practicing one-timers in front of the far net. “Why am I not surprised?” he yelled.

Killian stopped moving, dousing Roland with a snow shower of ice. “You want to come out here now that you’re done promising how good we are?” “Are we not as good as I promised we were?” “Depends on what you were quoted,” Will said. “C’mon, Locksley, we’ll go up against Killian and the kid. Show ‘em how it’s done.” “Done what, exactly?” “I don’t know. Winning or something.” “Yeah, that sounds super confident,” Killian laughed. Robin got on the ice anyway — and they let Roland score no less than sixteen times, a puck in his pocket when they finally went back to the locker room to get changed.

And three days later, once Killian scored on the power play in the first period of the first preseason game of the year.

#blue line one shots #i can't tag captain swan in this since emma won't show up in this verse for several seasons #this is just a mess of emotions and reasoning for a very american killian calling roland locksley mate his entire life #because that never really ends #they call each other hook and mate for the rest of ever #this was a very fun distraction in my quest to not write obituaries #so if there's something you were like...i wonder how that happened in this never ending universe #i'm down to write just about anything at this point #it will inevitably be very emotional and very fluffy

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

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Author Interview

Eeeek! I was tagged by @alloveroliver and @claire-maccarthy Thanks for the tag!

Name: My blog name is listed as Ruka, but my real name is Bekah so you can call me either. When I first made this blog, I wasn’t comfortable sharing my name online but now, I don’t mind.

Fandoms Now:

Ikemen Revolution, Ikemen Sengoku, Ikemen Vampire, Obey Me, Nightmare Harem, Several Shades of Sadism, Midnight Cinderella, Romance MD, Star Crossed Myth, Kings of Paradise, Scandal in the Spotlight, Kissed by the Baddest Bidder, My Wedding and Seven Rings. Probably a few more that I’ve got on my phone and log into once in a blue moon.

Want to do in the future:

Any of the Cybird games (they own my soul and wallet), So many voltage games I plan to start in the future, too many to name.

Where you post:

Mostly tumblr but I have an Ao3, Fanfiction and wattpad account (under the name moriartyswife)