#warning: excessive use of parentheses

[dawhat]

Your flowey headcanons. Hand em over 💥💥💥

Thanks for the ask, dear mutual!! Flowey is my co-favorite character (tied with Frisk), so I have a lot to say about him. He’s definitely been talked about a lot, but I like to think that I have some unique-ish ideas.

1. A lot of people reference the librarby monster biology books and Flowey’s own comments to prove that he cannot feel love, or even happiness. By now I think we all know that this is not the case, but I believe there was something interesting going on with Flowey and those books. There’s something so tragic about Flowey potentially rereading those books—that are ostensibly monster propaganda, ironically—over and over again and internalizing their words so deeply that he convinces himself he can’t love. Of course, a great deal of this idea likely comes from a combination of his grief, Chara’s pessimism that he adopted, and (of course) the trauma that developed as a result of dying. However, despite whatever physical component he lost when his soul shattered, I still believe him to be capable of love (not as easily as before, but still possible).

2. Flowey is very cat-like. He has a mischievous spirit. He knocks things off tables near his pot. He has fangs. He wraps himself around people he likes (Frisk mostly). Sometimes he even purrs. No reason in particular for this I just think it’s cute and he fits the bill lol.

3. Some people have said this makes the ending less satisfying, but I like to think that Flowey has the potential to start growing/aging after the final fight. This might be a more common headcanon than I’m imagining (not sure tbh), but for a while I’ve believed that Flowey somehow reconnected to his parents’ souls during the Hyperdeath battle while they were absorbed. This means two things: 1) Flowey can start sapping magic from his parents again, beginning the aging process that was severed at his death 2) his parents will start losing magic, aging and eventually dying at some point in the who-knows-when future. One thing that the boss monster aging process DOESNT affect, however, is Flowey’s altered ability to feel certain emotions. He will mature and age normally now, but as I mentioned earlier, his condition (for a lack of a better word) is something much deeper than monster magic. Simply rebuilding his soul and thinking that he’d be completely fine (I’m looking at you “SAVED Asriel” trope) is like slapping a bandaid on a bullet wound, it won’t instantly “heal” his trauma or make it easier to love. Also, if this means that he regrows a body and what that would even look like is something I haven’t been able to decide lol. I do think that, post pacifist, Flowey is in a wonderful position to not only start growing up, but also begin the recovery process. He’s surrounded by patient and caring people, and there are two folks in particular who would support his growth no matter how poorly he may treat them. Having a “normal” childhood is really a forgone conclusion at this point, but he can certainly make do with what he has. And what he has is enough.

Aaaaaanyway thanks again for the ask!!! Flowey is such an interesting character he deserves a warm cozy blanket with a glass of milk and simultaneously to be crushed into a fine powder. I love him like a son and wish him the worst.

[kiraswritten]

Pyro x Reader (Smut)

pairing: pyro x reader warning: smut (not full blown but it gets pretty steamy), excessive swearing bc i love to swear, and excessive use of parentheses word count: 2k+

authors note: ya if you've read Just Maybe, this is legit word for word but it was originally written for Pyro. wrote this ages ago on another blog and i’m just trying to consolidate everything on here! :)

You’re not the type of person that wants to be in a relationship; not you cause you’re still young and why would you want to be with one person for the rest of your life so early on?

You were the type of person that liked to have a certain sense of freedom and no way was a committed relationship a thing you desired, which is why your relationship with Pyro is perfect.

He felt the same way; he too didn’t want the commitment and the hassle of feelings; those things were messy and a lot of things in Pyro’s life was already fucked up.

There you were, on his bed, straddling him only in your bra and panties (He took those off long ago), as he nipped and sucked on your neck, wonderful sounds of pleasure leaving your lips. It was a typical Thursday for the both of you; after training the two of you would take a quick shower (sometimes together) and end up in Pyro’s bed, usually naked.

“You smell like Apples,” he mumbled against your skin, dragging his teeth along the crook of your neck.

“New body wash, you like?” You teased, grinding your wet heat against his crotch.

“Tease, you know I do.” He said, biting and sucking on your neck until he left a bruise.

“You ass I can’t cover that!” You hissed, glaring at him.

Pyro rolled his eyes, “Everyone already knows we fuck; you’re acting like such a priss.” His hands trail down to your waist, slowly pushing off your lace panties.

“As much as I love these on you, they need to come off.” He grinned.

You lift your ass up (earning a groan from Pyro, he loved watching you getting naked), letting him pull off the thin article of clothing from your body, then chucking it off somewhere in the far corner of his room.

You sit back down on him, a sly grin on your face as he looks up and down your body.

You bring your lips to his ear, “Consider yourself lucky cos a pretty girl is sitting on your lap like this,” you bite at the shell of his ear, “I wonder who you saved in your past life to be this lucky.”

Pyro closed his eyes, gripping your waist tightly, he grinds his crotch on you, a moan leaving your lips. “Yeah Baby, I’m lucky as hell. You dripping wet and ready for me, I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You loved how the two of you can’t seem to get your hands off of each other; no matter how many times the two of you go at it, the intensity and hunger for each other grows each time.

Pyro latches his mouth onto your nipple, earning another moan from you, he flicks and gropes the other one with his hand as you hold onto him. He leaves love bites all over your chest, proud of his work.

“Pyro I can’t wear my tank tops ‘cause of you,” you whine but enjoy the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Just wear them, it’ll be hot.” He says into your skin. “Like me.”

He flips you over, your back on his bed, he trails kisses down to your hip bone, grazing his teeth, then trailing kisses down to your thighs. You close your eyes, gripping at the sheets, “Oh fuck you’re so wet babe,” he says, he licks a trail at your entrance, making you squirm under his touch. “Fuck John, if you don’t fuck me this instant I swear I’m gonna kick your ass!” You yell out, impatient at how he’s playing you.

His eyebrow twitches; he hated it when people called him John but with you it turns him on knowing that you only did that when you were sexually frustrated by him.

“All you had to do was ask,” he sneered, sticking a finger into your wet cunt.

“Fuck,” you gasp out, your back arching off of the bed.

“I need you, please,” you gasp out, “I can’t with foreplay right now, I want you inside me,” Pyro quickly discards his boxers, kicking them off to the floor. He makes his way to you, hovering over your naked body, his eyes glazed over with lust.

He parts your legs with his knees, you bite down on your bottom lip in anticipation, he always liked making you squirm under him. His eyes look down on you, his arm near your head, propping him up while his other hand is wrapped around his cock, giving it a few pumps before lining it against your entrance.

“You want me Babe?” He has his shit-eating grin plastered on his face; you knew how you looked under him; you knew how red your cheeks were, lips swollen, eyelids half-lidded, chest heaving; he had you right when he wanted you. “Please-” “Please what?” He rubs his tip against your wet folds, teasing you.

You knew he wanted you to beg for his cock, he wanted to hear you moan and whimper just for him. “I’m not begging, just be a good boy for me and give me what I want.” You whine, lifting your hips for any type of friction.

He lets go of his cock, his hand grabbing your hip, pushing your down. “Boy? What did you just call me?” His eyes grew dark, the pressure of his hold on your hip grew tighter, “Oh honey, I am not a boy,” He growls, slipping himself inside you with one forceful thrust. “Oh fuck,” you cry out, arching your back off of the bed.

“Yesyesyesyes!” you sigh out, Pyro grins at your reaction, quickening his thrusts. He shifts his weight and uses his elbow to hold himself up, both of your pelvises pressed against each other. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into a kiss; all tongue and teeth clashing, you needed to taste him.

It ends with him rolling off of you, lying down next to you as the two of you catch your breaths, his fingers slowly interlocks with yours. You think nothing of it but you can’t deny it quickens your heartbeat when he does.

He’s only done this recently. You don’t ask him why he does it and he doesn’t tell you why either. The two of you lie in silence (sans the heavy breathing) till you’re reasonably calm.

You begin to get up from the bed, wanting to go to the restroom because you needed to go (no uti’s for you). His grip on your hand pulls you back slightly, causing you to look at him. “Come back after?” he asks, his usual icy grey eyes soften at you.

You nod your head as you let go of his hand, quickly grabbing his shirt and boxers from the floor; ignoring the burning sensation in your thighs. You quickly dress in his clothing, scurrying to the bathroom. You finish your business and walk back into his room; he’s half dressed, barely, only in boxers as he fixes the pillows back to their original positions.

He’s changed the bed sheets; the old one stuffed into his hamper. You close the door and jump into his bed, loving the softness of his new blanket.

He lies next to you, his arm wrapping around your waist. You turn your body towards him, resting your head on his chest; this is normal, nothing’s changed. Can my heart stop beating so fucking fast?!

You’ve been lying to yourself for a while now; you’re terrified of commitment yet this is the longest relationship you’ve had with someone. You didn’t want feelings to mess up the thing you had with Pyro, it was good, you were happy.

The plan was foolproof; the two of you would stay best of friends, no feelings attached when the two of you fucked; just sexual frustrations poured over one (sometimes yours, so two) bed(s), no strings attached. Your relationship in bed is strictly in bed and your relationship as friends were out of the room.

But your heart decided to join the party and made you confused.

You caught yourself more times than you’d like to admit, daydreaming of going on dates with Pyro, hell, even holding his hand in public and it scared you. This was supposed to be fun and mess free and you suddenly find yourself tangled in your own emotions.

It didn’t help that when the two of you were in public, he’d hold you by your waist as if it were natural, or you’d be sitting on his lap during break, it’s like he needed to be touching you when the two of you weren’t grabbing each other in bed. It only occurred to you how much you needed to feel his presence recently and that scared you.

You didn’t want this; you didn’t want feelings, but here you are, in bed with the guy that you might have (maybe) feelings for. “Py,” you say, breaking the silence, he loved it when you called him the shitty nickname you gave him but he’d never admit that to your face.

“Yeah?” He asked, his eyes still glued to the ceiling.

“I think we should stop this whole thing,” You feel your cheeks heat up, cause i’m pretty sure i’m in fucking love with you and i don’t want to be. “Huh?” He says, surprised, he sits himself up on the headboard, his arm still wrapped around your waist.

You look up at him, meeting his gaze, his eyes a darker shade of grey.

“The whole ‘this’ I-I think we should stop.” You watch his reaction to your words, he furrows his brows in confusion, “Is there something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” He asks and you immediately feel shitty,

“No, no! It’s not that, nothing like that. You-uh, you’re great-amazing even!” Oh fucking god I shouldn’t have said shit. “I just, I think we should just stop with that now, I mean- don’t you wanna do it with someone else?” You cringe at your words, you wanted to kick yourself in the ass for saying those words cause you don’t mean them at all.

“Do you?” He asks, his throat feeling tight, “Did you find someone else you wanted to fuck?” The last word cut into you, making you bite down on your lip.

“No, that’s not the point-Jesus- Pyro no, fuck, just forget it, forget it.” You turn your body away from his, closing your eyes. He slinks back down on the bed, this time pulling you closer, your back against his chest.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, his voice void of any emotion.

Something inside you snaps and all you want to do is tell him everything; tell him that you’ve (probably) fallen for him and it eats at you. You broke the rule and all you wanted to do was run away.

You don’t reply and he doesn’t push any further; he was lost in his own thoughts, wondering if he did anything wrong.

Did she find out? He curses himself silently, am i that fucking obvious? He wonders if you noticed how needy he’s grown to have you near him, he wonders if you’ve noticed how he looks at you when you’re doing homework or cleaning, or doing absolutely fucking nothing, he wonders if you know that he’s head-over-heels for you and he wants to kick himself in the ass cause he broke the rule.

He was lying to himself the day the two of you decided this whole ordeal. He was being selfish and he wanted you for himself.

You didn’t want to feel this way; you didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that you had.

“Feelings ruin shit.” you mumble, loud enough for Pyro to hear.

“I think I fucking love you okay and- okay I lied, I don’t think I do, I probably do-like there’s a good chance I do and I’m sorry I broke the rule, god why am I still talking-” You were cut off by Pyro pulling you into his chest, hugging you tight.

“I love you too, fuck you scared me. I thought you didn’t want me around anymore.” He says, unable to control the smile that spread across his face.

You look at him, blinking the tears from your eyes (you didn’t even realise you were crying), he lets out a chuckle, wiping the tears from your face, “You baby,” He teases, and you swat his arm, and he laughs this time, hugging you tighter.

You melt into his touch, he presses a soft kiss on your forehead and your heart bursts cause this was one of the scenarios you’ve thought of and it’s so much better than you imagined, “I swear to god if you tell anyone this I’m gonna set you on fire,” and the magic is ruined. “That’s the Pyro I know, ruining moments like this.”

[sterek-ao3feed]

(Don't) Tell Me About It

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/62788207

by ProphetofJuly

Stiles POV from my other work, (Don't) Talk About It

On an evening out in London, Stiles and Derek have an entirely unexpected reunion.

...

Either there were hallucinogens in his drink or Stiles has suddenly mastered the power of manifestation, because standing in front of him, in the flesh, is Derek Fucking Hale, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

Stiles’ ears are ringing, and he swears time literally stops for several seconds. Any lingering liquor buzz immediately evaporates.

This is unbelievable. He truly, genuinely, cannot believe it.

Words: 6998, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of An American Failwolf in London

Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski

Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Additional Tags: Getting Together, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Idiots in Love, Excessive Use of Parentheses, sorry i'm a slut for punctuation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62788207

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Peter Parker (Grayson?) [Podfic]

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/maq3dKn by Ao3_Podfics How Dick Grayson finds out this malnourished strange teenager is his son. Words: 4, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson & Peter Parker Additional Tags: POV Multiple, Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Dick Grayson is Peter Parker's Biological Parent, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker has ADHD probably, Excessive Use of Parentheses, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Trust Issues, Maybe a little OOC, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/maq3dKn

[ao3feed-peterparker]

Peter Parker (Grayson?) [Podfic]

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3FG4BnE by Ao3_Podfics How Dick Grayson finds out this malnourished strange teenager is his son. Words: 4, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson & Peter Parker Additional Tags: POV Multiple, Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Dick Grayson is Peter Parker's Biological Parent, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker has ADHD probably, Excessive Use of Parentheses, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Trust Issues, Maybe a little OOC, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 20-30 Minutes read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3FG4BnE

[dhr-ao3]

For Lack of a Dragon

For Lack of a Dragon https://ift.tt/47ZjMgx by Anonymous It's 2010, and the Quidditch World Cup has rolled around once again, and for the first time in 24 years, England has made it to the semifinals. As the International Liaison for the Department of Magical Sports and Games, Draco Malfoy is determined to make this the best and the biggest semifinal event since the inception of the QWC. This necessitates, in his eyes, the appearance of at least one (1) dragon. Hermione Granger just wants to get Malfoy out of her office. Words: 1193, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Co-workers, Idiots in Love, Quidditch, Post-Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood Being Luna Lovegood, Banter, Fluff, Romance, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks (Harry Potter), Unnecessary use of dragons as a plot point, Quidditch World Cup, Light-Hearted, Excessive Use of Parentheses via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/AJOrSUN March 28, 2024 at 06:29AM

[jdaviswords]

*PSA - Long post warning*

Man, no lie…I’ve really been mulling over how I was going to type this out that would appeal to folks scrolling through their timelines for weeks. And I’ve figured that the best way to do that would be to compose what I’m thinking/feeling right now concisely. Unfortunately, it’s just not going to be something I am able to do. So while I appreciate you reading this far, you’ve been warned should you continue.

The Leftovers is a sequel to another project that I worked on called The Funnies. It was spearheaded by one of my closest friends, James (also known as, Bone). The Funnies was a culmination of both of our works that were written over a decade ago, sewn together, and highlighted James and myself as artists. It connected musical composition and spoken word. In our opinions…it was unique.

Before I continue, I must also emphasize that James and I are not the only two involved in the making of The Funnies or The Leftovers. So many folks played part in them for no other benefit than to be a part of expression. And should The Funnies or The Leftovers be listened only once, that notion itself is a victory for us.

The Funnies left off with the character I created standing at the top of a volcano, hence the inspiration behind the album art cover for The Leftovers (shout out Kojau). The Leftovers was inspired by two major things:

a.) An excess catalog of work that was in consideration for The Funnies that never made it

b.) James McCann

It’s nerve racking putting yourself out there and without my friends and family supporting me on this, it doesn’t exist. Setting that aside, I’m putting inside this ramble, that I am proud of myself. Because I am. And also for future reference on those tougher days.

If you’re still here, I would like to elaborate just a little bit more…

The Leftovers is purposeful in its design. It’s chronology has been discussed at length, and so from the intro of Impoverished War Machine to the outro of I Write, it is intentional how they sequent one another. With that, I do believe the individual pieces can stand alone, but are better served collectively (like a pin collection). Those last parentheses won’t make sense to the most of you, unless you take a dive inside that volcano with me. Then I’d have no other choice than to Call It like it is, state a welcome, and then ask…Where Have You Been?

Now that you’ve left behind your Intimidation to Jump, Where Are You Now? Where Do You Go when you’ve lost The Idea Of Me? I type this as tonight’s version of Night Thoughts and I am so thrilled to Mash Up these song titles as I take a deep breath of Oxygen and exhale. I figured after I couldn’t put the words together originally, eventually I’d find The Right Way. I knew that once I started, it would roll together like A B C and it would showcase again me being me Unapologetically. I’m steady running now, like Two Knobs and a Faucet.

Today I turn 31 years old. It is my birthday and I’ll admit that it’s the ugliest feeling birthday I’ve felt yet. I know that’s a feeling which will subside. In the interim, I am choosing to focus on my next Smoothie Sip, and not be bogged down in negativity like a sailor walking The Plank.

I am so grateful for what writing has given my life. And while the vulnerability of this project is evident, being able to share with you a piece of my passion is both a blessing and an honor.

Lastly, (and I swear I am done after this) I would like to leave you with the mission statement for The Leftovers, as I truly feel it encapsulates the album in a shortened version of what is written above:

The Leftovers is a project inspired by spoken word, music, and friendship. The album is a unique interpretation of slam poetry and meshes with it, the love of music. It is captivating, playful, and thought provoking. Its design is geared towards the premise of embracing vulnerability and showcasing artistry. The Leftovers will take the listener to a place of reflection and enlightenment driven by its rhyming and word play. It highlights the art of writing and touches on aspects of expression, mental health, politics and more.

Inspired by a passion of words, The Leftovers (as already mentioned) is the sequel to another project called The Funnies. While similar in design, The Leftovers is my first ever fully spoken word album that truly embodies myself as a writer.

“…but even in my uniqueness, it means nothing, unless it reaches someone…and teaches them…something…or breaches a curiosity. I hope I can be inspiring for those who are tiring from the beat down of this crazy society.”

– Intimidation to Jump

One Love,

-Jdav (Justin Davis)

Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/album/31kzYT00XSU74Q0quHOsZx?si=5wlZxGpkTJ6UPdVnSXGlPg

Apple Music - https://music.apple.com/us/album/the-leftovers/1728930211

YouTube Music - https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_mQGXZqAuqFFrx8uTBnmryBm0_y5ET3R5w&si=diM1dAqinak8FZe4

Distrokid - https://distrokid.com/hyperfollow/jdav3/the-leftovers?fbclid=PAAaYZQ2K1X81V6Zco3hM8_ywdyo7QGUJUOT-C8E4y7AOgLTu8eQKHrmiLhRE_aem_ARIv9F3Eyu9tEjMzdhzZXBDDN-QmP3MpQwijMM9oZZvswaxYo2v44018mRnWtQ_zK-g

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Used To Hide (In The Washing Machine)

by Dyslexic_Gremlin (Jaggedwing)

Tommy never belonged to a pack. He was fine, able to keep others safe from him and he knew how to take care of himself. His own health didn’t matter when it came to other people.

And he was able to make this work for all nineteen years of his life. Up until he met a stranger named Will and he was shown what actual belonging might feel like

(Or, day 1 - werewolves of SBI fantasy week!)

Words: 3500, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of SBI Fantasy Week 2023

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), give us Sleepy Bois Inc fandom tag

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Characters: TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot

Relationships: Tommyinnit & Wilbur Soot

Additional Tags: SBI Fantasy Week 2023, NOT RPF! These are characters!!!, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, SBI love each other, All Platonic - Freeform, 2/4 sbi, crime boys, Tommy-centric, Tommyinnit needs a hug, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, werewolf!Tommy, spoilers for the end in next tag!, werepanther!Wilbur, I make up my own were!lore, just here to have fun so, Possible Body Horror, depends on your standards ig, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, almost a panic attack, Unreliable Narrator, Excessive Use of Parentheses, excessive use of commas, Excessive use of italics, Author is dyslexic

[ao3feedsterek]

(Don't) Tell Me About It

(Don't) Tell Me About It https://ift.tt/9rLB1AE by ProphetofJuly Stiles POV from my other work, (Don't) Talk About It On an evening out in London, Stiles and Derek have an entirely unexpected reunion. ... Either there were hallucinogens in his drink or Stiles has suddenly mastered the power of manifestation, because standing in front of him, in the flesh, is Derek Fucking Hale, staring at him like a deer in headlights. Stiles’ ears are ringing, and he swears time literally stops for several seconds. Any lingering liquor buzz immediately evaporates. This is unbelievable. He truly, genuinely, cannot believe it. Words: 6998, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of An American Failwolf in London Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: Getting Together, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Idiots in Love, Excessive Use of Parentheses, sorry i'm a slut for punctuation, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence February 04, 2025 at 09:53PM https://ift.tt/9rLB1AE

[yelenasdog]

vibrant, saccharine, his ☼ (fwb!mat barzal x fwb!fem reader) 

genre: filthy smut, fluff, angst with happy ending

summary: pretending is getting harder, for both of them. and after a hard roadie, mat’s not sure if he wants to pretend anymore.

words: 8.7k (WOAH)

warnings: cursing, excessive use of parentheses, friends with benefits arrangement, smut, unprotected piv, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, blood (reader bit lip too hard oops!), pet names (baby, sweetheart, pretty boy), reader is described as having sisters and a dog, food mention, idiots to lovers, misunderstood situation, reader uses she/her pronouns, and i think that’s it.

a/n: when i started this, i originally was just writing a blurb and then it turned into a full ass fic with a plot?? and fwb??? idk man, im nervy to post this since ive never published for nhlers before but oh whale! and ty to @eminems-skittles for reading this for me and checking it over 🤍 love u

“You played so good, baby.” She breathed, welcoming him home with open arms.

“Not good enough, apparently.” He responded, letting her fingers card through his raven locks. Soft, freshly cut. She loved when he grew it out, but yet again it was him, so anything worked.

She sighed, letting her thumb fall to his cheekbone, knowing what he was referring to. It had been the last stop of the road trip, he’d had a hatty and despite making it to OT, it wasn’t enough in the shootout.

He’d had to wait an entire flight and car ride afterwards to see her, only giving her a brief text when he got off the ice (“We lost. Had a hatty. Fucking Toronto.”) (like she hadn’t stayed up to watch the game) and another when he landed.

And after so long of whatever the two of them had going on, she’d known better than to try to send him some long and winded attempt at a pick me up message. She settled for just responding “I’ll be here.” She didn’t need to say it though, he knew she’d be there.

She always was.

To anyone else it would’ve been sad, how she waited up for him, late nights spent lonely with just her and her dog, as he jetted around North America. In her mind, he was no doubt giving himself away to whatever random puck bunny threw herself his way.

Despite this, she was loyal, even though she had her suspicions about what he did when they were apart. And frankly, it wasn’t a part of the “deal” that they had to be exclusive, and it was none of her business. But truthfully, after so long, she couldn’t count on some washed up juniors player to give her even a fraction of the satisfaction he had.

So, she did this whole routine, whatever this was. She stayed up late watching his games, sitting on her couch in his sweatshirt he left. She wouldn’t admit it out loud, but whenever she wore it, she liked to pretend.

Pretend that she was an obedient girlfriend wearing her loving boyfriends sweater. That as she sat curled up waiting on the corner of the beat up black sofa, 3 coffees in at approximately 1:37 am, she would be rewarded for her efforts come morning time.

That her and said loving boyfriend would lounge around together in bed (after he woke her up in the best way he knew how, showing her how grateful he was. Like I said, she loved when his hair was long enough to tug on, and even though she endlessly made fun of his patchy stubble, she couldn’t deny how delicious it felt burning between her thighs. Especially after they’d spent so long apart.) Then they’d go and grab late brunch, holding hands under the table as they sipped mimosas, which were Mat’s guilty pleasure only her and the waiter knew about, before heading home.

Maybe then they’d FaceTime his mom back in Coquitlam, an early riser with the 3 hour time difference. Mat had felt bad interrupting her morning routine, but she’d never pass up an opportunity to talk to her boy and the girl who she hoped was her future daughter in law.

After they got off the phone, she’d tell him how much she loved his mom, how her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He’d tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, watching as she leaned into his touch.

“Missed you, Mat.” She’d say, closing her eyes.

“I missed you more.” He’d respond, his voice nearly a whisper. Her eyes would flutter open, and he’d recognize the look in them immediately. He felt his blood rush, and suddenly their proximity, which he’d never get used to, was very obvious.

“Oh yeah?” She asked. “I doubt that.”

He swallowed, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Her eyes hungrily swept over them, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and capture them with her own.

But patience is a virtue, she supposed.

“Want me to prove it, pretty boy?”

Words failed him, and all he could do was nod. He relaxed into the sofa, watching as she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her hands were on either thigh as he fought the urge to lay his tired head back onto the beat up pleather behind him. It had been too long, he thought. And he’d be damned if he was going to miss out on seeing her do what he’d only imagined in the shower, or over the phone for the past 16 days.

She reached her hands up from the muscle of his thigh up to his tummy, her cold hands shocking him as she reached under his sweatshirt- the same one she’d been wearing before.

Her hands drifted, down, down, down, to the waistband of those damn Lululemon shorts she’d got him for Christmas. He held his breath, watching as they danced around where he needed her most and then-

The doorknob turns, and she’s brought back to reality. Sleep had almost claimed her, iced coffee left abandoned on the coffee table, a ring of condensation already drying on the glass. She attempts to smooth out her hair, hoping that her brief almost-nap hadn’t left her too disheveled.

Not that he’d care.

She stood to greet him as he opened the door, hockey bag, and garment bag, and duffle bag, and backpack, and- God, did he really need all that- and suitcase, dropped unceremoniously as he entered the threshold. He kicked the huge bag to the side, and it landed right under where her keys and her leash for her old mutt, Warrior, hung from the wall.

Above the leash hung a picture of her and her sisters, with her running shoes on the floor beneath it for easy access. They were nearly squished by the gear, and if it had been anyone else’s shit crushing her 160 dollar sneakers, she’d be angry. But the sight of his bag near her shoes was so weirdly domestic, she could’ve cried.

She, yet again, was snapped out of her fantasy by the closing of the heavy door, watching as the man in front of her shuffled forward, immediately allowing himself to be held by her. His head fell to her shoulder, and rather than the usual clash of teeth and shoving to get to her room, (they never went to never his place after a roadie. He needed to be away from the constant reminders of it all for awhile, just to be surrounded by her) she simply dropped a chaste kiss to his temple, letting her arm drop from his hair to his broad shoulders, squeezing once, twice, three times, on either one.

He stood up, and she led him to her room, though he knew the way well enough. Her hand in his felt nice, comforting, even, and he wasn’t going to complain. In the beginning of the arrangement the two of them had, touches like that had been normal. But as time went on, the barely there brushes and gentle caresses stopped all together.

He wanted to say something, wanted to ask her what was wrong, if it was something he did. But when he was off the ice, Mathew Barzal was not a man who liked to push his luck. So he didn’t. He let the touches slip away, and took what he could get from her.

Which right now, was toeing off his shoes, and crawling onto the plush comforter of her bed. It smelled like that sparkly ”fairy dust” shit from Lush he saw sitting on her bathroom counter once, cotton candy and bubblegum infiltrating his senses. That, and her favorite floral perfume he was all too familiar with on her pillow. A combination of scents he usually would find too much, sickly-sweet. But it was her, and that alone made it the most soothing aroma he’d ever known.

Initially when he’d gotten off the ice, the adrenaline had been pumping, and his anger had been rampant. All he’d wanted was to get home to her, have his way with her. To have an outcome he could control.

He’d kept himself relatively calm in the locker room, not having any outbursts towards Ilya, or anyone for that matter. If any of the guys had noticed he was uncharacteristically quiet, they didn’t say anything.

That is, until the bus ride to the airport.

He had been typing out his text to her, (Hatty, lost in OT, Toronto, you know the one), when he had felt a pair of peering eyes. Sitting in the back of the bus, he’d thought he’d done well to avoid such glances, but apparently not.

“Y’know, you shouldn’t be sulking so much.” A certain French-Canadian spoke, the brunette man’s tired eyes lingering over Mat’s hunched over form.

If there was one thing he didn’t need right now, it was more pep talks from Tito. He’d had more than his fill in the locker room. And though he loved the guy, he didn’t need to be told again how he “did everything right” and had a ”killer game”.

Because he knows, and that’s partly why he’s so mad.

Partly. As the other part is the fact that he wants more than anything to come back to NY to her arms. He was exhausted at this point, and rather than having his way with her, he now just wanted to be welcomed home into those ridiculously cozy sheets. He wanted her to light up all those overpriced candles she loved so much from Bath and Bodyworks, and for Warrior to snuggle up by him, stinky dog breath be damned. He wanted her to turn on ”Miracle” in the back as white noise, and laugh as she repeated all the lines from memory. (He may be Canadian, but he can appreciate a heart warming story told by Kurt Russell when he sees one.)

More than anything, though, he wanted her. And not just for an hour or two before he inevitably dragged himself out of those silky sheets that felt heavenly on his back, leaving her sleeping beside him. She looked peaceful in those moments, and he often wondered what she dreamt of. If she was dreaming of him as he did of her.

Bottom line was, Mathew was the victim of a series of unfortunate events. And the man to his left could recognize that it wasn’t just the hockey that was bothering him. (Though, that whole situation did suck pretty bad, he’d admit.)

So when Anthony told him he shouldn’t be sulking, he flashed him a tight lipped smile and a nod, before looking out the window at the Toronto sunset. The oranges and pinks were stunning, and more than anything their vibrancy reminded him of her. The smile she’d give him in her post-orgasm glow, or of the orange blossom on the bottle of perfume on her vanity. Beauvillier’s gaze never faltered, though, recognizing the deep train of thought his close friend was experiencing.

The screen of his phone had begun to darken, the draft of his message just barely visible. Tito’s eyes quickly shifted from the screen and back up to Barzy, opening his mouth and pausing momentarily.

“Who’re you texting?”

Mat quickly turned off the device, the “click” sounding out in the quiet bus cabin, most of the Islanders players catching some shut eye or watching that new Game of Thrones spin off.

Personally, Mat didn’t get the appeal.

“Nobody, just… a friend I’m visiting tonight when we get back.”

Anthony’s eyebrows went up, making a face of understanding as he slowly nodded three times.

“A friend, huh?”

Mathew nods, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go. “Yup.” He adds softly for good measure, popping the p.

“You visiting a friend after a game like that, this late, hm?” Another pause. ”Must be an important friend.”

“Yeah.” His voice is soft again, compassion coming across his features and he thinks of her again.

“Well“, Anthony starts, popping in his earbuds and opening his phone to his Music app. “I’d say whatever’s going on with this friend seems worth talking to her about.”

Mat‘s head snaps up, and he scoffs, shaking his head.

“I didn’t say that it was a she-“

“You didn’t have to, buddy.” Tito winks in the most annoyingly-Tito way, and chuckles to himself. He then lays his head back onto the navy material behind him. Mat “hmph”s to himself, doing the same. He turns his phone back on again, going to the chat between the two of them. The still blinking cursor seems like it’s mocking him as he runs a hand over his face, hitting send.

If there’s gonna be any deep, emotional shit, it can wait until he’s not 2500 miles away.

7 hours later when he finally crashes through her front door, he swears the relief he feels mixed with the sense of dread it all might be over in an hour, gives him whiplash. But nonetheless, she welcomes him in, and she feels like home.

Warrior watches from the couch, his tail lazily wagging as he observes his owner greeting the man who occasionally slips him bacon from his Starbucks sandwich. His old man (old dog?) body doesn’t find the arrival of the hockey player worthy of leaving his nest on the sofa, as to him that’s all Mathew Barzal is. The bringer of bacon.

To Warrior’s owner, though, he was so much more.

The trek to the bedroom felt like it took an eternity, and as he laid on her bed, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be a bad idea to push his luck for once. Risk ending it all to gain everything.

She laid down next to him, and he shifted, going from laying with his arms crossed under his head, to one next to her head, the other keeping him stable from his position on top of her.

Her hand crept up to push an unruly lock out of his eyes, and she leaned forward, and he met her halfway. They paused briefly, taking each other in after so long, before finally closing to distance.

He tasted warm, like cinnamon and something she couldn’t place, and she wondered if at the airport he’d gotten one of those pretzels she knew he liked so much. To compliment his psychopath reminiscent black coffee, of course.

His hand went from where it had been cradling her face down to rest on her hip. The soft touch elicited a whimper, and at that he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

She recognized that something was off, swimming around in that pretty little head of his. A small frown etched its way onto her face, and she lifted his chin up so he had no choice but to look at her.

“What’s wrong, Mat?”

He took in a shaky breath, looking over to his left, where the TV was on some random wallpaper, a sunset, he realizes. He scoffs, looking back at her.

“Can you just- can we- can I- fuck.” He mutters, slowly falling down so his body weight is nearly on top of her.

“Can you just… hold me?”

She swears she’s never heard him sound so broken.

“Yeah, baby, ’course. C’mere.” She replies softly, allowing him to fully rest on her. It was a miracle that he didn’t fully break down right there, at the feeling of her fingertips dancing over his skin, under his pushed up shirt. His nose was cold against her neck as he dragged it up against her to come to her cheek, pressing a kiss there. His eyes never opened, afraid that if they did, it would all just be another elaborate fantasy he’d created to pass the time.

“Is this a good idea?” Came her voice, cutting through the silence.

He sniffles. “What do you mean?”

“This. Us.” She says, not able to meet his gaze where he’s lifted his head.

“We’re going to get hurt. More than we already have.”

Oh. Oh, fuck this was happening right now. Mat sat up, feeling like a scared teenage boy. Damn you and the way you read people, Beauvillier. Maybe this would’ve been easier from 2500 miles away.

“We don’t have to.”

“What other option do we have?” She said, sounding defeated, like she already knows her answer and she doesn’t like it. “I-I can’t keep doing this no strings attached shit. Not when you do this. Not when you come here all beat up like some sad puppy.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he was.

“Don’t be. I should’ve known this would happen.” Her voice was soft, her eyes distant.

“That what would happen?” He questioned. She looked at him like he had two heads.

“That you’d leave, Mat. That this whole pretending bullshit wouldn’t be enough for me.”

He leaned forward again, catching her off guard.

“I’m not leaving you. I’d never leave you.”

She looked away briefly, mentally cursing herself for being so emotional as tears began to well up in her eyes. He fell to her side, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Do you really want this?” She asked, the tears rolling down her face illuminated a hue of pink from the salt lamp on the bedside table. Mathew reached out a hand, dragging his thumb over the droplet. He hated that she was crying, but fuck, she sure looked pretty while doing it.

His answer came without thought, he’d done enough of that on his way over.

“Yes. I want you in every way, if you’ll have me.”

A small smile came onto the corners of her face, and she nodded, shortly at first, but more exaggerated as they started laughing, a small “yeah?” escaping from Mathew. She responded with the same, and he took that as his sign to reach forward, closing the distance between them.

And like all the times before, they fell into their routine, her hands going down to his hips, lifting the gray material of his shirt over his head. He returned the favor, the two of them moving in sync as she lifted her hips and he gently slid off her shorts. He ran his palms along her bare thighs and she shivered at the feeling, a reaction that didn’t go unnoticed by Mathew.

“I missed you, y/n.” He admitted, running a hand through his, now, unruly hair.

Another vibrant smile came across her face, easing whatever nerves Mat had left over from his confession.

“I missed you more, Mathew.”

He shook his head, dipping down to leave sloppy kisses on her neck. Taken aback, she let a shaky breath escape. He pulled back, satisfied with the response he’d pulled from her.

“Not possible.”

In a moment of boldness (and a slight hope to allow a fantasy to come to life) she challenged him.

“Prove it, then.”

His eyes darkened, then, and he surged forward. Her remaining clothes, which was just his sweatshirt and a flimsy cami, were gone in an instant. She was left in just a pair of black undies, Mat nearly cumming on the spot at the sight, like he’s some horny teenager. His apparel soon joined the growing pile on the floor, as she made a remark about how it wasn’t fair he was still so covered.

She shamelessly raked over his naked form, save for the black boxers, with his firm muscles, sore from the roadie, prominent as ever. She might’ve been drooling, she wasn’t sure. He smirked, the effect he had on her not lost to him.

The two began to kiss again, and there was no other way to describe it other than that it just felt right.

Mathew wasted no time, allowing his hand to trail down and cup her clothed heat, his thumb passing over her clit and past her entrance with a feather light touch. She shivered, her hips lifting up to chase the brief sensation. He pulled her panties to the side, teasing her entrance with his middle finger.

It was immediately covered in her slick, as was the black fabric he’d moved aside. It made him groan just from the sensation alone, making her chuckle at his behavior. Her laugh soon was cut off as he sunk the finger in, giving her no time to adjust, not that she needed it with how ready she was for it, before adding another.

His palm just barely grazed her begging clit as he pumped in and out slowly. And as she continued to lift her hips trying to feel him deeper, push his hand closer to her clit, she fully expected him to push her down and put her in her place.

But this whole thing was about showing him how much he missed her, how much he appreciated her. To show her that he was staying. And him staying meant that he’d have plenty of chances in the future to be an insufferable tease, but right now wasn’t one of those times.

“Matty, please-“ it was more of a breathy whine, not intelligible to an untrained ear. But thankfully for her, that wasn’t Mat.

“You want more, baby?” He questioned, knowing the answer. She nodded, hair splayed around her like a halo on the pillow. She was still illuminated from the TV screen and the salt lamp, making her look like an angel of sorts, not of this world.

“Look at me then, sweetheart. Wanna see that I’m makin’ you feel good.”

Her eyes that met his were glazed over and doe like, and it melted Mat’s insides at just one look. He did his best to push down the mushy feeling that arose, before realizing he didn’t have to anymore. He could feel as sickeningly in love as he wanted, no consequences.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. So needy, fuckin’ perfect girl.” He remarked, adding in a third finger. She let out a borderline pornographic cry, and Mat picked up his pace. His gaze only faltered from her face, contorting in pleasure, back to where he was pumping in and out of her, unable to resist the urge to watch in amazement.

Though her legs were flailing, going from propped up to sliding down and spread, rustling the comforter, she somehow had enough mind to reach a hand down. She attempted to run tight circles around her clit, but not before her hand was pinned to her side by the center above her,

“No, baby. Lemme.”

His range of motion was wider and his thrusts harder as he curled his fingers to perfectly hit that spot inside her that made her see stars, fully trailing his hand over her sex. He repeated the action again, and again, and again- and fuck, she didn’t know how long she’d go on like this but she never wanted the feeling to stop.

He felt her tighten around him, and he picked up his pace, knowing she was almost there.

“Mat!” she managed to get out between strangled moans and panting breaths. He leaned down, kissing below her ear on the one spot he knew drives her crazy. She was halfway thinking, well, less than halfway with her state at the moment, that he would cruelly pull his hand away as she reached her peak. So she clamped her thighs together in an attempt to trap him, subconsciously more than not.

It didn’t stop him from grinding his palm against her like he had been, leaning down to capture her lips with his in a searing kiss.

Everything at once was just so much, the obscene sounds coming from both their mouths and her wet heat, the feeling of Mathew’s bare skin on top of her, the feeling of warmth radiating from his body, and oh my God, after so long it’s fucking finally happening-

He felt as her chest seized and she pulled away from the kiss, her head slamming back before falling to the side. She cried out, her orgasm hitting her like nothing had before.

He found her lips in the chaos beneath him, his hand parting her thighs as she went lax, lazily pumping in and out as she rode out her high. Her slick coated the inside of her thighs, and Mat pulled away momentarily and she whined, like the little brat she was allowing herself to be.

He only smirked, leaning down to kiss on her collarbone, letting his tongue sweep over the seemingly shimmering expanse of skin before him. He moved further down, savoring the taste of her, how it felt to be so close to her. No guards up, no shields, no screening involved.

She moved her ring clad hands to run fingers through his locks, that fucking smile coming across her face. He looked up from where his hands were holding either side of her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to not make it hurt, but to say “I’m here. I’m not leaving.” His chin rested above her bellybutton, and he felt suddenly seen, bashful almost. He continued his trail down in a half assed attempt to hide his face, her breath hitching when he made it to her mound.

Her breath barely returned to her as he skipped over where she thought he was headed, instead opting to take her right leg over his shoulder, moving down the expanse of it to her ankle. He brought his eyes to meet hers, and a tender hand ran up and down the distance of it. He kissed the inside of her ankle, making his way up to the skin where her thigh met her already aching sex.

He lightly nudged his nose against the area, before attaching his lips. He started sucking on the skin there, licking her clean. Satisfied, he moved to the other side, beginning his good work.

“Mat,” she broke her silence, her voice splintered and low, “don’t tease. Please.”

He raised his eyebrows, seemingly in jest.

“I think we’re a little far gone from teasing, eh?” He asked, and truthfully, one mind blowing orgasm later, they were.

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever hotshot.”

“New nickname?” He questioned. “I like it.” He huffed, returning to his place between her legs. “But I fucking love this pussy, baby.”

And with that, he dove in. He immediately groaned at what he had found. (Which, obviously, caused her to tug at that perfect head of hair, eliciting another groan.)

If possible, she had become even wetter with the mix of his spit and her nectarine juices. It dripped down his chin, and he wanted to stay there forever. He’d found solace there, he thought. No Maple Leafs, no Tito, no hatty that meant jackshit in the end.

Just her and her consummate being. Vibrant, saccharine. His.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent drawing her closer and closer to the edge, but somewhere between repeated chants of praises and whatnot, he’d slipped.

“Fucking love this cunt, fucking love you-“

He hadn’t realized what he said, and if he had, he didn’t seem to care. But his words alone were enough to rip an unassuming orgasm from her. She didn’t allow herself long enough to think about if he meant to say it or not, or even to ride out the aftershocks rolling through her nerves. She grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him away from her glistening cunt and up to where she connected their lips.

A small sound of surprise, not reluctance, escaped from where they were joined. Her hands came to cradle either side of his face, and Mat thinks that he might’ve cried from the tender action. He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to ask. Hey, it’d been a long day.

“You mean it?”

He realized what he had said, then, eyes wide and somehow his face even more flushed than before. He considered lying, like when Tito had asked who he was texting and he’d said a friend.

But where would that leave him, he wondered?

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I did.” He added after a beat of silence.

And in those few moments nothing had seemed scarier.

Not when he was 18, getting skipped over by teams in the draft, and that voice in the back of his head had told him that, somehow, everyone had collectively decided to skip Mathew Barzal. Not when he was 19 playing in his first game for the Isles, having to follow up Auston Matthews first NHL game where he had four goals. Four. Fuck.

No, all that was topped by this. By the same fear he’d had earlier when he’d been on the bus, or when he’d arrived at her apartment.

But all of that fear was dissolved in a second after her laugh sounded out in the small bedroom, her eyes crinkling at the edges. She pulled him down towards her, and the sound of her laughter pulled a radiant smile from the hockey player that he felt like hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time.

She rolled over on top of his chest, leaning forward and throwing her arms around his neck. His chain was glinting, now, in the light she had previously been bathed in, and it caught her eye as it rested against his milky complexion.

“You looooove me.” She regarded in a sing-song voice, and Mat rolled his eyes despite the smile growing on his face. She leaned down, and Mathew’s grip on her bare hips tightened, all too aware of the wet spot left on his stomach from her leaking sex.

She mirrored his previous movements down his chiseled body, a regular Adonis in his own right. She left open mouthed kisses, the wet patches from them adding to the thin sheen that covered his body. She made her way down to his boxers, the obvious tent making her stifle a laugh. He caught it though, of course, and rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Laugh it up, babe. Laugh at my misery.” He commented, to which she only shook her head.

“Patience is a virtue, Mathew.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Well, he had a point there.

So rather than talk, she decided she’d put her mouth to good use. She pulled down his boxers at a painstakingly slow rate, watching as his cock slapped up against his stomach. Her mouth watered at the sight, the tip red and weeping, begging to be attended to. He kicked off the boxers, paying no mind to how they slipped onto the floor, forgotten. She didn’t either, as she was sure he had to have some extra in one of his gazillion bags sitting in her entry way.

Her nails scratched down his stomach, angry red lines puffing up and decorating around the expanse of his skin. They were accompanied by freckles and marks and scars that she could have mapped together with her eyes closed. She knew Mathew like the back of her hand. And with that, came knowing how to make him come undone in her hands.

She started leaving small kisses at the base of his shaft, before swiping the bead of precum from his head down to the rest of him. She pumped her hand a few times, and Mathew let out a strangled moan. She thought he couldn’t get any louder, feeling bad for her neighbors at whatever hour in the night it was, but she was quickly proven wrong.

She licked a long stripe from the bottom to his tip, before taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. She bobbed her head a few times, jacking off whatever she couldn’t fit with her hands. She hollowed her cheeks, and the rise and fall of Mathew’s chest quickened. The sound he let out was animalistic, and it sent another wave of arousal through her body. She moaned involuntarily, and the feeling caused Mathew to buck his hips.

“You’re doing so good, baby. ‘M not gonna last with you going at me- shit- like that.”

He brought a large hand down to the side of her face, lightly stroking her cheek. It was a moment of wholesomeness that reminded them what they were now, what he had said.

Mat could tell she was tired, her pace decreasing. The look in her eyes never changed, though. And as he went to speak to tell her it was okay, and she didn’t have to (and because since it had been so long, he was scared he’d bust his load if she wasn’t careful), she pulled off.

A string of saliva followed, and the sight looked like a thumbnail of a shitty porno. Her eyes were droopy and glazed over, and Mat’s hypothesis was proven correct.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to finish. Let me take care of you.” He repeated his sentiment from earlier. She only shook her head, continuing to jack him off with her hand. Oh. He thought. That’s not what I was expecting.

“S’okay, Matty. Wanna make you feel good.”

She ran her thumb over his tip again, her glassy and swollen bottom lip hanging ajar as she concentrated. The moans he was letting slip free could only be described as pathetic, the 190 pound hockey player putty in her hands.

“I’m gonna cum if you don’t, God, baby, shit! I-If you don’t stop.”

And then she pulled her hand off, and he let out a quick breath at the momentary relief, if that was even the right word. But it was short lived, and she managed to hoist herself up, dragging her folds along his cock, before stabilizing herself with hands on his chest. He slid inside of her, and the sounds they both let out echoed off her walls.

She started moving, and then it was “You’re fuckin’ amazing, you know that? So fuckin’ amazing. My girl, my perfect girl.” He rambled, the events of just that day alone scrambling his mind trying to keep up. Similarly to how she felt earlier, everything was just too much for the poor man. She felt like Heaven around him, and he watched in awe from below her as she moved, enamored by the woman he loves.

As she became more and more tired, her movement slowed, reduced to her grinding herself down on his cock. Mat was barely hanging on, trying to make it last as long as possible. He could tell she was close too, as she squeezed him like a vice, and put her energy into picking up her pace.

“Fuck, Matty. Feels s’good. Love you- shit! I love you so much, baby.” She told him, her eyes closed and her face screwed up as she chased her high. But something snapped in Mathew at her confession, and with a quick “fuck” under his breath, he flipped the two of them without ever leaving her.

He was relentless.

He slammed in and out, and at the sudden change in position and pace, she was blindsided. She thrashed around him, her hands everywhere at once. Her hair, his hair, grasping at his shoulders, scratching down his back. She settled for his biceps, as his hands were planted. One on the right side of her head, the other gripping her hip bone so hard, she was sure it’d bruise.

“It’s only ever been you, baby. I promise you.”

“Shit, Mat!” She cried, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She loosely draped her legs around his middle, allowing him to reach new depths within her. He was fucking her senseless, and they fucking loved it.

“It’ll only ever be you. I love you. Fuck, I love you so much, Y/n.” His hair hung in his eyes as he fought to keep them open. He shook it out of his eyes, wanting to see her as she came in all her glory.

“Love you, Mat. So much, baby. You have no idea.”

His pelvis snapped harder against her, just barely reaching up and grazing her clit in the most exquisite way. The rope in her stomach began to tighten for the third time that night, so close to breaking she could almost taste it.

Actually, she could taste it, she realized. She had been biting down so hard on her bottom lip she could taste the metallic tang on her tongue, and fuck, it was all the more delectable.

“Mat!” It was another exclamation, followed by more babbles. “‘S too much, Matty, can’t do it.” Her voice was small, and despite the nature of the statement, Mat felt his heart flutter.

He shook his head. “Yes, you can, baby. I know you’re tired, but you can do it, Y/n. You’ve got another one in you sweetheart, pull through for me. I’ve got you.”

And never one to disappoint, especially not her Mathew, she did.

She came, and she came hard. But it wasn’t dramatic the way you’d think it’d be, at least not outwardly. Her breathing stopped, her toes curled, and her nails dug into the skin on Barzy’s arms. It wasn’t accompanied by a loud scream, or a drawn out, high pitched moan. It was a breath of relief that left her when she came, her head falling to the side and her eyes closing. A quiet moan of Mat’s name, and she was clamping down on him.

The sweet way his name fell off her tongue, mixed with how she was so damn tight around him as she came, and he was done for. It triggered his own orgasm, and he felt the same feeling of peace wash over him that she had as he spilled into her. He fucked her through it, soft thrusts calming whatever aftershocks they both were experiencing. She had gone limp under him, her eyes opening as she gave him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

He stayed in her, lowering himself onto his side, then maneuvering them so she was laying on him. They were a cliché and they knew it, but they couldn’t seem to care. A few moments passed in comfortable silence, before it was broken by Mathew’s scratchy post-sex voice. Swoon.

“So,” he started. She raised a brow, wondering where he was going with this.

“You looooove me, too, then?” He mimicked her tone from earlier, and they broke out in a fit of laughter as she slapped his arm and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re alright.” She feigned annoyance, propping herself up on her right arm as she faced the man she loved. Mat scoffed, blowing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Just alright? You’re crazy, lady.”

“But you love me.”

Not a beat passed before “I do.”

She smiled softly, lifting up a hand to run a finger along his jaw. He caught it with his own, never breaking eye contact as he kissed her palm. Again, swoon.

“I know.” She responded, wanting to stay in that moment forever. But, she knew that if she stayed where she was too long, she’d more than likely fall asleep in record time. So, she pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, which he turned to catch before she could go, pulling her back for a “real” kiss at his protest.

A petulant child, that’s what he is.

She pressed one more to his lips for good measure, before pulling himself off of him. They both let out disgruntled sounds at the sudden losses, and it took all her energy to sit up on the edge of her bed. She felt a strong jaw on her shoulder, and she leaned into it.

“Where you goin’? Leaving me all alone isn’t very nice.” She could hear the frown in his voice, and even though she knew he was joking, it tugged on her heartstrings that little bit.

“Gotta pee.” She said, standing up and walking towards the connecting bathroom. “Sorry baby, no UTIs for me.”

The frown stayed cemented on his face.

“You should be grateful,” she threw over her shoulder, shutting the door. “No UTIs, more fucking, yeah?”

He chuckled at her bluntness, deciding to go and get her some water and maybe a snack. Shit, he didn’t know. What was he supposed to do? Usually when they fucked before, her or Mat would be out the door as soon as possible, still trying to ward off those pesky feelings. But now, he was allowed to feel said pesky feelings, and he’d be damned if he fucked it up.

So, snack. And water? Yeah, water, for sure. He was hungry and thirsty, why wouldn’t she be. He had no idea the way around her kitchen, nor how to, er, actually make anything, so this would be rough. But, first, a pit stop.

He would have walked butt-ass naked into her kitchen, really, but then he remembered Warrior was out there and he didn’t have a need to traumatize that dog any further than he already was.

(It was one time, okay? He didn’t know she had a dog, he’d been asleep on his bed by the TV when they’d gotten to her place. And at the time, Mat was too preoccupied to notice.)

He looked around on the floor for the offending clothing item, slightly grossed out when he did finally find them. It was only for a minute, tops, is what he told himself, as he pulled on the boxers from earlier in the night.

He tiptoed, for literally no apparent reason, through the dark apartment until he found the bag he was looking for. He grabbed what he needed from it, struggling with the zipper while trying to close it, before giving up. On his way back to her room, he gave Warrior a nod and smile, and he swore the mutt gave one back. Okay, actually, on second thought, he remembered the clock on her microwave saying it was 3:18 AM, so, maybe he didn’t.

It was late and he just had the best sex of his life with the woman he loves. Give him a break. So what if he’s delusional and thinks he can communicate with dogs? At least he’s pretty.

When he gets to her room, he pulls on the newer, clean, pair of boxers, setting the other pair he grabbed from his bag on the bed for her when she got out of the bathroom, along with an Islanders shirt that he’d secretly always wanted to see her in. Too soon? Maybe. But after so long yearning for everything domestic and wholesome and good that he was convinced he didn’t deserve with her, he was indulging a little bit. So sue him.

His next stop, snacks. And water, can’t forget the water.

The water was easy enough, he got lucky. He grabbed her “emotional support cup” as she’d called it before when she thought he wasn’t listening, and went over to the fridge. He got a few ice cubes and put them in, and then went over to her Brita. He stood there, pressing down on the little lever, watching the steady stream of water into the cup. It was almost laughable, how he stood there in the dead silence, concentrating so hard. He was determined not to somehow do something wrong, even though it was just pouring a cup of water. Cute.

He checked the pantry once the cup was full, with the lid safely screwed on top. The rustling about caught the attention of Warrior, who hopped down from where he’d been on the couch, moseying on over.

Mat, who still was slightly wary of Warrior, despite the fact the dog would cause him no harm, shook his head at the mutt.

“Sorry, buddy. I don’t have anything for you.”

He turned his head and gave him puppy dog eyes, pulling out all the stops. Mat sighed, looking back to the pantry. He saw a box of Milkbones, and looked back to Warrior, who was egging him on. (They’re telepathically connected, remember?)

He reached in the box, pulling one out, and tossing it down. Warrior gratefully accepted, taking his treat and waltzing off to his bed to chow down. Mat looked in the pantry, going to close the box, when he sees it, his saving grace.

White bread, hallelujah.

He can do toast. Mathew Barzal is a totally capable 25 year old man who can make toast. So, he takes the bag, going over to the toaster. And-

One look at all those fancy buttons, and he’s tapped out.

Okay, it’s okay, he can remember seeing a vending machine on his way into her apartment. Yeah, he remembers her telling him about having to sign off on some HOA form for it, even though she was just renting. Apparently, her landlord hadn’t signed, which made it her job. Whatever, that’s irrelevant.

He figured that there wouldn’t be anybody out in her hallway at 3:23 AM, so he grabbed his coat with his wallet, shrugging it on over his bare back. His slides were somewhere in his hockey bag and the last thing he wanted to do was stink up her whole place by opening that Pandora’s box. So, barefoot it is.

He does his best to sneak out the apartment, leaving the door ajar as he makes the short walk to the vending machine, grateful his search was over. He let out a long sigh as he stood, wondering what to get her.

For himself he decided on a bag of cool ranch Doritos, and a bag of those tiny cookies. For her, he racked every corner of his brain for potential options, before realizing how long he’s taking, and how long he’d been gone. So, not wanting to waste any more time, he elected for one of everything.

He punched in the numbers and paid, attempting to grab them from the machine. Trying to pick up the few that had fallen, he leaned down. His attention was called elsewhere by the ”click!” of a door a few units down. His head snapped to the source of the sound.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He muttered under his breath upon what he saw.

A man probably not much older than himself, suitcase and backpack in tow, donned in, you guessed it, a New York Islanders hoodie a lá number 13.

The man had yet to notice the star player down the hall from him, and Mat was considering just making a run for Y/n’s place. But either way, he would have to go past the man, or the man would have to go past Mat to get to the elevator. Maybe he’d take the stairs? He hoped. Shit, who was he kidding, he’s not taking the stairs.

Starting his walk over, the unnamed Islanders fan lifted his head, stopping in his tracks. His jaw dropped, and if it wasn’t purely because of being in the presence of Mat Barzal, he had a hunch what it was.

Said hunch, was that it was due to the fact Mat Barzal was standing in front of him, in an apartment complex definitely not boujee enough for him to be living in, at 3:25 in the morning, naked, except for boxers and some fancy trench coat, holding several bags of snacks.

Mat would’ve laughed at the guys face, but he thought he wasn’t quite in the position to do so.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” And a stupid bro nod, was all Mathew could manage.

-

While he was facing that debacle, Y/n was having one of her own.

After she’d gone to the bathroom, she decided to try to do her nighttime routine, too. She put on her robe from where it had been hanging in her bathroom, beginning her little routine.

When she emerged 10 minutes later, Mat was nowhere to be seen.

His bags were still by the door, albeit one of them hastily thrown open. Was he leaving and had gotten some clothes and an Uber? Did he have last minute regrets? The door to her place was left open, and an overwhelming sadness began to take over her system. As the tears began to well up, she looked over to Warrior, only to notice him chewing on… a milkbone? How the hell did he get a milkbone?

She sniffled, wiping her sleeve under her nose. She sat down on her couch, looking at where her iced coffee from earlier was still sitting, ¾ of the way empty. The tears started to flow freely again after that, and she stood up, deciding that she should at least shut the door. She didn’t need to deal with a robbery, too.

As she stood and turned, she was met with a very discombobulated and very underdressed Mat trying to shove his way through the door.

“Have a good flight, man. Enjoy Miami!” Mat called over his shoulder to what sounded like her neighbor Gian, based off of the “Thanks bro, good luck this season!” she heard back.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, trying to not bust out laughing at the sight in front of her. Hearing her snickering, he looked up gesturing to the bags in his arms.

“Hungry?” He asked, the smile on his face falling when he saw the red around her eyes. He dropped all the snacks on the couch to his right, making his way over to where she stood.

“Hey, hey, why’re you crying? What’s wrong sweetheart?” He questioned, and his sincerity made her smile widely.

“Nah, I’m all good, don’t worry about it. Just thought you’d left, that’s all…” A pause. “But I see now that you just had a case of munchies, apparently.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders pulling her towards his chest. His chin rested on her head, and she closed her eyes, inhaling his scent.

“No, baby. God, no, I’m not leaving. I just wanted to do this whole thing right, and I thought you might be hungry, and I tried to make toast- your toaster is really complex by the way,”

She pulled away from him as he rambled, her smile reaching her eyes.

“And I filled your water and set out clothes for you and I really did try, baby. I didn’t mean to fuck anything up, really.”

She giggled again, taking hold of the shoulders of his jacket, shrugging it off. She folded it over the back of a barstool, then turned back towards Mat.

“And Gian?”

“Oh yeah, he’s cool. Ran into him in the hallway and introduced myself. Going to visit some family in Miami.”

She raised an eyebrow, nodding her head in understanding. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his middle.

“So, am I gonna have to compete with him for your attention now whenever you come over?”

He reciprocated the action, one hand coming up to rest on her chin.

“I mean, he’s gonna be gone for two weeks, but after that…” he shrugged, trailing off. She hummed, and he smiled at her, leaning forward. He searched her eyes for any remaining upset, unable to find any, before he pressed his lips to hers. It was sweet and gentle, with not a hint of rush or fervor.

When they pulled apart, she was smiling again. Her hands found their way back to his neck.

“And baby, you’re amazing. You didn’t fuck up anything at all, I promise.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” She whispered, leaning in again to connect their lips. She let her tongue sweep over his bottom lip, biting down just barely before pulling away. She pushed down the sleeves of her robe just a bit, exposing her shoulders. Y/n took his hand, and started walking backwards, letting it slowly slip out of hers as she did.

“Come on, hotshot. Come to bed. Snacks will still be there in the morning.”

She smiled again briefly, before walking towards her room, the robe slipping down as she went. Mat stood watching her in total awe, glued in place, until he was knocked out of his trance.

“Hurry up! And lock the door, too, please!”

He had never obliged to anything quicker in his life.

(And as for the snacks, they were not still there in the morning, thanks to a certain mutt who managed to rip open all the packets on the couch. The next morning was spent at the vet, who had told them Warrior would be fine, just fat. The vet had only said this, though, after Mat had consoled a crying Y/n, who was under the impression he was going to be poisoned.

The rest of the day after that? Making up for lost time.)

FIN.

YO idk if that was good or not i kind of feel like i imagined writing the entire thing and it was a fever dream. but. anyway! if you liked it, be sure to reblog <3 thank u i love u! go eat some protein and drink some water. 

xx, hj

[lifblogs]

Lif's Script Format Notes

Good news, I already had my notes typed up, so I just had to copy them here. Since this is tumblr, formatting will be incorrect.

If you want an example of a script fic (with hopefully only a few mistakes, though I'm sure an experienced screenwriter could tear me down in a second), check out this fic: x. Please heed all the warnings.

Extremely long post below the cut.

I. General Guidelines

Do not use any format that will make your script stand out

NO PICTURES

Begin script with FADE IN: at the left action margin

Underscore for emphasis. Not bold or italic.

Printed script is one-sided

CONTINUED only needed for shooting scripts

Do not indicate where to place the title

End script with FADE OUT. in right action margin. Then put three blank lines, and then THE END

II. Scene Headings

Scene headings always consist of an interior or exterior indicator, and a location or setting

Include time of day

Time of day not needed for a scene part of a continuous sequence

Can build a sequence using slug lines

When cutting to an area in the same setting INT. and EXT. is still required

Two only acceptable times of day are DAY and NIGHT

Time of day modifiers such as DAWN, DUSK, and LATER may be added in parentheses if necessary

LATER is only used when a scene takes place in the very same location as the previous one

Do not use CONTINUOUS as a time of day

Can add a locale, such as a city, in the scene heading to avoid confusion

Only used in the first instance

A specific place or room should be separated from the master setting in which it resides by a slash

EXAMPLE:

INT. APARTMENT/LIVING ROOM - DAY

Master setting must always be included

Master setting need not be repeated in subsequent scene headings if those scenes occur as part of an uninterrupted sequence

Time of day optional when a new scene is part of a continuous sequence continued to interior or exterior

Proper name of establishments or vehicles written in quotes

If camera is to track with characters the time can be written as TRACKING

Tracking shot changing from EXT. to INT. or INT. to EXT. should be noted in scene heading

EXAMPLE:

EXT/INT. EDWARDIAN HOTEL - DAY - TRACKING

to follow a squad of FIREMEN armed with axes as they charge through the doors and into the lobby

Headings for a scene in a moving vehicle should have the word traveling appended to it

EXAMPLE:

INT. RENTAL CAR - DAY - TRAVELING

If audience needs to know date, or period of time that has passed, then it can be conveyed as a legend

If time period helps to define setting, then enclose it in parentheses as part of the master setting

EXAMPLE:

EXT. TIMES SQUARE (1929) - DAY

NOT necessary to number scenes

Do no bold or underscore scene headings

Have two blank lines before each scene heading

III. Slug Lines

Different from scene headings

Direct attention to what is important in a scene

Add punch, can heighten pacing

Do not use excessively

Don’t need to write camera angles as slug lines

Avoid close-ups unless it reveals some vital story detail

Slug lines can’t be used to change locale or time of day

Write in ALL CAPS

Slug lines may consist of just the character or characters we see in a shot

EXAMPLE:

PARKER

weaves her way through the crowd

Reads better than writing it as a camera direction when just name(s)

Slug line is own element, and action or description cannot appear next to it on the line, and a new paragraph should be started

When a shot originates from a particular character’s point of view, break with own slug line

State character by name

Refer to what they see

Add slug line BACK TO SCENE at end of POV shot

EXAMPLE:

SHAMU’S P.O.V. - THE KILLER

Emerges from the shadows, his blade glinting in the light of a street lamp

BACK TO SCENE

Shamus turns back, quickens his pace

If entire scene is viewed from a particular POV, this can be indicated by a scene heading with the modifier SUBJECTIVE CAMERA

EXAMPLE:

INT. DINING ROOM - DAY - SUBJECTIVE CAMERA

Such shots reserved for principal characters

If the point of view is through a camera view finder, a telescope, or a set of binoculars it’s usually processed in post-production with an overlay. This should be designated by means of a matte

EXAMPLE:

OSWALD’S P.O.V. - LIMOUSINE - SCOPE MATTE

Another type of slug line is an insert

Detail shot in which no recognizable actor appears

Must reference the detail with the slug line

EXAMPLE:

INSERT - NEWSPAPER HEADLINE

“STRIPPER SOUGHT IN MAYOR’S MURDER” emblazoned above a cheesecake photo of Wendy Wilden

BACK TO SCENE

Wendy folds the paper, glances furtively around the bar.

IV. Description

Creates the experience of watching a movie

Describe:

Images

Sounds

Actions

Speech

Limited to physical senses of sight and sound

Don’t describe a character in terms of their occupation. Employ props and clothing for visual clues, or reveal subtly in dialogue.

Describe a particular setting briefly, set the stage, after the scene heading of a new setting

Separate from following action

Make the description kinetic and visual, but succinct and specific. Replace passive verbs (e.g. “is”) with active verbs to make the action more dynamic. Don’t editorialize by using adjectives or adverbs that express a personal reaction, such as “hideous,” “amazing,” or “incredible.”

Strip your description of clichés or any generic phrases that contribute nothing to our understanding of the characters or situation. Don’t just write that a character is standing in a room, for example, or sitting at a desk. Give them some business that indicates their personality or attitude. Open each scene with them already engaged in some action that relates to the story.

Use camera directions sparingly

Possible to convey the shot envisioned by describing the scene in a manner that leads the minds eye of the reader

Not necessary to describe minor gestures or articulations

Not necessarily to slug out a different camera angle

Not necessary in the body of a scene to inform as to the setting, the time of day, whether its INT. or EXT. Already known from the scene heading.

Need to use proper superimposing legend format for locale or a date.

EXAMPLE:

SUPERIMPOSE: “Washington, D.C. 1889”

Do not place legend above scene heading, or immediately below

Should come after at least one sentence of description

Don’t put “TITLE CARD”

Character’s name should be written in ALL CAPS when they first appear

Use “#” when referring to numbered characters

Character’s age should be written in numerals and set off by commas, not enclosed by parentheses

Be consistent with the character naming

Variety not needed and unhelpful

Avoid naming two principal characters with the same letter

Only use ALL CAPS when:

Introducing a character

To denote a camera direction

To draw attention to sound effects

When indicating a sound effect, only one word should appear in ALL CAPS

When wrapping lines, do not insert hyphens to break words

No need to lead into some dialogue by describing that a character says something

Refrain from interrupting a passage of dialogue with tiny bits of direction written as description. Better presented as a parenthetical, if needed.

Don’t use an ellipsis symbol provided by auto correct!

Text that is visible onscreen, such as a newspaper headline, words on a sign, or on a computer monitor, should be set off in quotes

Song titles in description should also be enclosed in quotes

The titles of books and papers should be underscored

If an action element describes something that occurs off-screen, then the term “off-screen” should be abbreviated as “o.s.”

Abbreviations for background (b.g) and foreground (f.g.) written in lower case. Same for point of view (p.o.v.), without sound (w.o.s.), voice-over (v.o.) and off-screen (o.s.) when used in description. (Point of view not always used in just description.)

V. Character Cues

Each block of dialogue must be preceded by a cue line, identifying the character who is speaking. This character cue is always written in ALL CAPS.

Not necessary to use both the first and last names. Leads usually go by first names.

When a character’s name changes it’s customary to remind the reader of the original name by placing it in parentheses the very next time a character is cued using the new name.

EXAMPLE:

MIRANDA (DOMINATRIX)

It’s just something I do to get tuition for college.

All subsequent speeches cued with new name alone.

Any speech from a character who is not visible should be designated as either off-screen or voice-over

O.S.

V.O.

EXAMPLE:

MRS. KIMBEL (O.S.)

Hello! Over here! I’m in the trees!

When in same setting use “O.S.”

When located elsewhere, like over the phone, use “V.O.”

Character cues with multiple names indicating the same line is being spoken simultaneously by more than one character, should have a slash (/) separating each name. Keep the cue as short as possible, and don’t allow it to wrap.

Cues should be limited to one line.

VI. Dialogue

Convey information, move story forward, help us understand characters

Spice up with slang and colloquialisms appropriate to their background

Don’t confide what’s on their minds, or in their hearts, too “on the nose”

Subtext and what’s unspoken more significant than what’s “on the nose”

If characters keep their true thoughts and feelings hidden, story will have greater tension and emotional resonance

Finish end of sentence before breaking page

When breaking page in the middle of dialogue, add “MORE” (in ALL CAPS and parentheses) after the speech at the bottom of the page

EXAMPLE:

FRANK

I wouldn’t go poking around in there if I were you.

(MORE)

To indicate the speech is continuous, insert the modifier “cont’d” in lowercase

EXAMPLE:

FRANK (cont’d)

The roof’s liable to cave in. I wouldn’t want that to happen on my watch.

Spell out numbers

Avoid symbols and abbreviations

If a passage of dialogue includes some text that a character is reading out loud, this should be indicated with the word “reading” as personal direction. The text being read should be enclosed in quotation marks.

When a character recites poetry or song lyrics, enclose the lines in quotes. You may indicate the end of the line by means of a slash (“/”)

If one character interrupts another then end the first character’s speech with an EM-dash (or two hyphens)

If second character finishes first character’s speech then start the second character’s speech with an ellipsis

When writing dialogue in two columns to indicate simultaneous speeches, the left margin of the first dialogue column must be inset slightly

Can’t have format of action margin

Initials presented with hyphens in between flanked by spaces to separate each letter.

EXAMPLE:

F - B - I

Do not add hyphens to acronyms spoken like a word.

EXAMPLE:

NASA

Don’t use:

ALL CAPS

Bold

Italics

Use underscore

How to indicate speech in foreign language:

EXAMPLE:

(NOTE: All instances of the Spanish language shall be indicated by being enclosed in brackets. On screen this text will appear in subtitles.)

ORTEGA

[Romero, why are you hiding like a child?]

If only a few lines are in a foreign language, it is simpler to put in personal direction

EXAMPLE:

(in Spanish)

VII. Personal Direction

Treated as separate element

Text should wrap under the text, not parentheses

EXAMPLE:

FRANK

(the words catching in         his throat)

I knew him. We were in school together.

Should be short, not a complete sentence

Don’t capitalize first word

Don’t end in a period

If long enough to be complete sentence should be in a description

Must apply on speaking character

Another character’s reaction can be incorporated into some personal direction if the speaker is responding to it

EXAMPLE:

TYLER

A Las Vegas show girl in a string bikini.

(off Bruce’s incredulous look)

I swear!

Use to indicate speech is continuing. When the same character speaks again in the same scene following some action, add the personal direction “continuing” on the next line after the cue

“CONT’D” in parentheses can also be used as an extension to the character cue

EXAMPLE:

VALERIE

That’s all right. I like that you’re, um... old-fashioned.

She puts her arms around his neck, kisses him softly. Then shoves him away.

VALERIE

(continuing)

What’s the idea of getting two beds anyway?

Use a parenthetical beat, not just ellipses, to indicate hesitation or an adjustment in speech.

Do not use “(pause)”

Song lyrics in dialogue should appear in quotes under the personal direction “(sings)”

If some personal direction interrupts a line of dialogue, then the unfinished line should trail off in an ellipses. The line should pick up after the parenthetical with an ellipses.

EXAMPLE:

COACH STRAW

Tony, about my talk the other day...

(beat)

...you are one of the young men I think has potential.

Never use ALL CAPS

Comes before speech, not after

If character performs action at the end of their speech it should be formatted as an action element

VIII. Transitions

Whenever there is a jump in time and/or space, bridge the gap by means of a transitional instruction

Transitions most used:

“FADE IN”

“FADE OUT”

“DISSOLVE TO”

Common way to lead into dream sequence:

“RIPPLE DISSOLVE TO”

EXAMPLE:

FADE TO:

“FADE IN” must be placed at left action margin

“CUT TO” is superfluous

No such thing as a “SMASH CUT”

Whether it “smashes” the viewer in the face depends on what sort of image is in the new scene

Every transitional instruction ends with a colon

Exception is “FADE OUT” which ends with “.”

Don’t use “FADE TO BLACK”

Use “FADE OUT”

As illustrated above, the use of “FADE OUT.” in conjunction with “FADE IN:” can be combined as “FADE TO,” a single instruction that takes up less space

IX. Flashbacks

Use for main character

Dream sequences too

Interrupts narrative flow, should only be used if impossible to tell story chronologically

Don’t use to illustrate what a character is relaying verbally, loses emotional impact

If you use flashbacks, make certain they are motivated. Lead into the flashback by focusing on the character who is experiencing it, and then return to that same character after the flashback. The events may not be as significant as how the character feels about them. Consequently, it is essential that we see the character’s reaction.

Take into flashback scene by putting in “BEGIN FLASHBACK:” in action element

EXAMPLE:

BEGIN FLASHBACK:

INT. MAIN CONTROL BOOTH (BUILDING #1) - NIGHT

Rachel puts down the phone. A KNOCKING startles her. She turns to see Sgt. Hughes peering up at her from his foyer.

Add two blank lines before “BEGIN FLASHBACK:” like before a scene heading

Only one line before “BEGIN FLASHBACK:” and scene heading here

Each scene in a flashback must have its own heading

Use “END FLASHBACK.” to take out of flashback

Don’t use slug line “BACK TO SCENE”

Follow flashback with new scene heading

EXAMPLE:

END FLASHBACK.

INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT/INTERVIEW ROOM - DAY

Tears are streaming down Rachel’s face.

RACHEL

It sounded like him. I wish...

If the flashback consists of only one scene, it’s acceptable to simply write “(FLASHBACK)” as the last part of the scene heading

EXAMPLE:

INT. SNYDER’S CHEVY IMPALA - DAY - (FLASHBACK)

Also applies for dream and fantasy sequences

X. Montages

When the shots are so short and disjointed as to make it awkward to present them as scenes, then use a “SERIES OF SHOTS”

Montages, on the other hand, are usually transitional, with each shot dissolving into the next one, and they often don’t involve the principal characters

Used less than a series of shots

Images should not be random

Used to progress the narrative

Build to a climax

Begins with a slug line

Each shot must be listed in alphabetical outline form, without a scene heading

EXAMPLE:

SERIES OF SHOTS - JONES RUNS ACROSS MANHATTAN

Dodging dogs on leashes in Central Park

Weaving through stopped traffic at Times Square, dodging a bicycle messenger

Hustling into the Canal Street subway entrance

The text in each shot should wrap beneath the text, not the letter of the outline

Hanging indent

No need to tell when the montage or series of shots ends

Scene heading comes after

Always start a new scene (with a complete heading) after a montage or a series of shots

XI. Telephone Calls

Set up the first location with a brief scene, such as the caller dialing the phone, and then set up the second location such as the recipient picking up the phone. While still at the second location, add the action element “INTERCUT with” followed by the caller’s location, all on the same line above the caller’s first speech in the scene

Place personal direction “(into the phone)” under the cue

EXAMPLE:

INT. RICH DANIELS’ OFFICE - DAY

Rich punches the buttons on his phone as if stabbing a mortal enemy.

RICH

(into phone)

Hey, it’s Rich. You got that surveillance report?

INT. SAM GAINES’ OFFICE - DAY

Sam’s face drops. He waves Goon #1 out of the room, cups his hand over the mouthpiece.

SAM

(into phone)

Uh, Rich... I’m afraid the news... it’s not good.

INTERCUT with Rich Daniels’ office.

RICH

(into phone)

She’s been boinking him, ain’t she. I knew it!

Also possible to not show both sides of the call and focus on one character

Don’t let us hear other party

Insert a parenthetical “beat” when the character on-screen is listening and reacting

EXAMPLE:

ELI

(into phone)

I’m not trying to screw anyone.

(beat)

No, I won’t abandon him.

If it’s important that we hear both sides of the conversation then the unseen character’s cue would have a “(V.O.)” extension and the personal direction “(over phone, filtered)

EXAMPLE:

GAINES (V.O.)

(over phone, filtered)

Leave the kid where he is.

ACTS

Teaser

First you’ll have a TEASER heading centered and then start to write. This TEASER will usually be a short opening, maybe one location. Sometimes more. The page number can be upwards of 5 pages, although it’s best as a newcomer to stay around 2-3 pages.

Act One

After the TEASER, you’ll then start a new page with the ACT ONE heading.

This is where you introduce the current story at hand. You’ve teased the peril, struggle, conflict, or situation that the episode will tackle, but now you’re getting things really started by setting the stage as far as where the characters are and what is leading up to the point of the next act where they will be confronted by the situation at hand.

The end of the first act also offers a chance to leave a solid first cliffhanger or hook as well, which is what you really want to do at the end of each act.

Keep in mind that whenever you start a new act, you ALWAYS open on a new page. So if your TEASER or ACT ONE ends halfway through a page, you tab ahead to the next page, leaving that white space, and then insert the heading at the top. It’s often helpful and customary — but not always necessary — to include END OF ACT ONE (or whatever applies) before you tab ahead for the next act. This helps the reader further distinguish where the break is.

Act Two

This is where the characters are dealing with the conflict full swing. They’re struggling with it. They’re figuring out how to get through it. Much like the beginning of the second act of a feature film script, the characters often still have some hope or chance. By the end of this act, the audience feels like the characters may figure things out — until, that is, another hook is introduced that flips that hope or chance on its head, forcing the characters to face the fact that they may not succeed.

Act Three

This is where the characters are at their lowest point and the bad guys or conflict is winning. Where the second act gave the audience hope that they’d figure it out, all too often the third act is where that hope was proven to be false. By the end hook of this act, audiences will want to tune in to see how the characters will prevail despite such odds against them.

Act Four

This is where the characters, against all odds, begin to prevail again. They start to triumph and win. They’ve likely learned from their missteps in the first and second act and now they’re applying that to the conflict at hand.

Act Five

This is the closure. Some shows actually end with the fourth act while others end the fourth act with a significant cliffhanger or hook and then use the fifth act to close things up with a finale of sorts.

Page Breakdowns for Each Act

While there’s no exact formula to follow, there are some basic guidelines that will help you steer each act. Generally speaking, hour long episode scripts can be anywhere from 45-63 pages, although a majority of the time you want to stick with 50-55 pages. The basic sense of it is that one page equals one minute, and with a sixty minute show, you obviously need to account for commercial breaks. Thus if you go above 60 pages, you’re already over an hour. So use that as a gauge. It’s not an exact science by any means, but as a novice television writer, it’s a good place to start.

With five act television scripts, you generally want to keep each act between 9-12 pages, give or take a page. The old benchmark was 15 pages per act for four act television scripts, but with additional commercial time these days — not to mention more story — it can now often break down differently.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Peter Parker (Grayson?)

by W0LF0NG How Dick Grayson finds out this malnourished strange teenager is his son. Words: 3561, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Damian Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson & Peter Parker Additional Tags: POV Multiple, Alternate Universe, Dimension Travel, Dick Grayson is Peter Parker's Biological Parent, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker has ADHD probably, Excessive Use of Parentheses, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Trust Issues, Maybe a little OOC via https://ift.tt/XvW3iMw

[ao3feed-peterparker]

Ignorant Coexistance

by chacha_realsmooth Strange offers an alternative to the erasure of one Peter Parker. Words: 982, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Natasha Romanov (Marvel) Additional Tags: no beta we die like we all wish kraven did, Excessive Use of Parentheses, casual discussion of murder, OOC via https://ift.tt/gjiVmJy

[dhr-ao3]

For Lack of a Dragon

For Lack of a Dragon https://ift.tt/47ZjMgx by Anonymous It's 2010, and the Quidditch World Cup has rolled around once again, and for the first time in 24 years, England has made it to the semifinals. As the International Liaison for the Department of Magical Sports and Games, Draco Malfoy is determined to make this the best and the biggest semifinal event since the inception of the QWC. This necessitates, in his eyes, the appearance of at least one (1) dragon. Hermione Granger just wants to get Malfoy out of her office. Words: 1193, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Co-workers, Idiots in Love, Quidditch, Post-Hogwarts, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood Being Luna Lovegood, Banter, Fluff, Romance, Crumple-Horned Snorkacks (Harry Potter), Unnecessary use of dragons as a plot point, Quidditch World Cup, Light-Hearted, Excessive Use of Parentheses via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/AJOrSUN March 28, 2024 at 06:29AM

[mymedicine]

Alocasia

or, 7.5k words of blushy harry and sassy y/n

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - y/n doesn’t like people, but she likes harry—even though he keeps fucking this up

warnings - language, alcohol, mentions of sex (not explicit), lots of banter, excessive use of parentheses, umm... veganism?

notes - hiii! for once i don’t really have anything to say other than welcome, to a very fluffy and kind of chaotic one shot. hope you give her a chance and a reblog if you enjoy! <3

Upon moving into his charming downtown apartment, Harry was feeling a lot of things.

He was excited at the prospect of living there, of waking up in his cozy new bedroom, of flipping pancakes in the kitchen with a stunning view of the city skyline, and of lounging on his soft gray couch while watching reruns of Criminal Minds. He was also anxious, and a little annoyed. There were groceries to be bought, chores to be done, bills to be paid (Fuckin’ landlord was an ass for refusing to include utilities in the rent). The cabinets in the bathroom were a little creaky (Do I need some WD-40? Can I afford WD-40?!) He even had to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his door, a task which Harry was keen to count as his daily exercise.

Above all, Harry was lonely. Living alone was a blessing and a curse, he reckoned. He could lounge about without any clothes, dance in the kitchen to the sounds of Folklore (a guilty pleasure), and watch creepypasta videos on YouTube until three am (and consequently stay up til dawn, for fear of nightmares) without worrying about anyone but himself.

But after just two days in the new place, he was concerned that the cost of privacy may not be worth it. Loneliness and boredom weighed heavily on his conscience as he laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Not only did he live alone, but he also didn’t have any friends in the city yet. No one to see, nothing to do. Lost, he decided. No direction, no purpose…Only four walls and a bunch of empty cabinets.

And yet it wasn’t even social interaction he craved necessarily—it was purpose, company, and…perhaps some cuddles. He briefly considered the idea of a pet. Maybe a friendly little French bulldog to chase around and be responsible for? Or a fluffy Maine Coon kitty to scratch behind the ear and snuggle at night?

But the bills…the responsibility…The prudent adult deep within Harry knew he was hardly ready to support himself, let alone a helpless animal. He’d have to feed it and walk it and make sure it didn’t shit all over the floor—not to mention the landlord would raise hell if he found out.

Meanwhile, the soft, gentle, maybe a little naive man who dominated Harry’s conscience was craving a friend. Pets were a no for now, so what’s the next best thing? He grappled with the question…Surely, a person was the obvious answer. He wouldn’t mind a pretty body to warm his heart—or, at least, his bed.

Harry stretched his legs out over the arm of the couch—the only furniture he had at the moment aside from his mattress on the floor of the bedroom—and snuggled into his cozy corduroy blanket, craving warmth in the cold apartment. A rainbow cardigan adorned his chest today, draped over a plain white turtleneck that warmed his neck. He liked to keep it cold so he could be snuggly wrapped in his sweaters without sweating bullets. He dug around in the pocket of his cardigan for his phone, eager to receive affection from something other than his clothes.

In retrospect, Tinder had given Harry far more unfortunate encounters with other people (lots of younger girls just looking for a plug and toxic guys who left him on read) than pleasurable ones. But hindsight was always 20/20 and isolation had already planted the seed in his head.

He quickly examined his own profile. It consisted of two photos of him smirking softly (not too serious, but not too eager either), one with his sister and his mum (to show he’s a family man), and a group one with his mates (because sure, he was lonely, but he didn’t want people to know that). There were also one or two shirtless photos (thirst traps, according to Niall) that he’d sprinkled in between the tame ones even though it made him feel kind of icky. Weighing the odds, he’d decided that desperation for matches outweighed the cringey-ness of it all.

His very last photo was the only one where he felt like himself. He was smiling wide in it, wearing a baby blue sweater with a little chick popping out of its egg on the front that Mitch had teased him for back home. His bio, too, showcased his wholesome values.

Harry’s eyes widened as he observed on the first person he saw upon opening the home page—Y/N. She only had two photos—a shot of her perched on a car hood and smiling wide and one far away one with her figure drowning in a sea of…plants. Fittingly, her bio read: “I love plants and I hate people.”

She was beautiful and every bit as anti-social as himself. It was perfect.

Harry laughed softly to himself and swiped right immediately. He was giddy when the familiar It’s a match! popped up on the screen immediately. His thumbs hovered over the keypad, brow furrowed as he frowned at the screen. Matching was one thing, but actually starting a conversation was another entirely.

Ultimately, he decided honesty was the best policy:

you had me at ‘i hate people’ :D

Now what? Matching was one thing, starting a conversation was another, but having a whole conversation was another thing entirely. He hated the waiting, especially when he had absolutely nothing to busy himself with in the mean time, aside from fiddling with his fingers and doing laps around his living room.

Seven minutes later (not that he’s counting), a ding came through on his phone.

y/n: you had me at ‘treat people with kindness,’ mon petit :)

Harry smiled wide. He was pleased she’d noticed not only his bio, but also the sweater he was wearing in his favorite photo of himself. It was the perfect response from a perfect girl.

harry: so what do you do?

y/n: i work at a plant shop on Main

Figures, he thought. He imagined her carrying a watering pitcher, tending to a plant with gentle fingers. She’d be surrounded by them like she was in the photo on her profile, green on all sides. God, he thought. What a beautiful scene with a beautiful star.

harry: wanna go for drinks tonight and talk about plants?

y/n: sure ;)

Nightfall brought a chill to the air that made Harry desperately want to curl up into his warm bed and snuggle into his pillow. But here he was, shuffling his feet outside the crowded bar and absently wearing another tiny hole in the sleeve of his striped sweater. It was a decent bar in town. They didn’t water down the drinks and they kept the lights dim so she wouldn’t have to see him flushed beet red after one drink. That is, if she would show up at all.

“Hey, you’re Harry?”

He turned quickly toward the sound of the voice, and there she was. And holy shit, he thought. That is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her two profile photos did not even begin to do her justice. The idea of a mere photo on a screen couldn’t even compare to the real thing. He would never be keen to look at a photo again, he reckoned. It wouldn’t make his heart bloom and flutter like the vision of her in front of him did. Was this love at first sight?

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, and not because the chilly night, “Y/N, right?”

Harry didn’t think he really believed in love—certainly not love at first sight, but this girl was throwing him into another world. Before, he couldn’t seem to stand still, but her presence in front him planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“Yep, that’s me!” She smiled wide, speaking cooly and confidently. It was obvious she knew how beautiful she was and, even more evident, how enamored Harry already was with her.

“I—you’re absolutely beautiful,” The words slipped out of his lips before he could catch them—not that he was really making any effort to hide his attraction for her. Still, he enjoyed the way her eyes brightened and teeth gently nibbled at her bottom lip in response to the compliment

And suddenly, the idea of merely kissing her soft flesh, tickling her sweet bud, and ultimately burying himself inside her tonight didn’t seem like enough. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to smell her hair and hear her laugh. He wanted to make her pancakes in the morning and kiss her lips, sweetened lightly with maple syrup. He wanted to love her.

No, he couldn’t possibly ruin his chance with a girl like this by fucking her on the couch in his cold, lonely apartment, never to see or hear from her again.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Of course.”

One hour and four and a half drinks later, (whiskey cokes for Y/N, vodka crans for Harry) the cramped bar was hot and they were floating on air. He’d learned that she worked at Main Street Nursery, usually by herself, sometimes with her cousin who owned the place. She was an avid vegan, but only because she hated meat and dairy made her sick. She’d learned that Harry was new in town and lived only a block away from Main. Also, Y/N managed to learn that Harry had no friends here and was very lonely in his new apartment, but only after his third vodka cran when the already weak filter in his throat began to crumble and embarrassing things spewed out of his lips like a spout.

“Let’s dance, H.” Y/N requested, gently caressing his bicep from where she sat beside him.

Oh god. No amount of alcohol would let him embarrass himself like that. “I don’t really… uh—“

But Y/N was having none of that. She thrust his half empty glass in his face, eyebrows raised in a pointed look. “Come on, baby!”

He hesitated for only a moment. Her fingers were soft and warm and distracting against his arm and it was very dark in the crowded bar, but he could easily see her bright eyes and the mischief dancing around in them. Somehow, she looked just as beautiful after putting away five whiskey cokes. Ah fuck. How could he possibly say no to her?

Harry tipped the glass against his lips, downed the bitter beverage, and finally let her tug him to the middle of the room.

A few people were dancing raunchily to the loud music, and the combination of the alcohol and the darkness and Y/N’s effortless beauty gave Harry the confidence to join them. He placed his hands gingerly around her waist, nearly flinching at the warm feeling of her skin against his. Y/N flashed him a blissful, slightly drunken grin and squeezed his bicep more firmly, relaxing in his hold.

Y/N led them in a giggly dance, letting her hands wander Harry’s body and ultimately settle around his neck. Brain foggy with an alcohol induced haze, she swayed her hips against his.

Minutes turned into an hour or so and Y/N had grown quite comfortable in the circle of Harry’s arms, fronts flushed together impossibly close.

“Wanna get out of here?” Her whisper in the shell of his ear was alluring, seductive, sweet, and almost irresistible. But Harry was on a mission—one that only included seeing her again after tonight and, ultimately, making her his. Five vodka crans weren’t quite enough to outweigh his desire for something more. No, this plan didn’t include fucking her. (At least, not tonight).

“Um, I think we should…er—slow down…”

“You don’t...you don’t wanna hookup?” She looked up at him with something like disappointment (or maybe anxiety? insecurity? He wasn’t sure) in her eyes.

“No, it’s just… I—I wanted to get to know you?”

Y/N subtly stepped away from him, just an inch or so, but more than enough for him to notice and consequently panic. “Oh um, It’s okay...I just thought—well, I didn’t think we’d really be getting to know each other…”

Ouch. She obviously was not on the same page as he was with the whole I WANT TO LOVE YOU thing he had going on at the moment. The alcohol thickened his skin a little, easing the sting of her words.

“But if I’m like...not pretty enough or nice enough I—uh...” she was rambling a little—and oh god, she must be wasted if she’s questioning her beauty. Harry’s heart hurt. How could she not see that she was perfect inside and out?

“No, Y/N! You’re perfect…it’s just—“

“I get it, um...”

“I’m sorry, you don’t understand!

“I understand, Harry…I guess I’ll just—go home now.”

Well, fuck. In an effort to prolong his time with her, he’d managed to cut it short and blow his shot to see her again at all. He kicked himself for hoping. Hope for the best, expect the worst, he reminded himself. He was just fine at the hoping part, but the disappointment in the aftermath bit even deeper than his desperate loneliness.

Back to square one.

I’m going for a plant…if Y/N happens to be there then…Harry thought as he approached Main Street, then Y/N will be there. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He tugged nervously at the sleeves of his sweater—this one white with a “my life is crap” graphic that he found quite funny—wearing another tiny hole in the fabric. He absently regretted not taking a shot or two before impulsively jogging across the block to the plant shop, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. I’m just here to get a plant.

Truthfully, he didn’t know shit about plants, but how hard could it be? Surely, all it took was a little water and a sunny spot. Optimistic, he wandered into the cute little shop. Upon entering, he found it wasn’t really indoors at all—just four walls of greenery with only a few wooden beams as a ceiling, allowing rays of mid-morning sunshine to illuminate the space quite beautifully. Harry couldn’t help but notice how one such ray shone directly on the most beautiful creature in the shop.

The scene was even more delightful than he’d imagined. She looked ethereal doing even the most mundane tasks, he thought. The way her skin glowed in the sunlight in front of a backdrop of lush greenery? Heavenly. He took a few more moments to absently admire her as she lifted a watering can above her head with skilled hands, squinting at the sun while reaching up to water a large, leafy looking plant that hung from one of the beams.

The plant was hanging just low enough to block her view of Harry, so when he gently cleared his throat to call her name, she leaped backward. A loud thud rang out and suddenly, the watering can was no longer grasped between her fingers and her pale pink apron was stained crimson—completely drenched.

“Oh my god!” they both screeched at the same time.

Harry felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he ran over to her. “I’m so sorry angel,” he said, picking up the now leaking can from the floor. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, oh my god, are you okay?!”

She looked a mess, quite honestly. But even covered in water and sprawled out on the concrete floor, she was cute to him, like a little bud sprouting out of the pot. She looked up at him with a contemptuous stare.

“Harry!” She cried from the floor, “What are you doing?”

While he did appreciate how adorable she looked, Harry was horrified. He hadn’t known her long, but he’d never heard her stutter or seen her blush like that. Even in their brief text exchanges and one night together, she’d always seemed so confident, so effortlessly graceful and calm. “I’m so sorry love, I really didn’t mean to—“

“Why are you here?”

“I-I just...I just wanted a plant and—and… I know you love them, and I thought there wouldn’t be anywhere better to go...”

Y/N’s expression softened as he rambled. “Okay, well, feel free to look around,” She stumbled to her feet, murmuring as she went. She wiped her hands on her soaked apron, trying to clean them but actually just spreading the wetness. “And um…Let me know if you need anything.”

She pressed a tight lipped grin on and her voice went a tinge too high pitched. She was clearly putting herself in customer service mode, but Harry caught a playful glint behind her bright eyes.

Harry flushed red and turned away from her, kicking himself for being so clumsy. He craned his head around the shop, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed. He wanted to ask her for help or at least a gentle push in right direction, but he figured he’d already bothered her enough.

Even with his back to her, Y/N’s presence was distracting. He could hear her feet shuffling around softly, the light clang of the metal watering can against the counter, even the pinging sound from her phone as he wandered the store.

Harry made a few aimless circles around before particular plant caught his eye. It was a modest looking plant, no where near as big as some of the hanging vines and rubber trees that littered the store. It had large, dark green leaves with jagged looking edges and sat pretty in a terra cotta pot near the front of the store.

He decided this plant would suit his needs perfectly (what are those needs again? He asked himself, company? responsibility?). He ultimately ignored his thoughts and the fact that he wasn’t even himself clear on what he wanted and picked up the plant in both arms. He shivered upon realizing that Y/N was probably watching him the whole time as he brought the plant to the counter where she was waiting. Watching him struggle and make a fool out of himself, that is.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asked cordially.

Harry nodded stiffly, unsure what to say. “Mmhm.”

“Have you got others?” Y/N continued making conversation while punching some numbers into the cash register, smiling and avoiding his gaze.

Harry looked up at the same time she looked away from the register. He was a little startled by her question, not expecting her to actually speak to him after what he’d done earlier. “Uh, no. I just moved here, remember?”

“Oh, right—well, you know this is an alocasia?” she said it very gently, with a patient smile. He didn’t like that she was avoiding his gaze before, but now that she was staring at him unwaveringly, he felt like he was under a microscope. Heat rose is Harry’s cheeks. Did the name of the plant matter?

“Uh, yeah? I mean, uh—I had a few back in my old place…” Why Harry? Why is your first instinct to lie?

“So you know what to do with this kind of plant?’

“Um…yeah?” He stammered, speech as rushed and clumsy as the beating of his heart. His sweaty palms further confirmed the obvious—Y/N made him nervous. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was perfect. He felt desperately out of place in front of her here. How could he possibly impress her? After he’d already fucked up more than once?

“I, well—nevermind,” Y/N replied finally, shaking her head. She was still smiling, but now he felt like she was giggling to herself because she knew something he didn’t.

“Did you want to add some Miracle Potion to your purchase today?” she asked, back in customer service mode once again.

Harry did not know what the fuck Miracle Potion was, but it sounded like a rehearsed line she was required to say during every transaction. She was looking at him so pointedly though, and the brightness of her eyes was distracting. How could he say no when she was looking at him like that?

“Yeah, why not.”

And seeing her beam at him with that lovely smile was so worth the extra eight dollars.

Harry cradled his new plant—Franklin, he’d decided—in both arms, awkwardly body-slamming his apartment door to get it open without his hands. First order of business after setting Franklin down on the coffee table was to quench his thirst. He still hadn’t gone on a real grocery trip for the new place, so he’s been living off of trail mix and kombucha. Harry craved kombucha like plants craved water.

Which brought him to the second order of business: research. He sat on the couch with his trail mix, kombucha, and laptop, quickly opening up a search for “alocasia plant care”

And suddenly Y/N’s behavior made sense.

Of course, of every plant he could have chosen at random, Harry’d gone for one of the most difficult, demanding, and definitely-not-for-beginners house plants in the shop.

He had a funny feeling it wasn’t the last time his optimism would get him in trouble.

Harry was frustrated.

It’d been less than twenty four hours since he became a father, and his once green-leafed baby was already browning at the edges. He frowned, peering at Franklin’s crisp leaves as he meticulously sprayed the Miracle Potion into the soil. The once dry dirt was starting to look a little better, but—holy shit!

Harry leaped away from the table, dropping the spray and nearly knocking himself onto his ass. His eyes were wide and his heart was pounding. He felt betrayed and horrified. Y/N never mentioned that there’d be bugs crawling in the soil! But Harry could not unsee the tiny worm-ish looking guy slithering up from the depths of the pot and onto the base of Franklin’s stem.

This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Who has he kidding?

He couldn’t help himself. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing the plant shop’s number without a second thought.

“Hello, you’ve reached Main Street Nursery! We’re not available right now, please leave a message and we’ll call back as soon as possible.”

“Y/N! S’Harry and, oh my god there’s a bug in Franklin! I was sprayin’ the potion stuff on the soil like ya said to but then there was a big worm thing and I dunno what to do now? I’m scared Y/N, why didn’t ya tell me there’d be bugs?! Holy shit, Franklin’s gonna die, what the fu—“

A beep interrupted his ramblings, which Harry would later be grateful for. He was always a sort of ramble-y type, but adding a pretty girl and a bug-induced panic was more than enough to make him insufferably talkative.

He begrudgingly opened the Tinder app, his only other means of communicating with her. He typed out a lengthy message with rapid fingers, explaining the bug situation in between a series of colorful emojis.

thought you knew what you were doing? Y/N’s reply came in three and a half minutes later.

harry: I lied :(

(No use in lying now).

y/n: that’s alright bub. just relax, I’ll bring you some bug stickers

Bug stickers? What the fuck? He’d already made a fool of himself, so he might as well ask, he reasoned.

harry: why would I want a bug sticker?!!

y/n: just send me your address

He did as she asked, blushing profusely at the thought of her being in his apartment. Oh shit, he realized. She’s gonna be in my apartment. Realistically, he knew she probably wouldn’t even come past the front door. She’d just give him the damn stickers and then go off to whatever better things she had to do. But if Harry has any dominant personality trait, it’s optimism.

So he quickly started to tidy the living space—careful to avoid the coffee table where Franklin and his new worm-ish adversary sat. The plant aside, it’s a cute little place that screamed an unemployed single man lives here. Once the kombucha bottles and gum wrappers are thrown out, he puts way too much effort into swiping the trail mix crumbs off the couch and carefully arranging a throw blanket across the arm of it—she won’t even be coming near the couch, Harry, chill out.

When would she be coming? She hadn’t given him a time. She’d asked for his address…did that mean she was coming immediately? Maybe she’d asked for it to come by later? Or tomorrow?—

A loud knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts.

He should have expected this. Even after only meeting twice, he should’ve known she’d barge right into his living room, skirting right past him to find Franklin. The first thing he learned about her was that she owed plants and hated people.

“Um, hello love,” he said awkwardly, trailing behind her. “Thanks for coming over.”

Y/N looked up from where she was examining the plant’s leaves as if she’d just noticed him lurking behind her (very on brand for her, Harry noted to himself). He was taken with her sudden eye contact. Her eyes had that same sparkly glow as they did in the shop—they got that way when she talked about her veganism and her cousin and her plants.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister Harry Styles. You’re a liar.” she said plainly. She was frowning at him (Is that a playful frown? He hoped so) “You’re a liar and it almost cost Franklin’s life.”

Harry was, once again, horrified. If he hadn’t proper fucked it up the first two times they met, he’d surely done it now. Y/N loved plants more than she loved breathing, and he’d almost killed one. And he lied to her! Fuck you’re such an idiot Harry...get it together.

Y/N must’ve seen his turmoil, (how could she not? He always did wear his heart on his sleeve) for she cracked a happy grin and smacked him playfully on the arm. “I’m just kidding Harry, for gods sake!”

“But...but the plant—“

“—will be fine.”

“And the...the bug?”

Y/N turned back to the plant and squinted into the soil. She put her hands on her hips over the fabric of her wide pants (Palazzo? Harry wondered absently. They were like those gypsy looking pants that looked super comfy—like, one step above pajamas...and damn where could I get some of those?)

“Is the bug on my ass, H?”

“W-what?” He replied, snapping out of his reverie with wide eyes. No! He blubbered, tearing his eyes away from the yellow fabric to her face, where her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were raised accusingly. He didn’t even mean to be staring at her ass (though it did look cute and peachy in the palazzo pants, he couldn’t help but notice now), but, feeling caught, he blushed sheepishly anyway.

She dropped the accusatory glare, replacing it with a wide smile. “Only joking,” she interrupted his ramblings. “Still reckon you were lyin’ about the bug jus’ to get me over here, though.”

Harry sighed exasperatedly, heart racing as he meandered around the couch toward the table where she was leaning. She kept him on his toes and it was as exhausting as it was enticing.

He got right up behind her and peered over her shoulder at the soil. “There!” He cried, almost having another heart attack at the sight of the little black bug. In a rushed attempt to show her the worm so she could get rid of it, he’d probably put himself way closer to her than necessary. He could feel the fabric of her long pants brushing his toes and her sharp breath hitch against his chest.

“Oh Harry,” she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of his apartment like beams of light. Looking away from the danger, he focused his attention on her instead. He couldn’t help but notice how her hair smelled like flowers and freshly mowed grass and ...honey? Something sweet and enticing and natural, like the earth. Like a sprawling meadow or rose garden or—

He’d been effectively distracted by her that he’d almost forgot the reason for his fear, the reason she was even here. That is, until the little bugger was out of the soil and crawling on her finger.

Harry screeched and leaped backward, and this time, he did fall on his ass. Right in front of the couch he’d cleaned for her while she giggled profusely. The gentle melody of her laughter and sweet little coos at the bug softened the sting of embarrassment—a little.

“Aw he’s so cute!” She prodded her other finger at the creature, which really was no bigger than her fingernail, but horrified Harry anyways. “Can’t believe Harry wanted me to come and kill you, sweet little thing.”

He was once again struck by how gentle and nurturing and sickened-sweet she got with plants and animals. Meanwhile she laughed at him and teased him ruthlessly for his dramatics.

“Here,” she said “Hold him.”

She thrust her finger into his hands from where she stood above him. Harry flinched away, but couldn’t move far enough from where he sat with his legs folded and feet planted on the ground. The worm fell into his palm. The tiny impact of it on his skin ignited an explosion of fear through him.

A millisecond passed and it crawled through the hole in the wrist of his sweater, causing his panic to quadruple.

He screamed out loud while Y/N continued laughing at him. “AH!” Harry screamed and flapped his wrists violently, throwing himself against the couch with wide eyes as he felt the horrible tickling of the creature crawling on his skin.

“Stop! Stop Harry, let me!” Y/N stepped closer, ducking between his outstretched legs. She shielded her face with one hand and desperately groped around for Harry’s wrist with the other. Finally, he paused to breathe and Y/N caught his arm in both of hers.

She wrestled his arm to still and calmly plucked the creature from his skin. “Thank God,” she sighed dramatically in relief, holding it on her finger between them. “The little fighter survived your temper tantrum!”

“No!” Harry cried, now shielding his own face from the wrath of the worm.

He watched her get up and drop the bug back into Franklin’s soil, all the while laughing at him.

“You’re such a baby, Harry,” she cooed as she turned back to where he was still sat on the floor, “And no wonder you’re so cold in here. You’ve got holes all in your sweater!”

“I’ve got holes in all my sweaters. My mum used to fix them f’me.” He frowned, missing her and his friends suddenly. Living alone was hard.

“You’re hopeless,” Y/N shook her head as she bent down to sit on the coffee table next to Franklin and sent him endeared smile. “I could fix them for you?”

Harry reeled back and blushed, “You—you could do that for me?”

Yes, living alone was hard and lonely and boring. Harry had been shamefully making excuses to see her for several days now, and yet he was completely oblivious to her doing the exact same thing.

“Sure! Come over tomorrow and bring all your sweaters.”

Harry saw absolutely no reason to object. He could never say no to her, anyways. “Okay, then.”

“In the meantime, take these…” She reached into her pocket and fished out four yellow squares of what looked like...tape?

“These are bug stickers,” she explained. “You tape them around Franklin’s stem and it’ll catch the gnats and aphids and stuff. Won’t kill your new little friend though.”

Despite her teasing tone and his lingering fear, Harry couldn’t help but smile at her while she demonstrated how to tape the bug sticker on. He’d deal with all the goddamn bugs in the world if it meant she’d be pleased with him.

She finished taping it on and turned back to him with an adorable little flourish, as if to say ta-da!

“Can I offer you some kombucha for your trouble?” Harry suddenly blurted.

What the fuck Harry? Who the fuck says ‘can I offer you—‘

“Ew, no!” She interrupted his self-loathing, face twisting in disgust, “Kombucha tastes like dish soap.”

Hurt, Harry reeled back again and a shocked expression graced his face, “You don’t like kombucha?! Don’t vegans like, live for that shit?!”

“This vegan has taste,” she replied with a snarky smirk. “And besides, I’ve got to get back to the shop for work like, now.”

“Oh, okay no problem.” Harry stuttered, “Thanks again.”

“Sure thing!”

And as quickly as she’d busted in, she was gone, leaving the apartment as cold and lonely as ever. Harry frowned, feeling as if he’d blown it once again. No ‘see you tomorrow’ or ‘thanks for having me.’ Chance after chance and still he made a fool out of himself. She hadn’t even told him where she lived! Maybe the offer to come over and get his sweaters fixed had been a pity invite and she actually wanted nothing to do with him ever again. The thought made his stomach churn. Where was his customary optimism when he needed it?

Grumbling, he grabbed a fresh kombucha from the fridge, wishing it was something stronger.

Franklin and his little worm friend’s (Harry didn’t think the bugger deserved a sweet name like the alocasia did—it was still a disgusting creature that made his skin crawl) company did little to satiate the aching loneliness he was feeling throughout the following day.

Finally, a message came through his phone from an unknown number.

unknown: hey harry, it’s y/n! did you still want to come over today?

harry: howd you get my number

Even through a screen, Harry managed to blurt out the first thing that popped into his head. Fuck. Shit. She’s gonna think he’s avoiding the question! He rapidly began composing a second message, but the three little dots appeared and interrupted his flying thumbs.

y/n: your message on the answering machine at work.

by the way, that was hilarious

harry: right, well. sorry for that

and yes, id love to come over.

y/n: no worries, i saved it to listen to when i need a laugh.

haha cool here’s my address

harry: should i bring food or wine or something?

A new wave of anxiety washed over him as he looked at the address she’d sent. Now what? What would they do? Would he just drop off his sweaters and leave? Or would she invite him in? What would he say then?

y/n: just bring yourself and your sweaters, mon petit!

Harry was speechless. Much like the shop she worked at, Y/N’s apartment could rival an actual jungle. Greenery of all different shapes and shades and sizes lined the walls, and while they had the exact same floor plan, it was an entirely different world than the one Harry was living in.

Y/N, meanwhile, effortlessly sauntered deeper into her space. She looked like she belonged there, obviously, but Harry felt like a fish out of water.

“They won’t bite, you know,” Y/N giggled, noticing his apprehension. She was watching him patiently with something like fondness in her eyes. Harry felt her careful gaze on him, but the magnificent green scene around him claimed his attention—but not for long.

Gently, Y/N took his fingers between hers and pulled him deeper into her space. Harry stumbled over his feet, craning his head to look at the plants hanging from the ceiling. How the hell did she even water those?

Y/N couldn’t help but smile. He looked adorable, like a child at Disneyland. She swore his eyes were actually twinkling as the greenery in the room made the color pop against his skin even more than usual.

“This is…incredible,” He said, finally turning back to meet her eyes with his own. “You’re incredible.” He set down his bag of sweaters on the floor by his feet. They could certainly wait.

Something about the praise and the way he was looking at her like she hung the moon was making Y/N absolutely swoon for the man. It was impossible not to notice how much he adored her. He looked at her the same way she looked at Delilah, at all the things she loved. Things. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually loved a person before. But this man with the holes in his sweaters and the permanent flush in his cheeks was planting himself deep in her heart.

But she’d never let him see that.

“…I make lots of my clothes myself…” She was talking about how she learned to sew from where she was sitting on her couch. Harry noticed that she’d arranged her living room differently than he had. While he had a single gray couch in the middle of the room, her sofa was against the window, inviting the evening sunset to gently warm the pale pink cushions.

“Did ya make those pants you were wearing the other day?” He asked with genuine curiosity, continuing to poke around the plants and knitted blankets and woven fruit baskets that littered the entire space.

Harry turned to face her just in time to catch her flashing a knowing smile. “Yes. Should I make a pair for you as well?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m sure your ass will look great in them, too.”

“Ah—shut up!” Harry laughed, fiddling with the leaves of one of her hanging plants. He recognized this one.

An easy smile still graced his lips as he murmured “It’s a philodendron,” half to her and half to himself. Now that some of the extensive plant research he’d been doing over the past few days had indeed stuck, it was easy for him to identify by its telltale heart shaped leaves.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, “That’s right,” she said, sounding impressed. “She’s called Delilah.”

Harry hummed, unable to focus on words when she was giving him her full attention like that.

“She’d be cute next to Franklin, don’t ya think?” She continued, tiptoeing closer to him. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the plant much like she’d done to Franklin a few days earlier. The fabric of his brown sweater was soft against her fingers as she wrapped her arms around him. Harry tensed. He had longed to do the same thing to her when their positions had been reversed a few days ago, but chickened out. But as always, Y/N’s actions were confident and smooth. The thought of her face against his knit-clad back and the feeling of her soft hands around his middle made his head spin.

Yes, he thought, she’s cute next to everything. She’s fucking adorable…

And again, Harry was struck with the thought that he should have seen this coming. It was such a Y/N move—the way she confidently pressed on his shoulders to sit him on the couch and proceeded to smoothly kneel over his thighs. His heart raced as she sank to his eye level, straddling his lap.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” Harry said almost absently, as if lost in them. Y/N looked kind of surprised that the words came out of his mouth. She’s sort of confused by him, by the way he makes her feel. He had this nervous, chaotic energy surrounding him, as if his mind was going a mile a minute at all times. It didn’t make any difference to him though—a racing heart didn’t stop him from enjoying the feeling of the insides of her thighs against his.

Y/N suddenly grabbed one of his flushed cheeks in her palm and turned his face to hers, letting him get a good look at her eyes. “Think so?” She grinned with a hint of her customary cockiness.

Harry nodded in response to the playful question, caught up in her smirk. He reckoned it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Once again, she proved him wrong when she licked her lip. She studied him seductively while his own eyes, of course, flicked down to where her tongue was swiping over her lips. Her tongue was pillowy, gentle, and…distracting…In the next instant, she’d pulled his face to hers and met his lips with her own.

Despite having been mentally begging for her to kiss him since the moment they’d met, he was still a little caught off guard. Quickly, he began to relish in the feeling of her warm hand holding his cheek and soft lips pressing tenderly on his. He kissed her back gently, but with urgency—as if he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He let his hands wander slowly from her knees up her thighs, her hips, settling comfortably on her waist. His heart skipped a beat when she pulled back a millimeter.

“Is this okay?” Harry let out a concerned whisper.

Y/N smiled effortlessly and nodded. Of course it was okay, it was better than okay.

“Thought I’d proper fucked up my chance with you ages ago,” he murmured against her lips. Now that he’d gotten a taste of her sweet lips, he was truly a fucking goner.

“I thought so too, frankly,” she laughed fondly at him, “But you reeled me in with your charm and wit...” She shook her head and furrowed her brows sarcastically, “...Your true gift for horticulture, your brilliant sewing skills, your excellent taste in beverages...” she continued lecturing him in between sweet pecks on the lips.

Harry giggled at her mock-compliments, tugging her impossibly closer by the waist. She relaxed her chest into his and easily wrapped her own arms around his neck.

“You’re an absolute pest you know?” Harry teased her, confidence growing as she caressed his skin, “I oughta get a buncha those damn bug stickers to catch you!”

“You sure about that?” She smiled bigger, eyes wide and innocent as sat back on his legs. She continued to feed him sweet words as she trailed her fingers down his sweater, the mock compliments melting into sincere ones. Harry’s own smile grew as she mumbled how she adored his soft hands and blushy cheeks and gentle disposition…

Her words were innocent, but her fingers began tracking a sinful course downward, and he twitched in his sweatpants as she cheekily palmed him through the fabric. He was putty in her hands, reduced to a pile of mush by her eyes that twinkled with playful innocence and mischief and unmistakeable lust. The soft hands and gentle, innocent praises falling from her lips were making his cock bloat and head spin. Just as he was getting into it—moaning and whimpering for her to please don’t stop…she shoved her arms between his body and the couch cushion and delivered a firm squeeze to his ass.

“That’s for calling me a pest, you pest!”

She roared with laughter and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight to her chest.

Harry’s desperate, high pitched whine quickly melted into joyous laughter. He couldn’t help it—she was so lovely and beautiful and playful and cheeky and of course, he should’ve seen a stunt like this coming. She was a pest indeed, but Harry had already decided to love her. Perhaps decided wasn’t the word—no, his love for her sprouted and grew like a strong and beautiful vine holding them together.

“Now how about I make you come for real and then fix the holes in those sweaters like you fixed the holes in my heart?”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you for reading <3

talk to me about harry and y/n and franklin and delilah!

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Open Arms and Unconditional Love

by Dyslexic_Gremlin (Jaggedwing)

Wilbur never expected to be a dad. Tommy was a surprise– one dumped on him unceremoniously that he struggled with immensely– and during the early days, Wilbur often questioned if he was even suitable for fatherhood. But, with every smile Tommy sent his way and every milestone they achieved together, Will’s doubts faded. He was a good father (or, rather, the best father he could be).

So when the opportunity arrived to foster two young boys (older than Tommy, but not yet teens) arose Wilbur couldn’t turn a blind eye. At the time, he didn’t know the connection he’d create with them and the rollercoaster of events they’d experience.

Words: 11401, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Bois Inc

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Wilbur Soot, TommyInnit, Technoblade - Character, Philza, Other Characters briefly mentioned/shown, original characters that we HATE and are STUPID

Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Technoblade & Philza, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Technoblade & Philza

Additional Tags: NOT RPF! These are characters!!!, idk what to tag this fandom wise tbh bc they aren’t based in/from a specific “universe”, so you get the Minecraft fandom tag, sleepy bois inc - Freeform, Sleepy Bois Inc as Found Family, SBI love each other, All platonic! - Freeform, SBI are protective of each other, POV Multiple, forceful baby acquisition, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, dad!wilbur, pre-schooler!Tommy, kid!Philza, Kid!Techno, foster kids Antarctic Duo, twins antarctic duo, possible kid inaccuracies, probable foster inaccuracies, Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, depictions of panic attacks, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, maybe? - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, confessions of familial love, We got it all folks, hand-wavy laws, don’t think too hard about it okay, ACAB (/hj), excessive use of commas, Excessive Use of Parentheses, Author is dyslexic