matt

he/him // 20 // writer // pls send requests // also @mattalit on wattpad

[mattalit]

MASTERLIST

Legend of Zelda

Link

Untitled Repost 1

Untitled Repost 2

A Hundred Years’ Wait

Marvel

Peter Parker

Untitled Repost

Stranger Things

Will Byers

Untitled Repost

Eddie Munson

Untitled Repost

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2

Simon “Ghost” Riley

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 1)

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 2)

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 3)

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Belated Beloved

[mattalit]

A Hundred Years’ Wait

Link x m!Reader

CW: angst, death

Link often found himself reminded that, after one hundred years, the world he knew had been drowned in fire—and then reborn again, the same and different together. He was almost thankful for his own forgetfulness and missing memories, but ever since he had awoken, he could almost feel the soft thrum of a deep, stagnant memory… but try as he might—and try he did—he couldn’t remember. But what good was remembering when Hyrule threatened extinction?

Of course, the nagging thrum never truly went away, and in moments alone, he could feel the very edge of his past life in his mind. He would reach for it and grasp helplessly, but it was always out of reach, as tantalizing as the ocean to a man lost at sea, yearning for a sip of water. 

It doesn’t matter, he would tell himself. It doesn’t matter. But it did matter, and it plagued his subconscious. At night, in his dreams, he would see that face, but he could never remember in the mornings. 

A hero, though, has no time for forcing memories, and his mission had already begun: find Impa. 

The ride to Kakariko Village took three days, of which the final day was filled with dark clouds and rain. It was dreary weather and Link would rather be holed up somewhere warm, but when duty calls, he answers. He must find Impa. 

He tried not to be intimidated by the looming gates of Kakariko, but it had been so long since he had been here that familiarity seemed harsh, unfamiliar, as though déjà vu met the uncanny. Real, and yet, unreal. 

The sad atmosphere of the village didn’t help, either. There were no children running around as he remembered, and the adults he did see were sluggish. There seemed to be both an overcast in the weather and in the minds of the villagers. He felt as though he was infiltrating a great mourning period.

He hesitated within inaction, glancing around the seeable parts of the village. I have no choice, he realized, unless I turn back, but he knew that was not truly an option.

Link slid off of Epona and patted her flank. “Don’t run off, girl,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Epona nudged his hand as if telling him to hurry up and go, so he turned away and began down the path to the village’s center. 

He pushed away his discomfort with the stares he received from the white-haired populace. I am obviously an outsider, he thought, but he didn’t allow the feeling to dissuade him. He forced his shoulders back and continued on his downward path.

Once he had reached the village center, Link’s eyes scanned up a staircase and up the wooden structure. This must be it, he thought. 

At the gate, he was stopped by a white-haired man in the garb of the Sheikah.

“Sir, you cannot pass…” The man paused, looking down at Link. His tone turned from hardened to confused. “Is that… is that a Sheikah slate?”

Link pulled out the Sheikah slate.

“It is! I’m so sorry, you must hurry up to Impa.” The man stepped to the side. As Link took the first step, he was stopped again. “Oh, and please be respectful. A beloved elder is at his end of days. Impa is with him now. You will find her in the main room.”

Ah, Link thought, that explains this place’s looming sadness.

At the top of the stairs, he paused at the doors. He could feel that nagging thrum of remembrance return, but he had made it too far to stop in an attempt to think. 

Link pushed open the double doors, revealing moderate-sized room. He scanned the walls, taking in scrolls and pictures on the left and right before settling his sight in the center. There stood a short older woman with a large hat next to an older gentleman in a chair. He has seen better days, Link thought.

“My life is fading, Lady Impa,” the man said sadly. 

Link froze. We know that voice, the nagging thrum said, and it was right. He did know that voice—from one hundred years ago. But from what?

Impa looked to the doors and recognition passed through her face. “Link?” she asked. She did not move from her spot next to the man, whose face remained unchanged. 

That face… he remembered that face.

Link took a step forward.

It had seen the years in a way Link’s own had not, but he was still recognizable under the wrinkles and sun spots and the wispy, white beard. 

Link took another step forward.

He remembered that face younger and in battle, holding determination and his sword as though they were a light weight. 

“It has been a long time,” the old man said, “since I have last seen you, swordsman.”

Link remembered that voice when it was still hindered with the naiveté and ego of youth, but now the scars of wisdom and diplomacy could be heard and felt.

“(M/N),” Link greeted. “It has been far too long.”

And Link could feel the full weight of time come crashing down, and he could feel the soft thrum of remembrance grow and grow as finally, finally, he remembered. 

(M/N), a Knight of Hyrule, a protector of the royal family, and an adventurer. (M/N), his sparring partner, his friend, and—dare he say it?—his lover. 

Like a symphony, he could remember all the hours spent training, the days spent adventuring in the wilderness, the late nights and early mornings, all spent together, and in anguish and in fear, he stared upon that wrinkled face, and the wispy white hair so different from its younger (H/C), and the fragile body, and Link finally realized how long he had been gone, how much he had missed, and how much he could never, ever get back. 

Link kneeled in front of (M/N); he hardly noticed Impa back away.

For a moment, (M/N) just stared. “I am dying, Link,” he said. “But I have held on for you. I always knew you would be back.”

Link did not respond, but he could feel a tear slip down his cheek. He had lost so much time, and there was nothing he could do. He had never felt so helpless. 

“The sands of time are cruelest to heroes,” (M/N) mumbled. He placed his hand softly on Link’s face, his thumb tracing his cheekbone, wiping away his tear.  “But you are as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

Link placed his own hand over (M/N)’s. He could feel that familiar thrum, and he begged himself to remember more—and he did. He remembered the night a week before his fall, the last time he had seen (M/N), where he had held (M/N)’s hand in the same way. 

I will be gone when you wake up, he had whispered.

Must you leave so late? he had been asked.

I have a duty to the Princess.

I suppose I cannot keep you. I will see you when you get back.

(M/N)’s hand was weaker and more weathered than when he had left him, but a hundred years had passed, and nothing these days was as he remembered.

I have been gone for so long, he thought, and he couldn’t fight down his own distress and anger and helplessness as he realized, all against my will.

“I am glad you have come, Link,” (M/N) said, “but our time together now ends.”

“Wait,” Link pleaded.

“I have held on as long as I can.” (M/N) took a shambling breath. “But time has been cruel to us.”

(M/N)’s hand dropped from Link’s face, but Link caught it and laid it across the old man’s lap. He could feel his own sweltering tears pool together. 

He felt Impa’s small hand be placed on his shoulder, and he half-registered her voice telling him, “He will not wake up again.”

[malulurivers]

the air stilled, scented rich with magic. floorboards hard at your back, you shifted up onto your elbows. the ridges dug into your skin as you instantly looked to your side.

Jayce coughed. you snorted. his hair was frazzled, his chest rising and falling slowly as he laid strewn like all of your papers—without a care in the world. if he didn't look like he'd faceplanted a sack of coal you would've believed it was a fair comparison.

dragging your safety goggles over your forehead rife with soot, you discarded them atop his stomach. or you aimed to. being knocked onto your ass clearly messed with your coordination as you accidentally clipped his chin with the buckle. he whined dramatically.

"sorry! that wasn't—"

"beating me while I'm down? what did I do to deserve this!"

you rolled your eyes amusedly. "my bad, Talis. thought you wanting your name plastered all over the research notes meant this was your experiment."

he groaned, head turning away from you.

"seems like you got proportional comeuppance, though."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

you giggled quietly, refraining from giving an answer.

your cloudy eyes waltzed across from him to the explosion of dust and soot that painted his side of the lab. what was left of his desk smoked and crackled with cerulean static. following the crux where the contraption had sat mere moments before, you found runes burnt into the flagstone and wood.

"well, there's some good news for us." you slumped back onto the floor beside him.

"really?" his smile was as bright as it always was, gap-toothed and endearing despite everything.

"the sun rune was definitely activated when that spell happened."

"brilliant! see?" he rapped his knuckles against the ground victoriously. "I told you breakthroughs can come from anywhere! they can take multitudes of forms, even the roughest of experiments can yield results...!"

he was so damn smug when he was right. you wanted to wipe his smirk off his lips, but all you would've gotten was more soot on you. at first it would be on your thumb, but it wouldn't take long for it to be on your lips instead.

"Jayce, it's burnt into the floor."

he was quiet for a moment. his gaze was intently on you, in fact it had barely left since you'd laid back down. you avoided the eye contact. soot tasted unpleasant. even if he was cute, was it truly worth it?

"I'm so glad I get to work with you."

your face crumpled. not even the slightest hint of sarcasm, or ingenuity. he always meant what he said, wholeheartedly.

you pouted at him, acceding. your hand found his discarded on the ground, burnt gloves making tough work of intertwining your fingers but you didn't care. "shush. you're making me sound mean."

"you're just practical. realistic. two entries on an endless list of things I love about you." as you broke his gaze, coming to stare back up at the ceiling with a scoff, he squeezed your hand.

and then you felt him shuffle clumsily closer. before you could snicker and call him a dork, his voice softened in your ear, "it's what makes you a brilliant inventor. and it also means if I do dumb things with you, you have to back me up, otherwise you look dumb, too."

you pursed your lips, playfully struggling to hold a smile back. "you're such a—"

"gorgeous, clever, profoundly amazing and loving boyfriend?" he propped himself up on one elbow effortlessly. "I know, honey, I know."

your head whipped to him in shock, a laugh falling from your open lips. you quipped, "an egotist!"

he simply shrugged, oozing confidence and swagger as if he didn't look like a cartoon struck by lightning. oh right, he didn't know.

the fork in the road settled before you. you could win this battle: snark him right back, and out of the corny consequence of his own miscalculations. or you could lose on purpose.

"you still love me either way, don't y—oh!"

pulling by his untucked tie you yanked him down on top of you, melding your lips to his. you could feel his smile twitch into your kiss as he melted like butter in an instant. freeing your hand from your glove, your callused hand traced along his hot cheeks to the nape of his neck until it settled on his jaw. he tilted into your palm, humming happily. putty in your hands, as always.

you ignored the dry taste of soot, and the traces of it gathering on your clean fingertips. it was without a second thought; he was undoubtedly worth it.

☾ ₊ ˚ ✩ ˚ ｡ ☽

masterlist | buy me a hot chocolate <3

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

my hands were daylight all through the night

leon s kennedy x male! reader fem dni warnings: enemies to lovers type beat because i'm self indulgent, kinda short maybe idk, foul language, im really worried leon's ooc teehee, not proof read notes: I honestly just really wanted to write a leon fic. also this is inspired by the shit load of orange based poem slideshows i keep seeing on tiktok so yea live laugh love

It was late at night, far too late, and rainy, and utterly miserable.

You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest, clad in a thick sweat in an attempt to keep yourself warm. Your feet were kicked up on the dash, ankles crossed as you glared out the windshield.

Leon sat besides you, arms similarly crossed over his chest, a small scowl resting on his face. His leg bounced furiously up and down, the sound of the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the seat was largely lost in the sound of the rain, pounding harsh and loud against the roof of the car, like ear splitting static.

The hostility was tangible in the air, thick with animosity.

Whoever it was that first said that first impressions matter wasn't kidding. One rocky introduction between the two of you, and you were practically destined to be at eachothers throats for so long as the two of you are forced to interact. You couldn't even recall exactly what had spurred this, or who even who started this petty feud. Regardless, it didn't matter know. The damage was done, and neither of you were exactly racing to try and mend it.

Unfortunately for both you, there was a specific mission that needed attention. It was a simply stakeout, in all honesty it was probably nothing anyways. Still, a mission is a mission, and the two of you were only ones available for the job. A cruel twist of faith, really.

Both of you had much better things to be doing at this time of the night, namely sleeping, but you were stuck here. Alone, in the middle of the night, in rain, with only each others aggravating company.

But, a job was a job, and if you were told to stare at a building all night, then that's just what you'll have to do. And that's exactly what you did.

So, the two of you sat there, more bored than you actually thought possible, watching the same still, empty building as you had for the last hour, and as you'll continue to do for the next three.

"This is stupid." You finally mutter, your lips tugging into a frown as the glare of the full moon tauntingly shone across your face. You just wanted to be in bed by now. You drop your gaze slightly to the scuffs of dirt that littered your shoes.

Leon scoffs in response, leaning his head against the headrest. He didn't want to agree with you. Infact, his initial reaction was to defend the mission, just to spite and oppose you, but he had to admit; this was stupid.

"Let's just get this over with." Leon irritatedly mutters back, not even bothering to face you.

You can only shake your head.

More silence settles between the two of you, one that makes you want to scream. It's strained, and antsy, and you can feel the tension constricting around your throat, squeezing and squeezing. You bite your lip, looking out your window in an attempt to quell the unease you feel.

Eventually, you can't bare the silence any longer, breathing out yet another complaint.

"God, this sucks." You grumbles, brining your hands to your face, rubbing at your skin till it stings.

"So does your attitude."

"So does your face."

"Really?" Leon snarls, finally turning his head just enough to face you. "Are you ten?" He shakes his head, turning to look out his window, muttering out an 'insufferable prick' under his breath, deliberately just loud enough for you to hear.

You rolls your eyes, glancing around around for something, anything, to kill your boredom.

You're surrounded by the greenery and fauna partially obstructing the car from any passerbys, or noisy onlookers. The stars were hidden beneath thick, tall layers of clouds hanging overhead. You see a striking flash of light from just past the full branches of leaves, the deep rumble of thunder following soon after.

You'd gotten bored of your phone after the first thirty minutes, and with the added fact that you'd neglected to charge it before setting off, you considered it out of the question. Afterall, you figure it might not be the best idea to drain your battery while out and in the middle of nowhere.

You take a quick peek at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the backseat. A small ice chest sits neglected in the middle, untouched by either of you.

You move your eyes away from the mirror, turning your head to glance back at the chest. You release a quiet sigh as you lift your feet off the dash.

You lean out from your seat, twisting your body as you reach past your seat, and into the back. Leon watches your movements with an annoyed expression, and you try your best to ignore his eyes beating into your back.

You pop open the lid, scanning over the boxes contents. There was a small selection of snacks-- granola, protein bars, and a variety of fruits. The bright orange color of the citrus jumps out at you, catching your eye even in the dim car-- a few clementines and oranges, pushed to the side.

You take one of each in your hands.

The clementine is nice and small, it barely fills out the palm of your hand. It'd be enough for you to enjoy with no trouble. You gently roll the clementine in your hand, squishing in gently between your fingers. You can already feel the rind pulling away from the flesh as you move it around in your hands, as if already ready to eat.

The orange is bulky and heavy, weighing in your hand like a softball. It feels strangely daunting in your palm, the skin stiff and stubborn, clutching onto the flesh. You bring the fruit up to your nose, taking a small sniff. You catch the faintest notes of sweet citrus emanate from beneath it's tough skin.

You drop the clementine back into the chest, letting the lid fall close with a soft thud.

You situate yourself properly back into your seat, tugging your legs up, and criss-crossing them over one another.

You hold the orange cupped in both your hands. This skin is still cold from the cooler, biting at the warmth of your palms.

Leon looks over at you curiously, a hint of annoyance masking the genuine curiosity in his voice. "What are you doing?" He asks.

"What does it look like?" Your annoyance matches his with your harsh response. "I'm getting a snack. I've been cooped up in this car for too damn long."

Leon was never a fan of oranger. They were messy, spitting sourly in his face and coating his hands. It was always a struggle to tear through the skin, and even when he managed, there was always too much of the bitter pith left over for him to enjoy, teeth gnashing and tearing through the stubborn membrane. It ruined the experience, and the fruit as a whole, for him anyways.

"You're insufferable."

"I'm aware."

You turn the orange in your hands for a few moments, looking over the skin; Its bright hue, the knicks and scratches, the imperfections in its shape.

You eventually hold it still, pushing your nail into the flower of the orange, pushing your thumb beneath the thick rind. You feel the membrane bending beneath your thumb as you hear the soft crask of the peel pulling from the flesh. It threatens to burst, to puncture, to spit. But it doesn't.

You tear the skin off in large pieces, ripping softly and gently, standing out from the patter of the rain hitting the roof of the car. You set the discarded peels neatly on your lap, stacked within the curve of one another.

The scent of the fruit fills the car in an instant.

You brush your thumb firmly over the thick layer of pith coating the orange. It rolls off and falls into your lap in stringy, sticky clumps. The stubborn, waxy residue sticks to your fingers, burying themselves beneath your nails.

Eventually however, the pith start to relent, falling from the orange with ease, as if coerced away from their mulishness with so little as the the pads of your thumb. Despite your efforts, some of the bitterness still remains, stuck in the more stubborn creases and crevices, as there always is.

You press your fingers into the core of the orange, letting it split at the seams, two even halves falling into the palms of your respective hands.

You look down at them for a moment, taking a moment to be still, to admire the way the flesh glistens in the light of the moon. You glance over to Leon, who looks just as bored and irritated as he did the last time you bothered to look over.

His head rests in his fist, his elbow leaned against his window. The moonlight catches in his hair, a little messy, and the bridge of his nose, a little crooked. You can't help but wonder if he'd broken it over the years, or if it'd always been that pleasantly flawed.

Leon feels a small nudge against his upper arm, taking him out of his thoughts. His brows instinctively furrow in annoyance as he turns to face you.

Your hand is extended out to him, one half of the orange waiting patiently in your hand.

His expression softens out of confusion, lifting his head from his hand. He looks down at your hand, at the fruit, then snaps back up you. His expression is unreadable, as is yours.

The two of you simply stare at each other for a few moments, silently, awkwardly, until you let an irritated sigh push past your lips.

"Jesus Christ, take the damned fruit." You roll your eyes, nudging your hand against Leon's shoulder a few more times, a little too harshly. "My arm hurts."

Leon can't help but hesitate before his finally relentless, bringing his hand to yours.

His hand curls gently around the fruit tentatively, weary that any pressure from his calloused hands would cause it to burst in an instant.

The tips of your fingers brush against each others for a brief moment as he takes the orange from your palm. The sensation lingers on your skin as you both pull your hands back to your laps.

Leon looks down at the orange, the scent wafting strongly and sweetly back up at him. He peels a segment away from the rest, holding it gently between his index and thumb. He feels the thin, finicky membrane arch under the pressure of his thumb.

Leon was never a fan of oranges. Still, he brings the slice to his mouth, pushing it past his lips. His teeth press into the sheath, the slice constantly bursting in his mouth, sweet and tangy flavors coating his tongue. It's rich, smooth, a little sour, and some of the pulp gets stuck in his teeth, but he doesn't seem to mind much. He takes another slice.

They return to their shared silence.

Regardless of how nicely and neatly you had peeled the orange, it's sent and bare essence of it's sticky juice clings to your fingers, as it does his.

When he finally returns home, he'll still smell it's remnants coating his skin, the sunshine staining his hands, and he'll be brought back to the very moment. He'll feel a sensation of sudden nausea, or panic rise in his chest as he realizes he feels almost sorrowful to have to rinse it off . He'll push the feeling away, blame it on how damn tired he is, and try his best to forget all about it.

But right now, the rain taps lovingly on the class, as the shimmer of the moon cradles his face, and he can't be bothered to bite the smile that plays at his features as he tears into the sweet flesh.

[nouearth]

hope.

pairing ; peter parker x m!reader. fandom: ; marvel, spider-man. word count ; 1889. genre; angst. rating ; pg-13. warnings ; holland!spider-man, crying, break-up, kissing.

it was nearly midnight, and the stars were in full bloom, clustered yet distinctively separate. it was a familiar sight, but you lounged in the wake of the city—the sweet sound of sirens, the laughter of drunk passersby, and the smell of pollution—nonetheless.

it was brave of you to be hanging your arm over the ledge of the rooftop, but you received better signal this way. your face was lit up by the brightness of your phone screen as you were bent over the ledge, scrolling through your messages with peter, clearly displeased.

still on tonight?

you stopped your thumb on the screen, muttering peter’s messages from a few hours ago.

bringing pizza! new place just opened up.

you can’t lie to yourself anymore: you and peter have been drifting apart. dates have slowly come to a halt ever since peter confessed to you about his dual life as spider-man. and when they do happen, he was late—out of breath and disheveled, and occasionally bruised—though he’d brush the latter off with a laugh.

i just need to ice it! don’t worry.

guilt would overcome you as you would silently analyze his condition on one of those dates. you would notice his dark circles: a clear indication of sleep-deprivation. his tensed face when he moved: a torn muscle he refused to check up on. his constant attention anywhere else but you: a search to help.

and they’ve only gotten worse.

but you never complained or berated him because in the end, it was peter who was sacrificing a portion of his heroic life for you, doing everything he possibly could to please you—because your relationship was hanging by a string of web at this point, almost tearing, and you both knew it.

a frustrated groan came out of you and you stashed your phone away to turn to the comfort of watching the dark alleyway beneath you, only to be met with peter in his uniform, spider-man mask and all, staring right up at you, sprawled over the side of the building. “jesus- peter!”

“you really didn’t notice me?” you heard his laugh, muffled by the mask as he skillfully traversed upwards until he reached the ledge and hopped onto his feet later, sliding off his backpack that’s been harboring the pizza box—if you can call it pizza anymore once he opened the box.

“no! you wouldn’t exactly be a great hero if you didn’t know how to stealth properly.” the pizza was a squished mess. the cheese hardened to the top of the box and the toppings were scrambled from corner to corner, collective evidence of peter’s hasty journey to your date spot.

“shit- y/n, i’m so sorry-“ he said apologetically, mask off, and his body and face tensed as he began to sit on the ground with the pizza box still in his hands. you join his side.

“pete, it’s fine! pizza’s a finger-food anyways, y’know?” you laughed to appease his guilt, compensating with a kiss to his lips and a side-hug, but you pulled away after when he groaned—a new pain in his shoulder. he doesn’t like talking about his injuries for your sake, and so you don’t, even if you felt like an asshole for not asking anyways.

“come on, let’s eat. i know you’re hungry.” you sang the words to brighten the mood—it doesn’t. 

“yeah.” dry and un-humored at first, but peter made sure to return your kiss and a smile, albeit a rueful tuck of his lips, before picking a cold slice and eating. you followed, cautious of the sudden change of atmosphere.

both of you were silent, but your eyes were still on him while peter’s was fixated towards the concrete, thoughtlessly eating. it wasn’t new to see peter quiet, which at first seemed impossible considering how talkative he usually was. but when he was, he was either deep in thought or wasn’t thinking at all. maybe a combination of both because then, he stopped chewing. instead of inhaling his second slice of pizza, he exhaled a sigh—one that harbored thoughts and tension.

“what?” you avoided his eyes because you can feel it coming, mindlessly picking at the hard and crusty cheese off the cardboard box—mainly to calm the swelling in your chest that has begun.

“you know i love you, right?” peter said quietly and from the corner of his eyes, he was looking at you again.

“you do? don’t recall you ever telling me that before…” it’s another joke to cheer him up—to cheer you up—and you looked at him with a smile, a meager masquerade. “i love you too, pete.”

he reached for your hand to hold onto, intertwining his calloused fingers with yours. you could tell he was bracing you for the inevitable news, so you gave his palm the gentlest squeeze, collapsing your warmth into his own—because you’re ready.

“and,” peter spoke again, this time tears appeared in his eyes. “you know i’d do anything for you, right?”

“y-yeah, of course…” you swallowed the hard lump in your throat that continued to swell nonetheless, controlling yourself from gripping peter’s hand harder. “you’ve... been the best. you’ve done so much for me and-“

“no, I haven’t, y/n.” he looked forward again, shaking his head in disbelief. the sour taste of tomato sauce quickly became bitter when he took a bite of pizza, pushing down the welling tears. “we barely see each other anymore because of me.”

“peter… yes, you have. i mean, you’re not perfect, but who is? i’m certainly not, right? no relationship is perfect.”

the cold breeze of the night sang in response and you two naturally moved closer to each other for warmth.

“i’m not perfect. as far as i can tell, you’re doing way better than me.” you followed up on the silence, continuing as you pulled peter’s head to your shoulder and kissed his forehead. “you make me sandwiches for work, because you know i have no time to eat. you check up on me to make sure i’m safe, and because you know I’m probably close to losing it at my boss…”

“and you’re late to our dates- always late. but you still come, because that’s our only time together now.” you’re unsure whose heart was beating faster—harder—but you were close to breaking because you want to be selfish. a part of you wants to keep peter to yourself for as long as possible, but you also want the best for him, even if it meant separation.

“and you’re always… hurt or injured somewhere. you laugh it off, but i can tell you’re in pain.”

“i’m okay. i told you not to worry-”

you cut him off with another kiss, but to his lips, softly muttering after. “sometimes, you fall asleep when i’m telling you about my day, when we’re watching movies, or even when we’re eating dinner… and i should be mad or annoyed at you, but I’m just…” you trailed off to take a breather and you can feel peter’s hand stroking your back, comforting you—when you should really be comforting him. “I feel so bad, peter.”

peter took your woeful confession to his lips, kissing you sweet and gentle because he knew that would calm the both of you down, but you were stiff. he was an indecisive person and you knew he had run back on his decision to break up with you. it was telling from the moment he held you in his arms, impossibly close, as if you were the one running.

“we can work things out.” he whispered against your lips and your sigh met his. it was frustrating to watch peter constantly put friends, families, and you over himself, all at the expense of his own happiness. “i-i can work less hours and… and… i’ll stop being spider-man- yeah… that’ll work! there’s so many of us—superheroes—now, so i don’t think it’ll affect-“

“peter…” you watched peter wander in circles, a clear shift in mood by the simplicity of false hope. by now, peter’s in his own world—a perfect paradise that consisted of you and him, and nothing else.

no worries, nothing.

“and… shoot! we can move in together, yeah? my place is a little small, but it’ll work out. we’ll sleep in my bed, share groceries, the bills… god, why didn’t i think of this sooner?!”

your heart raced even faster the longer you watched peter convince himself of a perfect scenario that was bound to happen.

i love you so much.

“peter, we can’t-“

“what- why?” he approached you, cooling down from the fleeting thought of ‘paradise’. “I don’t know how we haven’t thought of this, but it seems like the best option, yeah?

“i-peter…” you sighed, grabbing his hands to hold again and stared affectionately into his eyes. “i want to… so bad. and the thought of living together… i would love to.”

“yeah? i can get started on cleaning and-“

“peter.” your lips pressed to his to shush his rambles, even though you loved seeing him so passionate about everything, and you cupped his cheeks after. you take a moment to admire the way his eyes brightened when you finally smiled, and that makes it all the more painful.

he loves you.

“it wouldn’t be right of me to have you prioritize me over anything else in your life.”

“but you are my priority, y/n.” he half-smiled, resting his hands over yours. there was still hope in his eyes, gleaming.

“i’m not your only priority, peter.” you said, caressing his tear-stained cheeks.

“but-“

“you have to take care of yourself first, peter. you’ve done more for me than anyone else in the world, but you’re on the verge of breaking anytime now. and it’s sweet and all, that you would sacrifice everything for me. but i can’t let you do this, peter. i don’t control- i shouldn't control your life. what kind of boyfriend would i be, hm?”

my sweet peter.

“no, come on- let’s just talk about this. i- we can figure out another plan, yeah? how about i work part-time where you’re at? serving tables will be a piece of cake and-“ his voice cracked, desperate to convince you with different possibilities, but he stopped and stared at you with utter defeat, his eyes blood-shot red.

you shut your eyes tight, inhaling in the panic of peter’s voice, and exhaling with brewing tears. “i’m breaking up with you.”

your eyes opened to peter’s back towards you; he’s perched over the ledge. you approached from behind and for a moment, you could see the tension in his body and face leaving; a massive weight—a burden you’d call yourself—lifting off his shoulders as he watched the city. it was calmer now, safer than it has been in years, ever since the first introduction of spider-man.

“will we still be friends?” peter spoke up after a long silence, his gaze fixated on the flashing lights of a nearby ambulance passing by, blaring its siren. his face tensed up again, jaw hardening and eyes lit up with fire as he put on his signature mask.

and you confirm to yourself that peter’s ideal world was simply a construction of hope.

“always.”

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

[nouearth]

a lover's quarrel.

pairing ; dick grayson x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, nightwing. word count ; 589. genre; fluff. rating ; pg. warnings ; blue is dick's color, playful quarreling, stressed!dick.

“okay, just gotta get my keys and-“ dick’s voice caught onto the draft when he entered the bathroom, lips parted as he was dumbstruck when your outfit met his eye. 

the fifth try at your necktie kept you alert, attentive to every loop and knot the mirror reflected back at you. the night has been stressful and you admitted to yourself that it was a conscious effort to drown out dick’s voice, especially when he’s been stressed and cranky ever since bruce called to have dinner with the two of you. though you couldn’t blame him. it’ll be your first time meeting bruce and from what dick has told—maybe even convinced—you of him, he seemed intimidating.

with one last tug, you broke out into a wide smile when the blue tartan necktie lied neatly on your chest, completing the rest of your outfit. you’ve never been too keen on dressing this formally, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t think you looked good—handsome even.

“huh! what do you think?“ the tie swung with you when you turned towards your boyfriend, your hands gestured downwards the length of your figure where your gaze would follow and his does too. “don’t i look dashing? haven’t dressed like this since my friend’s funeral-“

“change your tie.” dick bluntly stated, an uncompromising tone that you’re set to deter.

 “what- no! why!” you turned back towards the mirror in disbelief, brows furrowed in frustration as you began adjusting your tie again, ignoring the approaching man occupying the space to your side.

“come on, we can’t meet bruce with matching ties!” 

“what are you talking about?” the roll of your eyes met the back of your eyelids as you had already convinced yourself dick was being dramatic again, but you were tongue-tied when your gaze landed on a familiar pattern. blue tartan. “oh- okay, well i started dressing up first! you saw me grab the tie!”

 “yet you finished last!” he grumbled, marching back into the bedroom. you heard his drawer opening, which prompted you to follow him—only after double-checking your dress-shirt is wrinkle free and your hair is up to satisfaction. “and i saw you with A TIE, not with THE TIE.”

“what’s the point in even gifting me this tie if i can’t wear it? and why did you buy me the same one you already have?!” you watched dick shuffle through his assortment of neckties as you leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. the sound of fabric swept over another filled the silence while dick began narrowing down different options, pondering.

“…because it’s cute to have matching ties.” amusing yet annoying, that was all you could say about this argument—if you could even call it that.

“then what’s the problem-“

“just not tonight, y/n.” turning back, dick squinted as he held several different neckties out towards you as if you were a ken doll, framing the accessory just beneath your chin so it would align with your actual tie.

“oh my god, then why don’t you change your tie?”

“blue looks great on me.”

“okay, well so do i?”

“washes you out a bit.” you scoffed. usually you’d fire back with a banter, but you’re much too annoyed to keep this going. instead, you neared closer to him only to fall back onto the bed with a composed sigh, arms sprawled out to open the space between your chest, expecting dick to change your tie for you.

“how about red?”

“dick, i swear to god-“

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

[monsterinmyboxers-deactivated20]

Hope you're having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request Ghost x Top Male Reader with the prompt 'you blush so beautifully'

Please and thank you

prompts.

⠀⠀⠀⠀“you blush so beautifully.” — s. r.

it was in the heat of the moment.

simon wasn't thinking. he couldn't think. not with you moving so slowly, teasing him, brushing against all the right places inside him.

and it was becoming so hard to breathe with his mask on, so he did the only thing that could possibly fix that — ripping it off.

he'd grip the fabric and pull it off his head, harsh pants filling the room right after he did. and at that simple motion, everything seemed to stop. your movements, your praising words, and maybe even your brain as you saw him, his face, for the first time. simon only just realized that, once he saw your reaction.

"i-i didn't.." he was going to speak, but something stopped him. no, he wasn't exactly interrupted, rather distracted by the way you looked at him. it was like you were infatuated, silently admiring every inch of his visage. your hand would reach up, slowly resting on his cheek with your thumb gently caressing the skin beneath his eye. you didn't fail to see, or feel the heat coming off his face. a smile pulled at your lips, hips subtly grinding once again making simon bite back a moan.

"you blush so beautifully." such soft-spoken words came from you, but they made his heart beat so quickly. he didn't know what to say, every word seemed to die on his tongue. the way you touch him, talk to him, it made him feel so warm. "you're so beautiful."

jesus, you were going to be the death of him.

[mattalit]

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (here!)

It had begun to feel like everyday was the same. Another mission, another sore body, and another dreary day. When does it ever stop repeating? (M/N) thought, throwing his hands up in a painful stretch.

“Sore?” asked a deep voice.

“Always sore,” (M/N) responded, rolling his left shoulder. His left shoulder had always been weaker, and apparently—(M/N) could hardly believe it—slamming it into buildings made it weaker, more painful. “Everyday we wake up, risk our lives, then come back. When was the last time you’ve had a day off? A true day off?” He paused for a moment. “It’s either work or recovery.”

Ghost didn’t respond right away. “It’s part of the job, sergeant.”

“I suppose so.”

“We do it to protect people.”

“I know, it’s just…” (M/N) sighed. “…Sometimes I wonder if that’s completely true.” (M/N) looked over to Simon. He couldn’t read his face (That’s the problem with a mask, isn’t it?). “Not that I’m getting cold feet, Lieutenant. I’m only tired.” When Ghost didn’t respond, he wondered if he had said something wrong, and he began to pace nervously. “Not… not tired of the job, of course, but… tired from the job, and… and tired from myself.”

“From?”

“Yeah.” He stopped walking, and his shoulders (still sore) and head dropped in defeat. “From,” he mumbled to the floor. He hardly noticed when Ghost placed his arm across his shoulder and pulled him into a mock side hug. (M/N) leaned his body into his chest and checked his watch. Oh right, he thought. I never replaced it.

“When will you ever get that old thing fixed?” Ghost asked. “I’ve never seen that piece of shit work.”

(M/N) smiled, but he knew Ghost couldn’t see his face. “The next day I get a break, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” came the response. He could feel the sound reverberate in Ghost’s chest echoing like a gunshot in an empty room. His heart must be in there somewhere, he thought, but he couldn’t hear the beat. 

He straightened up immediately when Ghost removed his arm, and he looked up at his masked face. Everyday is Halloween, he thought stepping back.

“I got you something,” Ghost said, reaching into his pocket.

(M/N) tilted his head. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Ghost didn’t say anything. Instead, he presented the man with a plain box. If that’s a ring, he thought, he better be ready to sign a prenup.

“Open it.”

(M/N) accepted the box. It was larger than a ring (Thank God) and heavier, too. Tentatively, he pulled the box open. Inside sat a glorious piece of carved metal. Two hands, numbers… a working watch. Unlike his rickety old gold watch, this one was shiny and silver. It ticked much the same as the one on his wrist was supposed to. The face was simple: white with black numbers in Roman Numerals. I, II, III, IV… all the way to XII. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking up to Ghost. “Is this really for me?” 

He only received a nod in response. 

“I love it,” he said. He took off his gold and replaced it with silver. The perfect fit. He admired how it hugged his wrist. And it worked. He could hardly explain why he wore his broken watch for so long. But this… this watch ticked. It was a proper watch—a proper clock, in fact. He paused, then looked up to Ghost and added, “And I love you.”

[ghosts-cant-sleep]

This is my first time requesting on this account hshshs- and quick question, do you use anons or not? If you do can I use the 🔭 anon? thank you!

S7 Spencer Reid x male reader, where the reader works at a cafe Spencer frequently visits because of the reader, he doesn’t know how to ask the reader out so he came to the BAU for advice. Feel free to add your own twist :3

Fluff please and thank you :)

all the strangers of whom I’ve fell quite dear

dr spencer reid x male! barista! reader

warnings: just pure fluff, flirty reader pulling the fake confidence card, spencer has vocabulary rizz, i added yet another SMALL supernatural reference cus i love that terrible awful no good very bad show, not proof read

notes: i heart dr spencer reid sm <3 and yes i do use anons!! on my former account i had a 🪷 anon but i don't think he ever found my account :( anyways hope u enjoy 🔭 !!

Spencer usually grabbed his coffee from the old, busted up machine in the coffee bar back at quantico-- never quiet hot enough, and never quite strong enough. Still, he could never justify spending five bucks on a cup of coffee until today. Granted, if that five dollar coffee reflected back on it's taste, then maybe that'd explain the lukewarm, dull FBI coffee.

He hadn't even planned on making any extra stops before work, and certainly not for his necessary dosage of caffeine into his body, but as cheesy as it sounds, something seemed to call him to the little hole-in-the-wall shop.

So, with his few extra minutes he'd accidentally given himself before he had to be at his subway stop, he stood anxiously in line.

The aroma of roasted coffee beans wafted sweetly through the air, feeling somewhat comforting. Around his was the light, hushed rumble of voices. Weather if be friends enjoying their morning coffee dates, or busy people clad in suits pinching their phones between their cheek and shoulder as they haphazardly stir in their sugar, they only added to the ambiance of the quaint little cafe.

"Next!" A voice shouted from in front of him. He'd been too busy people watching to realize he'd been next in line.

He steps forward, already mumbling a small apology, before he brought his eyes to meet the barista. His words get caught in his throat in an instant.

A small smile pulls at your lips as you observe him, his somewhat shocked expression amusing. You captivate him almost instantly in a way no one else ever quite has. Your eyes seem to gently hold him in place, only comparable to a cat with it's gaze fixated in place, keeping a mouse at bay.

When the silence between you two grows almost awkward, you snap. him from his daze. "Excuse me? Sir?"

Spencer blinks back, an embarrassed laugh catching in his throat as he averts his gaze with a shake of his head. "Sorry, uh," he beings to stumble over his words. "This is my first time here-- i'm not quite sure what to get."

He's grateful when you turn your head, eyeing the menu hanging up behind the counter, right above the prep station. "Well, some of our fan-favorites are the lattes and frappes. For our lattes, people tend to go for our salted caramel mocha, our normal caramel mocha, cinnamon dulce, vanilla-- oh, but if you're looking for a frappe the vanilla bean créme, matcha, another caramel, or roasted white chocolate are all pretty damn good." You look back to him, your explanations obviously going void as you see his puzzled expression. "Anything catch your eye?" You have an almost sarcastically coy smile.

"Uh, can i just get a..." He struggles to find the right words. "Normal coffee?" The second his words leave his mouth, he grows worried that he's coming off as some coffee-house-hating-priss, but his fears ease as you let out a small chuckle.

"Coming right up." You grab a to-go cup from the side of the register, your other hand reaching for a sharpie, its cap already stuck on the other end. You have little dots and flicks of ink on your hands that he finds somewhat curious. "What's the name for the order?"

"Uh, Spencer."

"Spencer." You repeat. He likes the way it sounds when you say it, dragging out the syllables as you scribble down his name, your quick, somewhat clumsy penmanship explaining away the marks littering your knuckles. "I'll have that right out for you, Spence." The glance you give him through the thick of your lashes is what kept him coming back day after day.

That was a few weeks ago. Whenever he could, he'd make sure to stop by, if not for the genuinely decent coffee, then for your short little interactions. Seeing you became a highlight of his long, often stressful day. However, and unexpectedly long case kept him out of state for a long week. Having to again deal with crappy police station coffee only strengthened the appreciation he had for that little coffee shop.

The first morning he could, he was quick to walk back through the doors, the scent of coffee now somewhat comforting.

When the bell above the door rings, Your eyes snap to his, greeting him with an almost relieved smile. Spencer takes his place behind the customer you're currently dealing with, who you quickly rush through his payment. When he walks off, Spencer is quick to take his place.

"Man, I thought you found a new barista to flirt with." You give him a small pout. He finds it strange you're the one accusing him of flirting.

He laughs, looking down at his hands as if with guilt. "Sorry-- none of us expected such a long case."

"Case?" You quirk a curious brow. "What are you, some kind of detective?"

"Close- I uh, I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit."

"Oh shit." You blink back in surprise, the look of impressment that washed over your features fills Spencer with pride. "FBI? I guess that means I gotta call you 'Agent Spencer' now, huh?"

"Dr. Reid, actually."

"Hm. Now you're just full of surprises aren't you?" When all he can shoot back is an embarrassed smile, you look back to your registers screen. "So, one coffee with half our sugar supply?"

"Actually, I was thinking about switching it up today."

"Oh? And what'd you have in mind?"

"Uh, I'll do whatever you get."

"Really?"

"Really."

Your grin widens. "Alright, one double dirty chai tea latte comin' right up." You look up at him. "That work for you, Doctor?"

"It's perfect." For whatever godforsaken reason, he simply can't keep his mouth shut, his brain immediately barfing out whatever words were racing through his brain. "Uh, did you know the word 'chai' comes from the hindi word 'tea', which means a mix of various spices steeped into a tea-like drink-- which itself comes from the chinese word for tea, 'cha'?"

"I did not." You answer truthfully, again looking rather impressed. You glance back to his order. "Well, then in that case I'll have your double dirty tea tea latte ready in a moment."

Spencer stepps aside, but still his gaze seemed glued to you-- watching as you dealt with customers, made their drinks, what looked like effortlessly perfecting a tulip of steamed milk on the surface of a latte, flinching away as the tips of your fingers brush against the hot porcelain mug, cursing under your breath,

There was something about the way you now gingerly ran the pads of your fingers over the cusp of the lid of the cup you were working on that told him now would be the right time to look away, pretending he wasn't staring you down like an eager puppy this whole time.

His gut was proven right.

"Spencer!" The way in which his name rolled off your tongue felt more like a greeting, than simply calling him forward.

He stood sheepishly from his seat, approaching the counter with a smile.

You stood resting the heels of your palms on the surface of the counter, head tilted up and to the side as you peer up at spencer with a cat-like grin. "Hope you like it." You nods to the cup. "I'd hate to make you pay for something you end up not drinking." You frown slightly, as if in hindsight.

Spencer slides his drink forward, the warmth spreading quickly to his hands. He opens his mouth to say something, but finds the words caught in his mouth.

Your brows furrow, somewhat concerned. Your uneasy, wordles gaze draws the question from Spencers throat, albeit roughly.

"Well I was, uh, I was thinking that-- well, of course only if you'd want-- that we could maybe-" He interrupts himself with a nervous cough, avoiding your increasingly confused look. "We could-"

Suddenly a deep voice bellows out from kitchen, grabbing your attention immediately. "Hey kid," an older, plump man with a deep complexion and moles littering his face peeks out from the doorway, not seeming to see Spencer at all. "I need you on the window." With his thick, dark mustache, the way he talks almost looks animated.

You give your boss a firm nod. "Yes sir!" You look back to spencer. "Sorry, you were saying?"

He hesitates bere shaking his head. "Uh, nevermind."

"Alright then. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

You send him off with a wink.

Spencer now sat his desk in Quantico, staring down at his still warm cup. His eyes trace the black ink scribbled onto the surface. 'S-P-E-N-C-E-R', the flicks of your sharpie, the way you wrote his name, the small heart you'd scribbled beside it-- it all took his breath away. Literally. He hadn't realized he'd stopped breathing until he'd finally taken a big gulp of air.

Emily, in turn, stared him down. with a curious narrowing of her eyes, she brought her mug up to her lips as she stood at the coffee bar with her two coworkers.

Garcia, who was currently telling a story that had gone void to Emily, turns. "-And I was thinking 'that's crazy', and then she-- why aren't you paying attention?" Garcies head snapping to Emily with a somewhat offended expression in turn diverted Morgans attention onto Prentiss.

Emily only holds up a finger, shushing she two. She wordlessly nods to Reid, still looking down longingly at his cup.

In no time at all, the group's interest is piqued, and with so little as a shared glance, they're already making their way to his desk.

"Hey, Reid." Emily tries to casually call as she approaches. "Whats up?"

Her words snap reid out of his daze, quickly setting down his cup, trying to subtly turn his name away from the group. "Uh, nothing much. Why?" He knows too well 'subtle' means virtually nothing when around some of the smartest minds.

"What's with the cup?" She asks with a smirk.

"Uh. Nothing."

"Really?"

Before Spencer can reply, Morgan's already snatched the cup from his desk. By the time Spencer even thought to grab it back, Morgan's face has stretched into a wide grin, turning it wardards the girls, who in turn to look down to Reir, a surprised, almost proud look washing over their face.

Instantly, Spencer goes to hide his face in the palm of his hands, not eager to hear their teasing.

"No way-"

"Someone has a crush on our little boy wonder?"

"Are they hot?"

Emily nudges Spencer on his soldier, leading him to give her a small glance from the palm of his hand. She's quiet for a second before she speaks, her smile even evident in her voice. "Who is it?" Is all she asks.

He sits, tearing his face from his hands just to stare them down as they sit in his lap. He hesitates before speaking. "He's a barista at this coffee shop. I stop by before work every morning."

Morgans gaze snaps to Garcia, both holding a small grin. He turns his attention back to Reid. "And why haven't you asked him out yet?

"I tried to this morning!" He says almost defensively. "But I got all...nervous." His big brown eyes would've read as sad, if not for the grin he tries to force down as he mind brings images of your face to his attention. He looks at Emily, blurting out a soft whisper. "He's so pretty." You hair pushed back by your work hat, dreamy eyes holding his captive, a teasing, knowing smirk pulling at your lips. "And- and he's so flirty, and bold, and-"

"Oh, c'mon!" Garcia finally steps in, resting her hands on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging shake. "He so likes you! Just ask him out!"

He shakes his head. "What of i'm reading too much into it, and he's just like that with everyone?"

"Is he like that with everyone?" Emily asks, seemingly already knowing the answer.

After a beat, Spencer shakes his head. He easily recalls the way he'd carefully watched you interact with your other regulars-- examining your body language, trying to read your lips, the way you looked at any other familiar face. "No." He finally answers, almost defeatedly.

The rest of their 'chat' is spent trying to give Spencer pointed-- although truly it's just Emily and Morgan arguing over how it would be best to approach you-- although neither honestly knew if their advice would work on a man. The final consensus was for spencer to 'be himself' which was about as helpful as a solar panel in a cave.

That next morning, he gave himself an additional fifteen minutes to pace around his apartment running over what he was going to say to you. His pre-planned speech was re-worded over and over again in his head about ten different times before he even thinks about stepping out of his apartment.

His panic ceases to falter even during his walk to the coffee shop, and of course only grows as he finally works up the courage to even open the door to the damn place.

When he walks in he doesn't dare meet your eyes, instead pretending to answer a text on his phone. When the few people in front of him make their orders all too quickly, he's rushing through his little speech over and over, ringing through his ears. Much too soon, he's next in line.

He looks up, and just like that, his eidetic memory has failed him. Your smile greets him as he had hoped it would-- if he were an ounce more delusional, he'd say you look just as excited to see him as he is to see you.

"Hey there Doc," He's thankful that if you do see how nervous he is, you don't comment on it. "How'd you like the latte?"

He doesn't have the gall to tell you it had gotten cold before he'd gotten the chance to enjoy it fully, due to the intervention he'd unknowingly bestowed upon himself. "It was great!"

"Yeah? You wanna go with the chai again, or go back to your boring ass coffee? Are are you feeling something else today?" You wiggle your eyebrows a few times.

"Uh, surprise me." Spencer says with a small shrug, having been so nervous and caught up with what he'd say to you that he completely forgot this was, infact, a coffee shop.

"Oh, feeling adventurous! I like it." You send him a wink, making a few selections on your screen. He can only manage a smile back.

When you send him off, he takes his usual seat, this time staring down at his shoes as his heart clatters loudly against his chest. The time it takes before you finally call him up was somehow both agonizingly slow, yet too quick all at once.

He walks up, his heart ready to leep out of his throat.

"It's salted caramel" You explain, sliding the cup towards him. "I figured you like your coffee real sugary-- thought this might curb your sweet tooth for today."

Spencer lets out a breathy, clearly anxious laugh as he looks down at his drink, not saying a word.

"Is something wrong with it?" You look down at his drink somewhat anxiously yourself. "If you don't like caramel I can-"

"No, it's not that!" He shakes his head. "I just, uh." He makes the wonderful mistake of meeting your eyes once again, his gaze softening as his mouth runs dry. His eyes almost longingly stare into yours.

You again quirk a flirty smile. "Not for nothing, doc, but the last time somebody looked at me like that-"

"Would you like to go out with me?"

You grow silent. You're mouth lays agape, your eyes wide. For a moment, spencer thinks that maybe he's got you all wrong-- that maybe he'd misread you entirles. His fear dissipates as he sees your cocky grin falter into a sheepish smile. It's now obvious to him that you aren't quite used to getting flirted back with like this, at the very least not so straightforwardly. He wishes he could've manages to flirt back earlier on-- assuming you could even call this flirting-- that almost starstruck look in your eye is everything.

Your flustered, shocked state rings evident in your voice, giving Spencer his own little boost to his confidence. "Uh, no yeah, I'd love that."

Spencer smiles. "Great. I dont have work tomorrow."

"Me neither!" you purse your lips at the eagerness in your own voice. "What did you, uh, what were you thinking...?"

He did in fact not think past the initial question- he's forced to improvise. "Dinner? Around eight, maybe?"

You try to force down a giddy smile. "Sounds perfect."

"Great." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Uh, do you mind?" He holds it out towards mc

"hm? Oh, yeah! for sure!" You grabs the phone from spencer, hands shaking as you punches in your number, then name. You hands it back to him, who swiftly slides it back into his pocket.

He grabs his drink from the counter. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

[mattalit]

Belated Beloved

Gaz x Male!Reader.

CW: alcohol consumption, swearing, light sexual content.

Established relationship, dom reader.

Like most bars on a Tuesday afternoon, Bottle Grounds Pub was empty, and (M/N), like most aspiring alcoholics (of which he was not), was sucking down his third shot. Whiskey from the bartender’s well—the cheapest option if you can suffer the taste. Oddly oaky, (M/N) thought, ceremoniously slamming the shot glass back onto the bar.

He doesn’t wave down the bartender, but she takes his empty shot glass regardless.

“I’d offer you another,” she starts, looking in pity into the red-rimmed eyes of her patron, “but I really think you could use a cup of water.”

(M/N) waved her off. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” She offers him a small smile  before going off to sweep some unused corner of the bar.

(M/N) rested his head on his hand, sighing, and checked his phone. Almost 4:15 p.m. and no texts, no calls—hell, not even an email. He said he’d call, (M/N) thought, rolling his eyes. So much for that. Of course, the sun was still up, so he couldn’t be too upset… but it was the nature of the beast, (M/N) considered, to be at least disappointed. Besides, this wasn’t the first time that Gaz had (allegedly) stood him up. He was a busy fellow, and his schedule was never consistent.

Like a cloud on a windy day, 4:15 came and went, its shape long forgotten—then 4:20, 4:25, 4:30, 4:35…

Well, this is bullshit, he thought. I’m going home. He left two crumpled $20 bills on the counter.

“Are you sure you should be driving?” the bartender called as he stood to leave.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I don’t even feel tipsy.”

He drove home at a leisurely pace; it wasn’t like he was expecting anyone anymore. Fucker’ll show up when he’s ready, he thought, easing his car into his apartment’s designated parking spot. Whatever.

When he entered his apartment, he kicked his shoes off rather violently—they weren’t cooperating—and threw himself onto his sofa, facing the ceiling. His checked his phone. A notification..! Ah, a spam email. At least scammers love me, he thought, dejected, throwing his phone to the floor. He heaved an impressively melodramatic sigh.

Welp, sleep it is, he thought, laying one arm over his eyes to block the light and the other onto his stomach.

He dreamed sweetly of his first date with Gaz—a rather cliché mid-day summer picnic orchestrated by yours truly, (M/N). Flowering chrysanthemums and weeping willows, ducks gliding along a freshwater pond, and behind in a bush, shielded from the prying eyes of children and adults alike, (M/N)’s tongue halfway down poor old Kyle’s throat and hand shoved down the front of Kyle’s pants. The good ol’ days, he remembered, only half asleep, when he got home on time.

In the bliss of loving memories, (M/N) missed the sound of his door being unlocked, opened, and consequently closed again. He also missed the heavy footfall of a tired soldier and the quiet call, “(M/N)?”

He did not miss, though, the heavy body haphazardly falling on top of his own.

(M/N) jolted at the sudden weight. He threw his arm off his face and looked down.

“Gaz,” he groaned, “you heavy motherfucker.”

“I’m not that heavy!”

“It’s all muscle, babe, don’t worry.”

Gaz smiled, content. “I missed you.” He wrapped his arms around (M/N)’s torso, a gesture (M/N) returned.

“I missed you, too.”

He sniffed. “You smell like alcohol.”

(M/N) deadpanned, pulling his head up to stare at Gaz. “We were supposed to meet at Bottle Grounds at 3:30,” he said. “You said you’d call if you were going to be late.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “We got back later than I thought we would and I forgot to call.”

“It’s whatever,” he replied. “At least you’re here now.” (M/N) kissed his forehead and traced a hand down his spine, sliding it into Gaz’s back pocket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gaz asked, teasingly.

“Nothing.” He placed a kiss behind Gaz’s ear. “I was thinking about our first date. In the park.” He could feel the temperature of Gaz’s head rise under his lips. He squeezed his ass; Gaz squeaked. “And we did some risqué, rather gay, activities…”

“I remember,” he breathlessly responded, tilted his head to face (M/N). (M/N) feverishly kissed him, tongue easily gliding past his lips. He licked his teeth, tasted his spit, sucked on his tongue—a soft moan. His or Gaz’s? He couldn’t be sure. (M/N) pulled away and rested his forehead on Gaz’s.

“Let’s recreate it.”

[mattalit]

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 2)

Ghost x Male Reader

Part One | Part Two (here!) | Part Three

“It’s raining.”

Ghost looked across the room to the (H/C) haired man. (M/N) had placed a bookmark into his book and placed it onto his lap. He stared out of the window into the dark wet night.

“It’s raining,” (M/N) repeated, nodding to himself. “Can’t you hear the rain?”

He could, in fact, hear the small consistent pitters and patters of rain hitting the window.

“I can,” said Ghost.

(M/N) hummed in response, but he didn’t look over. “Do you like when it rains, Lieutenant?”

“Occasionally.”

“It’s relaxing, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

(M/N) offered a contented sigh and a small dreamy smile. He went to check his watch. Its hands were unmoving. Oh, right, he thought, I haven’t gotten it fixed yet.

(M/N) had established a his own personal sanctuary in the corner of the 141’s so-called ‘living room.’ He had dragged a chair and lamp over to the window and cocooned himself in a blanket. After he had his early morning tea, he slept the day away, and, waking at a healthy 6 p.m., he finally allowed himself to relax with a book—or a play, rather. Hamlet was the natural choice. Who doesn’t love a tragedy?

At some point—(M/N) wasn’t entirely sure when—Ghost had decided to join him in his corner. Not adjacent, no—that would be far too close—but parallel, facing each other. (M/N) discarded his copy of Hamlet onto the floor, and with his mind fueled by the melodrama of nightly rain, he let out a second contented sigh and laid his heavy attention onto Ghost.

“Forgive me if this is too personal, Lieutenant—“

“Simon,” Ghost interrupted. “Simon is fine.”

A corner of (M/N)’s lip twitched up. “Of course, Simon.” He paused. He liked the way his name rolled through his mouth and off his lips—smooth and sweet like freshly churned buttercream icing. “When was the last time you’ve felt peace?”

Ghost let his brown eyes meet (M/N)’s (E/C). He held his gaze for a moment—Ghost’s own severe even in the best of times, (M/N)’s calm even in the worst of times—and let the question linger. When he finally chose to respond, he responded decisively. “Right now.”

(M/N) tilted his head. “You mean that?”

“Yes.”

“Because of me?” (M/N) wiggled his eyebrows flirtatiously once, twice, and winked.

“Yes.” A single nod, and, more decisively, “Because of you.”

Tentatively, (M/N) stood and took one step, two steps, three, towards Ghost.

“Is this okay?” he asked in a whisper, slowly leaning in to Ghost.

The breathless reply: “Yes.”

(M/N) settled himself onto Ghost’s lap, straddling him. “Still okay?” he mused. Like a man calms a dog, he placed a gentle hand onto Ghost’s cheek.

No reply, but a nod.

“Can I see your face, pretty boy?”

Again, no response. (M/N) removed his hand and lowered it to his side. A soft (practically embarrassing) breathy gasp left his mouth when a large, strong hand grasped his wrist. He watched in eager silence as Ghost’s free hand trailed to his face.

He lifted the bottom half and, in one fluid motion, removed the rest.

“Woah.” (M/N)’s hand returned to Ghost’s face, tracing his eyebrow, his cheekbone, his jawline, and finally, his lips. “You weren’t joking.”

And there, to the sounds of rain and in the veil of night, lips met lips.

[frenchbreads-writing]

The truck was quiet as Ghost drove, the sound of rain hitting the roof and the uncomfortable cold coming from the shattered windows accompanied him, you, and Soap.

You sat uncomfortably squeezed between the two men somehow managing to fall asleep with the freezing air on the back of your neck.

Soap kept stealing glances at Ghost looking as if he had something to say.

“Hey, Lt?”

Ghost looked away from the road for a moment to glance at Soap who had a mischievous smile.

“What, Johnny?”

“Why does (Y/n) call you babygirl?”

Ghost’s grip tightened on the wheel, sitting up straight and not looking away from the road.

“How about we stop talking for a little while.”

[mattalit]

A Broken Clock Never Ticks (pt. 1)

Ghost x Male!Reader

Part One (here!) | Part Two | Part Three

3 a.m., or, more specifically, 3:13: a late night or early morning depending on whom you asked. For (M/N), it was, quite unfortunately, a late night. He was used to late nights, of course; it was not uncommon for missions to dwell well into the next day, or week, or month, and today’s mission (well, tonight’s, technically) was no different.

Another successful mission meant another full twenty-four hours (minimum) of a sore, achy body. (M/N) couldn’t say post mission was his favorite part of his job—far from it, in fact—but he couldn’t deny the rejuvenating euphoria of a hot shower, of which he had already taken, and a cup of tea after a rough mission.

And so he stood, waiting, leaning against the kitchen counter. In the soft yellow light of the stove, he offered his watch a passing glance. The glass had been broken during today’s mission, cracks obscuring the unticking hands beneath. He would need to replace the batteries and fix the glass. Maybe I should just get a new watch, he thought, passively. But I doubt Price would give me a day off for a stupid watch.

The quiet tick! of the electric kettle sounded quickly but decisively. Water boiled—another successful mission. (M/N) rummaged through his tea options. Peppermint, chamomile, chai, dandelion… Too many options.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping, sergeant?” a gravelly voice called.

(M/N) turned his head towards the kitchen’s entrance. “I could say the same to you, Lieutenant.” Chamomile is good for sleep, or so Mom says. “Can I interest you in a cup of tea? Water’s hot.”

“Hm,” Ghost sounded, moving his heavy body towards (M/N).

I can practically hear the creak of his bones, (M/N) thought, dunking his tea bag into the boiling water. He off-handedly noted his bruised knuckles, and he took a moment to stare at his broken watch, the hands perpetually stuck.

“I broke my watch earlier,” (M/N) said, moving his wrist to Ghost. Ghost grabbed his wrist, inspecting the watch. “I suppose it must’ve happened when I was slammed into that wall. It’s funny, though—isn’t it?—that you know exactly what time it broke. 11:32 and 43 seconds. Only… what? …three, four, hours ago? Oh, how fast time changes.”

“Why didn’t the clock work?” Ghost asked, letting his wrist go.

“…” (M/N) looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because it needed a hand.”

“Ghost…” (M/N) let out a small laugh. He took a sip of his tea. “That was terrible.”

Ghost didn’t say anything; (M/N) assumed he was smiling, but one could never know what happened under a mask.’

“Forgive me if this is rude, Ghost, but… under the mask—are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite.”

“Are you willing to prove it?”

Ghost paused, side-eyeing the shorter man. “To you?” (M/N) nodded. Ghost paused again. “Eventually.”

(M/N) hummed, content with the answer. He clinked his mug with Ghost’s. “Well, cheers, Lieutenant,” he said, before lazily sauntering his way to the entrance. In the entrance, he stopped for a moment. “Good night, Ghost.”

“Good night, (M/N).”

[bumblesimagines]

❛  i think in a way i’ve always been in love with you.  ❜

- Maddy

❛  i think in a way i’ve always been in love with you.  ❜

pronouns for y/n: He/Him/His

As the sky darkened with the fast approach of night, the streetlights flickered on and casted an amber glow on your figure. You rested your arm on the armrest of the wooden bench and watched the smoke from the lit cigarette rise. You hadn't touched one in a while, not since your ex had expressed a dislike for the smell but you couldn't care less now, not after what she had done.

"I thought you quit that shit." A familiar voice rang out, pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, you watched the slender girl approach you as she stuffed the keys of her car into her pocket. Seeing Maddy outside so casually felt odd when you were used to seeing her glammed up at school or at parties. Yet she now sported a natural makeup look, a hoodie, and biker shorts. Her hair had been messily tied back and there was a distinct exhausted look in her eye.

"The smell reminds me of better times." You muttered, putting it out by pressing it into the armrest and flicking it into the nearby trashcan. Maddy hummed and plopped down on the bench, tucking one leg in.

"Cassie?"

"Mhm.."

"Fuck them." Maddy leaned her head against her hand, her acrylic nails gently scraping against her scalp. You smirked at her words and lightly shook your head, a chuckle leaving you.

If you would've been told back in middle school that you'd be sitting on a park bench with Maddy Perez silently both hating and missing Cassie Howard, you would've laughed. But here you were; sitting with Maddy fucking Perez because your ex had decided to sleep with Nate Jacobs.

"I expected that type of shit from Nate, but Cassie? Especially with you as her boyfriend? Fuck, I kinda envied her. She seemed so happy and every time I saw the two of you being so sweet... I wanted that. I'm pretty sure you would've given her the world if she asked for it. And she threw it all away." Maddy frowned, lifting her head and looking down at her nails as she toyed with them.

Snorting softly, you tilted your head up toward the sky. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with me."

When Maddy didn't respond with a snarky or disgusted comeback, you looked back at her with raised brows. Her silence spoke volumes but when you took in her pursed lips and lowered gaze, it solidified what were supposed to be playful words.

"I think in a way I’ve always been in love with you." She mumbled, voice barely audible. Inhaling deeply and looking at you, she shrugged lightly. "You're nothing like Nate and yet, everything I want. Cassie lost a good guy. I hope you know that."

[dumps-write]

Aqua-drowned Comfort

(Part one of Summer Escapades)

Dylan Lenivy x Male Reader

Word#: 4.4K

Synopsis: Following the silence that envelop the camp during nightfall, you had a brilliant idea of pulling Dylan (the only one awake + your favorite counselor-buddy) along to your plan of sneaking out and swimming in the lake. You didn't expect that Dylan would be in such a bad mood, so you cheered him up only for things to start getting heated.

TWs and CWs // Explicit Make-out session, Skinny Dipping, Bad Mood Dylan / Snappy Dylan, Bad Words, Reader's personality is as the same as the usual Dylan aka they're also a clown, Mentions of the campers, Other counselors are mentioned here as well, Blossoming Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Camp Crushes Mentioned, Emma and Reader are besties as well(implied), Dylan and Reader are somehow good swimmers.

A/N: A series for Dylan? Oh I couldn't have- This account was supposed to be for multiple fandoms but my Quarry imaginations has not yet burnout so.... You all have to keep up with my Dylan simp train cuz I'm like the driver of said-train. As always, please leave thoughts and stuff cuz I appreciate it alot! Oh and the hot stuff (ifykyk) would be on the part 2!

Dylan was closing up the radio hut for the night of the full moon, kids are already asleep in their cabins and other counselors are probably too. You creeped behind Dylan and tapped the tall man on the shoulder.

You felt his body jump at the sudden contact, Dylan looked back slowly and saw your face with an amused grin. “Really, dude? Shouldn't you be asleep?” he aggravates, locking the door to the radio hut before fully turning to you; a questioning look on his face, raising both his arm to his sides. “Out with it..?”

“Can't sleep, so.... how about me and you go on an adventure..? A planned one, of course.” You humbly persuaded, ignoring Dylan's unhappy tone. Your eyes wandered around the dark silent cabins and not a single peep could be heard.

Dylan raised an eyebrow at you before dryly laughing, clearly bothered by your 'plans'. “Nuh-uh, We'd both get fired definitely.” Dylan shook his head, twirling the keys to the shack in his fingers.

You looked at Dylan like he was a party pooper, that's weird, really weird. “Oh, I hear that now? Mr. H’s car is gone therefore he's not here, plus we'd only get fired if someone decides to show and tell. Come on, sneak out into the night with me, man.” Huffing as you tried to coax Dylan into carrying out a super secret mission.

“Look, dude... I have to wake up tomorrow early for my announcements. Hm... but, I'll bite, so what is this 'plan' of yours?” Dylan queried, his fingers making air quotes.

Dylan walked towards his cabin, you striding alongside him with furrowed eyebrows — getting slightly bored of Dylan. “Skinny Dipping.” you deadpanned.

Dylan looked at you with a weird expression, tripping over a rock as you let out a chuckle, catching him in the near-demise of his pretty face. “I’m going to sleep.” he gawked after thanking you for stopping his fall.

“Boo~ come on! It'll be fun, plus you seem like you're in a sour mood for some reason...” You try to convince one last time, putting on the most join-worthy face with a goofy grin.

Dylan hesitates turning on the door to his cabin and lovely bed, he looks back to you with a resigned sigh.

“Fine, BUT, I won't go full-on commando on the lake, alright?” he said, lifting a finger at you to make sure you knew he was serious; to which he rarely ever was.

A small celebratory cheer slipped out of you before you covered your mouth with your hands, looking around the place with no soul in sight to make sure no one really heard you.

“Alright, alright... I just needed someone to accompany me, that's all.. Also how'd you know I was referring to the lake, we have a pool, you know?”

“I saw a CCTV camera near the pool area, so I don't think you'd want Mr. H to see you with your dong waggling out and all.” Dylan responds, finally smiling lightly ever since the first time you approached him in the radio shack earlier. He looked at you smugly as you pulled at his hand to go down the small cabin staircase.

You gasped scandalously at Dylan's sentence before a small chuckle left your lips.

“Excuse me?! But... Fair enough, but why do you think I wouldn't want that?” you gaped with jaw drop, nodding your head in question of Dylan accusatorily, laughing lightly at the morphing of Dylan's smug face into the 'are you serious' expression.

“Don't give me that look, Mr. 'I make juice jokes about Mr. H' Lenivy.” You sassed, huffing slightly at Dylan's for-the-first-time stoic behavior.

The walk on the way to the lake was long through the dense, dark forest but Dylan kept you company and finally started to seem more like himself rather than his earlier 'Ryan-like personality'. However, you were worried at the way Dylan avoided your questions throughout the walk about his bad mood earlier. Whenever you raised that question, he managed to switch the topics to something else like an expert. It was worrying alright, you have to ask for the gossip tomorrow with Emma or get it out of him during the full-moon sneaky swim on the lake. You also brought a bag, you hid in the back of the outside of your cabin, it contained clothes, just in case your clothes or Dylan's got wet.

“Also, dude, how come you were still awake? The kids would definitely not approve of you leaving their cabins without supervision, especially not the twins.” Dylan asked, playing with the keys to the radio shack in his fingers, a relieved sigh leaving his mouth as the lake docks were visible.

“Oh my god, don't even mention them. I snuck out after putting the whiners to sleep, also, Didn't I begged you to let us switch cabins cuz my group will kill me literally before I reach a ripe age. They are devouring my sanity...” You cried, an aggrieved expression visible on your face as Dylan tried to keep himself from bursting into laughter but ultimately, failed to do so.

“Don't laugh at my suffering, you dick.” You reprimanded, clenching your fist — ready to hit this man with full force.

“Okay, okay...” He said, raising his hands up above his head in surrender.

“But sorry man, You're on your own there, my kids are not the best either but I sure as hell know that yours are a 100 percent times worse.”

“They are not! Um! The guy with the glasses, Uhm... Flinn! He's a good kid!” Scoffing at the audacity of Dylan and his ludicrous statement.

“Well, there's bound to be some good fruits among rotten ones but sorry to say, Y/N... That you have the most stinky basket of fruits.” He responds with a playful smile, but at the same time he consoled your unluckiness with his tone.

“You—! Ugh, that analogy isn't true, you know?!” You denied his words fully with a frown, his condescending grin looked very punchable right about now.

“Uh-huh, Keep telling that to yourself, it's totally bound to be factual at some point.” He sarcastically rebuked, swaying his arms as both your feet stepped on the planks of the docks, finally the cold lake breeze somehow relaxing both of you.

“Lucky Abi though, her basket of fruits has definitely the best ones.” Dylan added, taking in the breeze with a long inhale.

“I know right, Mr. H was unfair in separating them in groups, ugh.” You hissed with gritted teeth at the memory of your punishment for being late to the counselor's meeting on the first day aka he assigned the worst of the worst on you.

“Welp, we are here, Jesus christ... Let's stop talking about the brats and start swimming!” You cheered, Dylan laughing at your sheer enthusiasm and energy despite it being late at night.

You started removing pieces of clothing, starting from your top down to your underwear. As you hooked your fingers on your boxers, you stopped motions for a moment, the noticeable pair of eyes fixated on your strip tease made you freeze. “Dude, I can feel your eyes on the back of my head, some privacy.”

You looked back at Dylan with a leer, causing him to cough awkwardly before looking away. “Another man can look, it's not like you got a lot to hide anyway.” he said, rolling his eyes.

You huff out a laugh before removing your underwear completely and running toward the wooden docks’ end before diving a cannonball on the lake with a splash, a fun shout accompanying it.

“Come on, DJ! Get in here!” you said loudly, waving at him with a giddy expression.

“Yeah yeah... On my way, you... hyper-active merman..” he called out after you, going over to the edge of the dock before removing his shirt and frankly noticed your stare as your head was half-underwater with your other half plus body submerged, creating air bubbles with your mouth.

“That’s kinda creepy. Didn't you know that the bathroom waste from the island goes in there?” He explains, removing his pants before going in carefully with still his underwear on. Dylan's body shivered at the icy feeling of the water, being careful of ruining and wetting his hair.

“Gross.” you immediately straightened your body at Dylan's words of wisdom.

He chortles before swimming over to you as you were now face-to-face with the renowned DJ of the camp.

“Also, boooo! You should've removed all of it!” you jeered, giving Dylan two thumbs down to which Dylan responds with a roll of the eyes. “I told you earlier.” And now it was your turn to roll your own eyes.

“Nothing wrong with two guys fully naked on the lake, pussy.” you taunted him with a playful look, to which he gasped and dismissed with a disapproving exhale.

“Not every person is the same, you know?” he snapped, to which you furrowed your eyebrows out and looked at him in solemn apology.

“Sorry, sorry.. dude, what's up anyway? Spill, why are you upset?” you respond with both an apology and question causing Dylan to ignore the question and just nodded, “It’s fine.” he mumbled out, swimming away as your curiosity peaked at his abnormal and unusual behavior.

You grab him by the arm, causing the man's body to jolt and looking at you, confused. “No, I'm serious, Dylan. What's going on?” you said firmly, not letting this one go as you were not only curious but also extremely worried for Dylan.

“It’s nothing, just mood swings. Alright? Just let it go.” he responds, uttering it silently —barely to be heard as tried to shake your hand off of him, causing some small splashes of water

“No, you're not usually like this and mood swings are not a reason and you know it.” you were not buying his half-assed explanation as much as you wanted to mind your business, you just couldn't.

Dylan stayed silent, glancing at you hesitantly.

“Is it because... I invited you here..?” You said cautiously, your throat swallowing the horrible feeling creeping up your spine, the last thing you'd want is for Dylan to hate you. Your grip on his arm slowly loosening at the gloomy feeling. At some point, you thought all of the counselors hated you, well except Dylan who you get to make jokes and laugh with. His blasè-ness rubbing off of you as days pass by.

“No, No! God, no, it's not you.” Dylan chided, sighing in forfeit as he peeped at you in embarrassment. Dylan reached and squeezed your hand underwater.

“Just... I saw my summer crush, getting chummy with one of the other counselors.” He confessed awkwardly, his face tinting in red at what he just admitted. He bit his cheek as he waited for your much-needed response.

“Oh.” Was all you could mutter though as you released a long exhaled breath that you didn't know, you were holding.

You wanted to laugh at your earlier presumption but the air was a bit tense for you to do so. “Well, whoever they are, they're clearly missing out on a lot of things.” You said with a small chuckle scanning Dylan's face and the upper part of his torso which was visible thanks to the moonlight.

“Thanks, means a lot man.” He blurted, smiling awfully wide to himself.

You drag him by the hands harshly, surprising him and causing him to suddenly scream in the most high-pitched tone you could imagine, the sound of your loud-ass laugh echoing in the air as you pulled him towards the middle of the lake which he protested slightly before agreeing. His sulking face earlier was fully vaporized into nothing as his normal and usual goofy smile was back now.

You and Dylan were now underneath the docks, back against the wall as you both were tired from splashing and swimming around. His mood seemed to improve quickly.

So now, you are now having 1-on-1 conversation with Dylan again instead of playing around the water earlier. “So who's this summer crush?” You asked curiously, thinking of all the possibilities. Truth be told, you don't even know if Dylan likes men or women.

“Nope, not happening. What about you? I have a strong feeling that it's Mr. H~ At this point, you should ask for his number.” Dismissing the question entirely and started to tease you as he curled his eyebrows at you.

You stared at him with daggers for eyes.

“Kidding~ but I feel like if you did have a crush, Hm... Let me see... It would be Emma and like you always talk with her and— sometimes it looks more like you're his boyfriend rather than you-know-who.” Trying to expose your secret feelings harbored for one of the counselors for with his detective smarty skills.

“Emma, really? That's your take? She has a himbo for a boyfriend already.” Rolling your eyes at Dylan's take on your nonexistent love interest.

“Is that you admitting that you're a himbo? Plus nothing wrong with being interested with someone in a relationship, well, as long as you don't try and ruin it. See, forbidden love and all.” He exclaimed, a soft laugh following right after his words.

“Dick.” You croaked, ignoring his words and criticizing his terrible "cupid" know-hows.

“Love is not my fortè but..! My love detector is detecting beep beep... It say it's Emma, basically.” He finalized his answer with a smug expression, treating it as some kind of who wants to be a millionaire game. You scowl at him as he laughed to himself loudly. “You were the one who wanted to get me out of my bad mood, so now you have to deal with this dirtbag!”

“It's not Emma, or any of the counselors or anybody in general.” You certified seriously, moving closer to Dylan as your shoulder made contact with his.

“Okay, maybe now I should regret it. Like dude, you were like Ryan 2.0 but much more snappy.” you groaned out, taking a deep breath of midnight air. It was getting late.

Dylan huffed at the mention of Ryan’s name and poked you on the waist, “Mr.... Mounte... bank” He teased, trying not to cackle as he tilts his head side to side with each syllable.

Dylan looked at you with a cheeky grin as you smiled to yourself at his antics. “Oh my god, stop.” you laughed at the way he phrased it, nudging him with your elbow on the side as the atmosphere was filled with laughter as your eyes wandered upwards then the ambience suddenly came to a silent halt with Dylan and you just relaxing.

You look at the sky with a cheesy grin, “You know, what if I say something cliché, like moon's pretty but you're pret—” You stopped your words to avert your eyes to the silent guy.

Turning your head towards him — Dylan staring at you with a blank expression as if the cogs of his brain was turning. “Hello? Anybody home?” You were about to wave in his face in confusion of his stasis before you felt a sudden force shove you into the wall of the docks. “Ow—!”

As you were rammed suddenly, you felt something soft against your lips till you finally blink out of the confused state to find Dylan.

Dylan was the one who pushed you and now is kissing you with closed eyes, Dylan's hands on the side of your face as Dylan brushed out some hair strands on your forehead as he sensually kissed you.

He pulled away to look into your shocked eyes, blinking eyes.

“Sorry..” he mutters shortly, a look of embarrassment on his eyes.

You find yourself suddenly wrapping your hands around Dylan's neck and reconnecting your mouths, as Dylan shoved you into the wall impossibly further. He felt surprised, giddy and excited as his hands wandered down to your bare hips submerged in water. You were busy tasting his mouth for you to notice as your other hand moved up to his hair, despite it being drenched in water.

His lips tasted a bit weird due to the water but it didn't phase you one bit as you made out with Dylan under the shadow of the docks. A feeling of fire igniting just right below your belly as the clash of lips got more intense. Not a single word was uttered and the moonlight shining below you like a spotlight. The tension between the two of you was suffocating but the sound of water slightly splashing — drowned out the heavy mingling breaths that was drifting into the night air.

Your hand rested on the front of Dylan's underwear, he didn't seem to mind it but you kept it there just to make sure you weren't going too far.

However Dylan's frisky hands had other plans as he cupped your bare butt against the wall as his tongue started to push against the crack of your lips.

It all became a mess of saliva and tongue in just a few seconds, you couldn't pull away as does he.

Somehow Dylan manages to keep you both afloat the water.

You feel Dylan hiking your legs to wrap around his waist underwater — suddenly biting your lips when your semi-hard dick rested against his stomach.

Dylan pulled away from devouring your lips and looked at your eyes for your reaction but you tried to catch your breath first. “Wow... That was..” you exasperatedly mutter under your breath.

“Good?” he responds with a flushed face, resting his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breaths from the abrupt yet intense make-out session that you and Dylan definitely didn't expect to happen but still continued.

“Yeah... And that was gay of you..” you breathed out with tinted smile, face still a bit warm from the shuddering experience.

“I think you kissing back was gayer.” He responded with a long laugh that made his eyes twinkle beneath the bed of stars in the night sky.

“Well, let's get out of the water, first, Romeo.” You instructed, winking at him as you swam over to the edge of the dock with Dylan just right behind you.

The wide smile on Dylan's face made butterflies appear on your stomach, it was a nice... feeling.

You hoisted yourself up on the dock with a groan, completely forgetting you were naked from the waist down. “Nice ass, man!” Dylan whistled from the water with a series of laughter.

“Shut up!” you grunt out as you run over to your bag immediately and wrap a towel around your waist, sitting down in one of the chairs. Dylan already rose up from the lake too, damping his hair after you threw him a towel also.

Dylan sat right next to you and found you just staring into the dark lake with the only remaining light are the array of stars and the big white cratered dot on top of the sky, which made the vibe all silent and deafening.

“Okay, now, the elephant in the room.” you point out and clapped your hands together for the discussion causing Dylan to giggle like a high school girl causing you to look at him with one raised eyebrow. This man is driving you crazy, both mentally and physically.

“What was that?” you asked, straight to the point.

“I may or may not have found you too handsome and pretty at the moment and I wanted to make out with you.” He said with a tone that you couldn't define if it was a joking type or a serious one.

“Dylan... The truth, please.” you whisper in a way that made you look too vulnerable, it looked like all the hidden, ignored feelings you had for him in quote 'a while' was about to just pop a bottle open that should be kept in its box.

“I like you. In a gay type of way.” he mutters seriously looking at you before you started to burst into laughter at the way you said it.

“T-That's...." Your voice wavers for a bit, laughing lightly the cold air making your skin crawl as you now lay your head on Dylan’s shoulder. The dim lights lit the surrounding barely but the comfort of Dylan's presence made you feel safe.

“Was I your summer crush then? I didn't get all chummy with anyone, though.” You said matter-of-factly, tone calming when Dylan snaked his arm around your shoulders. The dripping sound of water from your soaked bodies on the ground made you relax against the tall guy, the atmosphere set as you just stared at the white circle of a moon.

“Nope. Doesn't really matter who it was though.” he responds simply,

“Oh? okay...” You wanted to say more about the particular topic but kept your prying mouth away instead.

“We'd better get back, someone will probably tell on us if they find us missing.” You mumbled against Dylan's neck as the romantic setting was making your head feel a bit light. This feeling of your heart drumming against your chest? You yearned to chase it.

“I mean, if you want us to wake up to the kids teasing either of us because of the wet sheets that we'll probably have when we go to sleep like a wet baby duck, then.... I am definitely all for it.” Dylan quips with a comical, witty tone. Nudging your head teasingly as he looked towards his shoulder to find you staring at him with your chin laying against his joint.

You snort at his words, rolling your eyes at him. “Okay then, smartass. What's your plan for the night?” You asked, an arrogant look on your face.

“Well, let's sit here for a bit until we get all dry and cozy.” He recommends, smiling at you and ignoring your directed condescending look towards him.

Dylan's hand on your bare waist started to rub circles against your skin causing a momentary of sheepishness to slip on your expression.

“Oh my, the short-tempered counselor is getting all sappy.” Dylan pipes dramatically, causing you to groan at his words elbowing his side before grabbing Dylan's towel skillfully ripping it off his body, leaving him once again in his boxers causing him to gasp at the glacial air hitting his lower regions.

You started to run away from the man in a fit of giggles, his towel on your hand and your other hand gripping your own so as to not go butt-naked in the heat of the fun.

“Hey! Man..! Hey! Ow! Get back here!” Dylan starts to chase you in his underwear, accidentally hitting his head something as he stands up.

Sadly, the moment was cut short as Dylan managed to catch up to you, pulling you down to the wooden ground with him. He snatches the towel on your hand and pins you in place.

You struggle to no avail against him as you were still laughing despite Dylan's funnily serious expression.

“Okay, okay... I give up.” You said with a light-hearted chuckle. Dylan's grip isn't loosening one bit though.

“How about revenge, Mr. Thief?” Dylan was snickering evilly as he straddled you against the ground, hooking his finger around your towel — loosening the grip it has on your waist, to which you looked at him with panicked eyes

“H-Hey! Uh— Unless you wanna see my dick, I suggest you don't do that.” You prattled, a nervous laugh accompanying your words.

“Who said that I don't want to?” He whispers seductively when he leaned down against your ears.

“H-Heh.. Hah.. Hardy har har, Dyl..” you tried to sound the least bit humorous, but the apparent quiver on your voice was not very well-hidden.

Dylan got off you with a victorious smile, an overbearing expresion visible on his face. “You owe me one~” He jests, causing you to roll your eyes at him as you stand back up with a wry of amusement curdling your lips.

You dismissed what he said with a huff of disbelief, dusting off your towel as you secured it back on because Dylan made it hang awkwardly. “That was already payback though, you shoved your tongue down my throat earlier, remember?” You mused, walking over him as you hit him in the middle of his chest.

He looks at you quizzically, raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh no no no, you kissed back therefore you wanted it as well.” He reminds you, sticking his tongue out at you. Dylan wrapped his towel around his waist again as he winked at you alluringly as he walked towards the road on the wrong way.

“Wrong way, idiot. The camp's over here!” You pointed out, a chortle slipping out of you.

“Plus I'm not dry yet!” You added as Dylan started to walk to the other direction with sass.

“You're on your own~! My bed is awaiting the great ol' Dyl. And my job starts early~!” He replies with a wave of the hand and with that he's gone, the guy doesn't even know the direction to anywhere so what's the point.

You look at Dylan's discarded shirt and pants with a grunt and a conceded look on your face,

After collecting every single clothing and the radio shack key that he somehow forgot, a tired sigh slipped out of your lips. Not only does a guy suddenly make-out with you and you do it back, he also left you alone in the dark. You still wonder if it is Dylan experimenting or what, you couldn't read the guy like an open book, he has a sharp tongue for jokes and a silly, goofy behavior. On the contrary, you can barely tell if he's serious or if he's doing things for his own amusement. Sure, he has his moments of weakness when he's feeling shy or overwhelmed at times but a bitter taste is still left from your mouth from the event earlier: Is he just fucking around with you, or if he is actually serious about all of this? You'd beat yourself up to sleep, maybe not even go to sleep at all because of this but then, you have duties tomorrow at dawn as well...

“Is this a good idea?” you mumble to yourself, clutching the bag of clothes, dropping the radio shack keys into it in a bit. It felt like an anvil had just dropped itself on your shoulder and your heart somewhat sinks at your collective thoughts.

Hopefully morning duties won't be awkward at all.

Hopefully.

[mattalit]

Eddie Munson x Male Reader

A/N: repost from wattpad

Length: 803

Originally Published: Feb 14, 2023

CW: alcohol, one mention of vomiting, drunk eddie

Staring into the bathroom mirror, (M/N)'s half-glazed eyes glossed over his hair. Huh, it's messier than I thought, he thought, ruffling it in an attempt to fix it. Oh well.

He had never considered himself a party person, but when a certain brown-haired man asked him to come, he couldn't bring himself to say no. He couldn't say he was fond of the loud, pulsing music, the blinding lights, or sweaty strangers, but he found a moment's solace in the house party's bathroom.

He gave a final attempt to fix his hair. No use. Sighing, he left the bathroom, entering into the echoes of color and noise and life of teenage hedonism. He travelled down the hallway and into the house's living room—a makeshift dance floor.

(M/N) gazed through the sea of people, but he couldn't find his dear, little friend. Where is that asshole? he thought. Deciding Eddie wasn't here, he battled his way through the drunkenly dancing teens towards the kitchen.

The kitchen, like the bathroom, was much quieter than the living room, and (M/N) found his reason he was there—Eddie, swaying in the light flooding in from the window and nursing a beer.

"Eddie?" (M/N) called out softly, hesitating to walk over.

Eddie looked up and giggled.

Oh, lord, he's drunk drunk, he thought, his brows furrowing.

"Hi, (N/N)," he slurred, beginning to stumble over. (M/N) caught him, placing an arm under his shoulder, grasping his waist.

"... Come on, Eddie, we're going home."

Eddie let out a whining noise, but he didn't complain. Instead, he nestled himself into his (H/C)-haired savior's armpit. (M/N)'s gaze softened and face flushed; he held onto Eddie tighter, leading him to the front door.

The walk to (M/N)'s home was smooth: slow, with the occasional stumbling, but no injuries and only a little vomit. He considered himself lucky to live close-by.

(M/N) leaned over, gently laying Eddie down onto his bed. "Eddie?" he whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm," he hummed in response, gazing upwards through half-lidded eyes. "You look like an angel, (N/N)."

(M/N) scowled jokingly. "Oh, shut it."

"You're beautiful..." Eddie lazily reached a hand upwards, cupping his cheek. (M/N) rested own hand atop Eddie's for only a moment, before getting on one knee and ripping Eddie's shoes off. He tossed them into a corner to be collected the next day.

"Go to sleep, Eddie. You're drunk," (M/N) commanded. He decided to not mention his own tipsy state; he only had... what? Two, three beers? To a regular teenage alcoholic (of which (M/N) was anything but), that was nothing.

Eddie was not content with sleeping. He forced his body to sit up. "Dance with me," he slurred, clumsily standing. He reached for (M/N)'s hands and dragged him up.

"You're drunk," (M/N) said.

Eddie hummed, grabbing his hands and dragging him into the middle of (M/N)'s bedroom. "You're beautiful," he said, interlocking his fingers with (M/N)'s. He was much too drunk to lead, so Eddie contented himself with swaying, hips hardly touching other than the occasional gentle bump.

"You're drunk," (M/N) said again, breathlessly. Eddie responded with a goofy smile, placing his forehead onto (M/N)'s shoulder and brushing his lips against his chest.

"Yeah," he murmured, "a little bit."

In the soft yellow glow of his bedroom, (M/N) couldn't help but notice the beauty of Eddie. He smelled strongly of alcohol, marijuana, and sweat, but there was an underlying scent of sweetness and leather. He couldn't see his face, but he could see his long, wavy brown curls. He fought the urge to run a hand through it for only a moment. Oh, fuck it, he thought. Releasing his hand from Eddie's, he ghosted it along Eddie's shoulder, slowly, slowly gliding it towards the back of his neck. He snuck his fingers past the back of his neck and into those gorgeous curls. Eddie let out a contented hum.

Soft, (M/N) thought. Giving into impulse, he grasped his hair and pulled his head backwards.

Eddie let out a whimper and stared up at (M/N). His eyes were still glazed with drunkenness. (M/N) traced his face in his mind: his eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones, his jawline... Gorgeous.

"It's time to go to bed," (M/N) whispered, leaning in to brush a small kiss on his ear. He stopped their swaying and guided Eddie back to the bed. He pushed on his chest to make him lie down. After shedding his hoodie in favor of a t-shirt and turning off the light, he crawled into the bed next to Eddie, covering them both with a blanket.

"(M/N)," Eddie called out, reaching and clutching (M/N)'s shirt.

"It's bedtime."

Eddie scooted closer and breathlessly whimpered, "I want you."

(M/N) placed his hand over Eddie's, coaxing its grasp off his shirt. "Not tonight, Eddie." He placed a soft kiss on his forehead. He threw an arm over his waist, embracing him. He was warm like young love. "It's time to sleep."

[mattalit]

Link x Male Reader

A/N: repost from wattpad

Length: 1.7k

Originally Published: Feb 23, 2023

CW: none

In his line of work, customers were infrequent, and new customers were almost unheard of. Regardless of the "untapped potential", as (M/N) often called it, of the Poe industry, it was an unsurprisingly under-utilized--or perhaps useless?--and unheard of industry, and his parents, when he visited them, would often remind him of that. Despite his parents' disfavor towards his particular career choice, (M/N) found it liberating: he had little to no competition, which meant more money for him; he had lots of free time, which he used to peruse different hobbies; and he was alone, which he liked. Well, he was alone outside of cases such as now, where a customer--a new customer, in this case--had wandered into his modest little shop in Castle Town.

The surprise of a new customer was largely (M/N)'s own fault. His shop was never open at the same time twice in a week, he never advertised (outside of an obligatory pamphlet in the Kakariko Village Graveyard, of course), and the only sign that indicated there was a shop here (and more than that, what the shop was) was posted in fine print on the door. All of this, combined with the obscure nature of the Poe industry, led to few, if any, customers in any given day. And when there were customers, they were the same regulars he had come to know since the founding of his little Poe boutique--all were sketchy, most were scummy, and one was crazy. To explain his regulars would be a digression, though, and something (M/N) could not ponder upon due to the current circumstances--that is, having a customer. Now was not the time for thinking; now was the time for quality Customer Service. So, kicking his feet back and forth from his perch on the counter, (M/N) put on his best Customer Service smile.

"Welcome! Are you here to sell or to buy?"

"Uh, I'm here to sell."

(M/N) did a once over his new customer. Blond. Obviously active and reasonably buff. Cool sword. An adventurer... I should send him on a quest. I'm sure he's not busy with other things.

"Of course. What do you bring me today?" the Poe merchant asked.

The blond held out a bottle.

"Oh! Let me see that." (M/N) grabbed the Poe and held it up to the light. Hmm. Orange aura. He tapped the bottle. Not too small, yet not a lot of space for it in this bottle. He ran through his mental list of local Poes. Rare! A Big Poe. Just what I needed. "Young man, you've brought me quite the specimen."

"What's it worth?"

"To your average person? Nothing. To me? 50 rupees, and if you want, 100 points on your tab."

"Tab?"

"Yessir, 'tab.' For Big Poes, which this is a Big Poe if I've ever seen one, I'll give you points on your tab. If you get 1000 points, I'll give you a special gift!" Without giving his new customer time to object, (M/N) continued, "Now, what's your name? I'll get the paperwork."

"It's Link."

On the top of the blank paper (official blank paper, mind you), (M/N) wrote, Link (blond twink) 100 points as of XX/XX/XX.

And now, it was time for (M/N) to sucker this new customer into doing his dirty work.

"...and you're all set, Link. A pleasure to meet you, by the way. I'm (M/N). Now, you seem like the adventuring type..."

Link sighed. As a worn out hero, he was used to this opening phrase, and it always led to some request. He was not particularly excited to undergo more (arguably) meaningless tasks, but he had little else to do now that he saved the world from evil or whatever. Perhaps something less dramatic would help him relax.

"What do you need me to do?"

Thank the Heavens! He took the bait.

"I'm looking to employ someone to do some hunting for me."

"Go on."

"A client of mine has requested 10 Big Poes from me. Unfortunately, they are particularly hard to find, and even harder to capture. Seeing as you've brought me a Big Poe, though, you are clearly more than capable. If you can get me 9 more, you'll have 1000 points and win a gift! Of course, I'll pay you accordingly for each Poe; I might even throw something extra in. I'll consider it an internship. What do you say?"

Now, Link didn't consider himself to be a ghost hunter, but in times like these, when his only choice was to eternal boredom or an "internship" with a some odd man, he was willing to do anything,

"I'll do it."

"Consider yourself employed, then! Welcome to the team, intern."

(M/N) wasn't expecting to see Link back so soon. Of course, it had been a week since Link had brought in his first Big Poe, but from what he had seen, a week to find a Big Poe was a new form of efficiency. He almost doubted the man even brought a Big Poe back.

"Back so soon?" The Poe merchant dropped his hood down, revealing his messy (H/L) (H/C) hair, and gazed questioningly at the adventurer.

"I think I've found a Big Poe."

"Oh, glorious! Hand it over." Link held out a bottle and (M/N) grasped it.

The merchant tentatively tapped the bottle. Hmm. He stared at it. Orange aura. He shook it. Definitely large.

"I dare say, Ghost Hunter, you've found us a Big Poe. You're exceeding my expectations," (M/N) said, pouring the Poe into a crate.

"I've, uh, had some experience with ghosts."

"In the Kakariko Graveyard?" Link nodded. "That's the bulk of my experience, too. We don't have Poes or ghosts where I'm from. Too cold, I suppose," (M/N) said, leaning back against the wall. "Anyways, I'm giving you a bonus for your hard work. 75 rupees. Oh! And 100 points to your tab. Keep it up--there's more where that came from."

Link gladly accepted the rupees it, placing them into his wallet. "So, where is it 'too cold' for Poes? I've seen Poes all over Hyrule."

(M/N) looked at Link and tilted his head. "You can't tell? I'm not from Hyrule. I'm from somewhere much more North. It's a small town. It doesn't rain there; it only snows."

"And you came all this way to sell... Poes?"

"To sell and to buy Poes, yes," (M/N) responded indignanty. "It's a niche interest of mine." He glanced up and down at Link. "And what about you? You're awfully pretty compared to the people around here. Where are you from? What do you do?"

Link considered telling the truth about his majestic adventures, his conquest to save this very apocalyptic town they were currently in, but he decided against it. Despite the idiosyncrasies of his newfound "employer," he wanted to put his temple-diving, life-risking adventuring days behind him... at least for a while.

"I'm from a small village in the south-east, near the forest. I'm an adventurer."

"An 'adventurer', mysterious! Y'know, if I was pretty like you, I'd be doing a different sort of business." (M/N) leaned forward, arms crossed, and offered a flirtatious wink. Link flushed a dark red. Before he could respond, (M/N) was already dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Anyways, a pleasure as always. I expect to see you again soon with more Big Poes! Scurry long now."

And a week later, (M/N) did see Link, who brought a Big Poe. And a week after that, another Big Poe. And a two weeks after that, two Big Poes. And now, Link was prepared to drop off his seventh.

Unlike his usual visits to the shop, though, the torches were unlit and no light escaped from the windows. Regardless of what is considered "acceptable" when no one appears to be home, Link, with a key gifted to him by (M/N), unlocked the door and tentatively opened it.

"(M/N)?" he called into the darkness. He did not receive a response.

Link closed the door behind him, and, in the soft glow of the moonlight, crept across the room. Again, he called out.

"Ugh," a tired voice called out, "Link?" Lantern light floods through an open door into the store, and the hunched frame of (M/N) followed it. He wore a pair of shorts and nothing else. He rubbed one eye and lazily looked at Link with the other. "It's awfully late to be doing business."

Link blushed lightly in embarrassment. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd be asleep."

(M/N) gave him an odd look. "Link, it must be, what? Three in the morning?" He sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Link didn't respond right away. While he had, in fact, showed up to do business, he didn't want to admit that seeing the merchant's sleepiness.

(M/N) sighed again. "Oh, whatever, it doesn't matter. Come on, Link, let's have a sleep over."

Link hesitantly followed (M/N) into the adjoining room. (M/N)'s room was small, containing a mat and blankets serving as a makeshift bed. A milk crate next to the bed served as a table. Haphazard stacks of books on ghosts and supernatural creatures filled up a corner.

"Sorry it's so small," (M/N) said, scratching his naked chest. "I'm not exactly, uh, used to company." He eased himself onto the mat, laying down with his arms behind his head. He gave Link a once over. "I hope you don't plan on bringing a sword to bed."

"Oh! Right." Link discarded his sword and shield and outer layers of clothes in a corner. To avoid scandal and remain modest, he left his pants and undershirt on. Then, when (M/N) patted the space next to him, sat down. Link's body was noticeably tense, and he seemed unsure of what to do.

"For a ghost-killing adventurer, you're awfully new to sleep overs," (M/N) joked. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I don't bite." He extinguished the flame in his lantern, then furrowed his brows in thought. "Well, unless you're into that."

Link didn't respond, but taking a deep breath to relax, he laid next to the (H/C) man. The dark itself served as a shield against the outside world, and for a moment, Link felt safe.  It was a simple moment of peace, free from adventuring, free from responsibility, and free from near-death experiences. I could get used to this, he thought.

He felt an arm slowly make its way around his waist. "Is this okay?" came (M/N)'s gentle whisper.

"Yeah," Link replied breathlessly, "it's okay."

"Good." (M/N) softly tugged him closer and let out a content sigh that tickled Link's neck. "Good night, Link."

"Good night, (M/N)."