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A bunch of accounts have been recently deactivated/removed — so I hope everyone is doing well!

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I used to post every Monday night and now I post whenever I feel like it, so I apologize to my original followers but I PROMISE all will be revealed in May 👀

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Very fun (sad) to take! Cant say I’m surprised by my results though…

Where do you create from? For the writers and artists…

Saw this on Twitter/Bluesky and thought I’d bring it here

(No pressure) Taglist: @jgabriel1920 @feral-fox-crypt

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So yall liked that John Price post I see…

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Had this one cooking for a while… any other Zach Bryan fans??

Pairing: John Price x Gn!Reader

28

You showed me where your old man stayed Took 28 years to feel loved on my own birthday

“They’re going to love you.” You tell John, grinning at him. “I swear. They’re more excited about meeting you than I am to have you meet them.”

Your Captain—and boyfriend—glances at you, hand tightening on the wheel slightly. Normally he’d have one hand on your thigh, or holding yours, but he insisted on driving with two hands in a new area.

Because you were taking him home. Not to your off-base apartment, but to your childhood home. To your parents, and home-grown memories. To your past.

Was it nerve wracking? Hell yes. But when John told you he didn’t have family to spend his birthday with, you offered up your own. They’d treat him right, and you knew it.

Besides, it was probably time he met your parents anyway.

“And if they don’t?” John asks quietly.

“Then we’ll hit up a hotel. Have a really nice night.” You reach out and squeeze his arm momentarily. “But they will love you. It’ll be the best birthday, I swear.”

“Mm. But if it’s not, I get a really nice night?”

Insatiable, he is.

“You get a really nice night either way.”

And I’s always felt like I’m in between something Like home and somewhere far away

When you first kissed John Price, he had warned you away from him. A misguided sense of morals, maybe.

“I’m not a stationary man, doll.” He had whispered into your hair. “I cant settle down away from the military.”

A military man, through and through. You had curled your fingers into his shirt and met his eyes with steely determination.

“Guess that makes two of us.” You responded, leaning up to kiss him again.

Not a stationary man. Sure, that you could believe. He liked being in the firefight, out there following his own morals and rules. Leading men and coming back with them all in one piece.

But here, your head on his chest, legs tangled together in the sheets of his bed, you can’t help but think he’s a liar. He may not be able to physically settle down, but his heart sure could.

And it settled down right with you.

But Tonight, on the west side, in a bar out in Brooklyn I saw tears outline your face

“This one’s on me!” Soap shouts over the noise of the bar, distributing shots to the team. Well, every team member that drank. Ghost refused to lift his mask in such a crowded place. “Here’s to getting drunk and not training tomorrow!”

“I’m starting to regret this.” John grumbles from your side. His hand rests on your hip, tucking you into him.

“Thanks Cap!” Gaz exclaims, knocking back the shot no problem.

John sighs before drinking his, and you don’t even look at yours. There’s a far better sight in front of you.

Soap, slinging his arm over Ghost’s shoulder, yammering on about some unknown topic. The Scotsman is already slurring his words. Or maybe that’s the accent. Gaz is laughing at him, or maybe at Ghost’s grumpy posture. And then there’s John, your John, warm and alive and breathing with you.

Your team. Your family.

Your heart beats in time to the music of the bar, the voices of everyone except your team fading out. Not that anyone else mattered anyway. You were safe within your team and the table they commandeered through Ghost’s menacing glare.

Warm hands cup your face, turning you slightly. You blink away the lights, looking up at John.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He murmurs, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. They smear wetness, and for a second you think he’s got liquid on his fingers. Beer, maybe.

“Yeah.” You confirm quietly.

“You sure? You’re crying.” Oh. So there’s where the wetness came from.

You nod, leaning into one of his hands. “Promise.” He’s still looking down at you with that concerned look, so you add, “just happy.”

John switches into a smile, and you know he gets it. Everyone in this damn team does; that’s what he gets for building a team of fuck-ups.

“With these lunatics, that’s a miracle.” He jokes, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

You barely get to savor the taste of him before you’re being rudely interrupted.

“Oi! Lovebirds! Someone didn’t drink!” Soap yells, making the two of you break apart.

“And we all know what happens to the first to stop drinking…” Gaz trails off, and your eyes go wide as you grab your shot.

“I’m not done!” You promise, knocking it back. You will not be the first to stop drinking, even with these idiots.

You can feel John’s laugh against your body.

There’s smoke seeping out of your bloody teeth But you're home somehow

Smoke swirls up into the night air, vanishing as quick as it has appeared. You don’t watch it vanish, keeping your eyes fixed on your Captain’s mouth and the cigar his lips wrap around.

You knew you had fucked up. Nobody else had chewed you out or shouted at you, knowing damn well Price would do it enough for the whole team. And maybe you deserved it, but you wouldn’t change what you did.

Going back inside the building filled with enemies for the intel was a bad idea. But the intel you had grabbed could (and would) save thousands of lives. That made it worth it to you.

Only when the cigar is done does he speak.

“I gave you direct orders not to go back in.” Price says. Not John, because this isn’t your boyfriend speaking. It’s your Captain. “I directly told you to stay the fuck out. And what did you do? Disobey them.”

“The mission was the intel. I made a risk for the success of the mission.” You argue, crossing your arms over your chest.

“And disobeyed a direct order from your Captain in the process!” He returns just as quickly. “I should have your ass written up for it.”

He won’t, and you both know it.

“Never do that again, you hear me?” He asks, fixing you with a stern look.

Even so, you don’t falter under it. “If it meant saving lives, I will.”

“The fuck you will.” He damn near snarls. Price straightens, stepping closer to you. “Your life is more important. The team needs you—“

“The team is capable of succeeding without me—“ you interrupt, but he slams his hand against the wall next to your head.

“I need you!” He shouts, chest heaving, and you see it in his eyes. The fear.

Your hands creep up his chest until you can cradle the back of his neck. His drop to your waist.

“I need you.” John repeats lowly. “Alive. Damn the mission, damn the intel, damn everyone else. You come home alive, no matter the cost.”

“I did.” You murmur. “I came back to you. In one piece, see?”

“But you could’ve not.” He stares at you, imploring you to agree with him. “I cannot live without you. So you fucking come home, and stop being reckless. I tell you to back off, you back off.”

You can smell the smoke on his breath. If he were to kiss you, the taste would invade your mouth. His taste.

“I’ll come home. Every time.” You promise him, knowing damn well you can’t make that promise.

He presses his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling in the space between your mouths.

“Swear it to me, doll.”

You swallow back the taste of the lie. “I swear.”

I lost my mind on the streets of the city Maybe I lost all hope too Took twenty-eight years of blood pumping through me To get to this evening with you

“She’s a real-estate mogul.” You tell John, chin in your hand and elbow on the white-cloth table as you stare at the blond woman in question.

This is your favorite game: the guessing game. When the two of you are out, you sometimes make up life stories for people you see. John always decides they’re some tragedy. You always decide they’re secret millionaires. Or royalty.

“A mogul?” John repeats, amused as he cuts into his steak.

“And she’s thinking about starting her own firm. It’ll succeed, obviously. And the man across from her is her… best friend. They’ve been friends for years, ever since he babysat her as a kid.” You continue, examining the blond woman and the man at the table across the room from yours.

Was it rude to stare at people during a fancy dinner? Probably. But nobody was going to stop you. And if they tried, all you’d have to do is flash your credentials of being a 141 operative at them. It tended to make people stumble over their words.

“He’s definitely her sugar daddy.” John argues, motioning at them. “Look, he’s greying.”

“Just because someone’s greying doesn’t mean they’re a sugar daddy. You’re greying.”

“Exactly.”

You roll your eyes, and he smiles at you. “Well he can’t be a sugar daddy if she’s already rich.”

“Sure he can. All of her money’s going toward her failing real estate agency—“

“It’s not failing!”

“—so he has to pay for everything else. Like this dinner.”

You turn to stare at him. “I’m paying for tonight!” You say, knowing he’s talking about you two and not the strangers anymore.

“Bullshit.”

“I can!”

He reaches out, taking your hand. There’s a light in his eyes that you love to see, a teasing sparkle you adore.

“Doll, I’m not saying you can’t. I’m saying I’d never let you.”

There’s smoke seepin’ out of the bar down the street But we're home somehow

Smoke swirls up into the night air, but it doesn’t vanish. You watch as it plumes in the sky, creeping over the night sky. It’s all you can see, directly above you.

Your shoulder aches with every inhale and exhale, and you know if you touched it your fingers would come away red. Your leg hurts too, although less. That one’s barely a graze. That’s not the one to worry about.

Splayed on your back on the ground, you stare up at the few stars you can see. The smoke from the building will block it out soon, and then you’ll be left here.

Surrounded by broken glass from the window, a gunshot wound in your shoulder, and alone. Dying, you know. That’s not giving up — that’s fact.

Your breathing is labored, each breath a struggle, but all you can think about is your team and your heart. Did John make it out? He better have. The man with an angel’s heart, who saw a tragedy and a way out for everyone. Who became the way out for many.

He’d survive. He was too good not to. And then maybe he would finally settle down. Stop going to the bar with the team, choose to stay in for a quiet night.

Breathe on and have his heart beat every moment.

Something crunches, but you can’t be bothered to strain to look in the direction. If it’s an enemy, maybe they’ll put you out of your misery.

The footsteps pick up into a run, and when they’re close enough you roll your head to the side to make eye contact with the person.

John drops to his knees next to you, his gun falling to the ground. “You’re meant to be inside. Fuck. Fuck, baby, you’re okay.”

“‘M okay.” You croak out agreeably. “Gotta go.”

“Not leaving you. I’m staying right here till evac gets here. You and me.”

You shake your head, but he holds your head still. His expression is so concerned that you can even muster a glare.

“Christ. What happened? Your shoulders all torn up.” Panic lines his every word, especially as he starts ripping clothes to press the cloth to your shoulder. It hurts, but when you try to squirm away in pain he holds you right there. “Shh, shh, you’re fine, you’ll be fine.”

“You have to go.” You repeat, blinking away the tears in your eyes. He can’t die here too.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, doll. Just us. I told you I can live without you, and you’re not allowed to die.” His hand finds yours, squeezing it.

It’s not too bad of a way to die.

“Love you.”

“You know I love you too. But no talking like you’re dying, got that?”

You look at the sky past his face, stars clouded by smoke. It reminds you of his cigars, and your eyes flutter shut with a smile on your face.

“Doll? …Fuck!”

How lucky are we? It's been a hell of a week

The beeping of machines greets you when you wake, and you groan at the noise. Stupid fucking alarms.

But when you go to slap at your alarm clock, your hand fumbles in the air. Something tugs at the back of your hand, so you open your eyes.

The room is dark, but it’s definitely not yours.

It takes a few more minutes for you to recognize the room as a hospital room, and the pounding in your head as a fierce headache. One of your shoulders is bandaged up, and you can feel gauze on your thigh too. You’re pretty sure there’s something on your ribs too.

“Hey sweetheart.” Someone murmurs. “Woah, no sitting up.”

You abandon your attempts at movement, turning your head to find John there with his hands clasped around one of yours. His hat is gone, and his hair is unruly. So are his clothes, which are wrinkled and stained.

“Doctors are stichin’ ya back together.” He tells you, thumb rubbing along your hand. “Evac got to us. Ghost helped me haul you along.”

“Am I dead?” You ask hoarsely.

John sits up, grabbing a cup of water with a straw for you to drink. You empty the entire thing within a minute, and still feel thirsty. And hungry. And cold. And in pain.

Everything fucking hurts.

“No. Not for a lack of trying, though.” He answers, and you startle at the tears you find on his cheeks.

Why is he crying?

You reach a hand up, patting his face because it’s all you can reach. He laughs wetly, lowering your hand again.

“Am I dying?” It sure feels like it.

He glances at the heart rate monitor, then over you slowly. Not hungrily, but assessing. Lovingly, too.

“Not tonight, doll. Not tonight.”

[modelbus]

I apologize if the 1000 followers event thing is closed, you can just ignore this 😅

But... Ranboo, Band, and Lion? (Or Soulmate or Western)(up 2 u lol)

(Ur writing is so good!)

Thank you!! I’m so sorry this is so late… If anyone guesses where the little photo thing is from, I will post Friday (I don't think y'all will get it!)

Pairing: Cc!Ranboo x Gn!Reader

Band AU - Lion

“The fuck are you two meant to be? Pussies?”

You crack an eye open to glare at Tommy for his remark. The blond’s face is painted blue, but unlike him you don’t feel the need to call him a blueberry or something stupid.

“Close your eyes.” Ranboo instructs you, and you quickly close them. He swipes the paintbrush over your eyelids gently, leaving behind cold paint.

“Seriously, why do you have whiskers?” Tommy asks again, louder.

“We’re lions. Well, he’s a lion, I’m a tiger.” You answer, licking your lips to wet them. The taste of paint hits your tastebuds, and you grimace.

“So you’re pussies.”

“We’re game cats—“ Ranboo tries, but Tommy only interrupts him.

“You’re pussies for our big Halloween show!”

Every year, your band performs a show on Halloween night. The fun part is that every member has to dress up as something — and has to fully commit to it. Hence the face paint.

This year, Tommy was an Avatar. One of the blue people from that long ass movie. He claimed it was a great movie, but you were still doubtful. Ranboo had talked you into being a game cat with him, although you declared yourself the tiger. And Tubbo was… something. He always hid his costume until the last second.

“Didn’t know you had a problem with pussies, Tom.” You remark, only to get nudged by Ranboo for daring to move and mess up his painting.

“What— I— I love pussies! Mmm! Give me all the pussies! Wait, no—“

“Stop while you’re ahead.” Ranboo recommends, still painting your face. “Good to go.”

“Does it look good?” You open your eyes, swiveling toward the dressing room mirror.

Staring back at you is an Oompa Loompa with black stripes. Ranboo had pained white around your eyes, and gave you whiskers, but you still somehow manage to look like you just came from Willy Wonka. At least the tiger costume should bring it together a little bit.

“Ran, what the fuck?” You ask, squinting at yourself.

“We didn’t have any other orange!”

“So you decided to commit to it?”

“Yes!”

You grab a new paintbrush, then take the face painting kit from him. “I’m going to fuck up your lion so badly.”

“I tried, at least.” He frowns back at you, but obligingly closes his eyes while you go in with the yellow.

“Tried to make it look bad, sure.”

Tommy walks around your chair to hover behind you, laughing as you work on painting Ranboo’s face. The yellow covers his entire face, except for his mouth area. That, you paint white. Then you use black for a nose and whiskers.

“Gorgeous.” You declare, setting down your brush.

“I swear to god, if you’re lying to me—“ Ranboo stops, staring at himself. “…hello sexy.”

“See? You’re one hot lion goddess.” You grin, self-satisfied. “The crowds are going to eat you up.”

“I’m hotter than Boob-head.” Tommy loudly declares, glaring down at you. “The crowd will agree with me. I’m the only hot one here.”

“You’re basically a Smurf.” You argue.

“A sexy Smurf! All the ladies will go mmm, papa Smurf. And it’s an avatar, you fucker.”

“Papa Smurf did have a chokehold on me.” Ranboo muses.

“Cause you’re a weirdo.” Tommy snorts.

“What the fuck are you all doing back here?” Tubbo’s voice cuts through the dressing room. “We’re meant to be ready!”

“Bullshit, we’ve got plenty of time! Check the clock!” Tommy points at the clock, and you squint at it.

“I— I think you’ve got the hands mixed up again.” Ranboo corrects him.

“Oh. Shit.”

“They’re difficult, I know.”

“Guys!” Tubbo shouts, finally stepping into the dressing room. “Let’s go!”

He’s painted blue. There’s a white beard stuck to his face, and a little red hat on his head. It only takes you second to realize he’s papa fucking Smurf.

You look at Ranboo. Ranboo looks at you. Tommy’s head swivels between the clock and Tubbo.

As if on cue, the three of you burst out laughing.

Tubbo stares at all of you. “What the fuck is so funny?!”

[modelbus]

<3

<3

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reblog this if you're okay with booping spams please !!

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Sorry for going MIA! I went on a great vacation and had loads of fun, but I genuinely couldn’t post while on it…

But I’m back!!

[modelbus]

I’m not late you are

Pairing: Ghost x Gn!Reader

Day 12 - “This is spooky…” “Really?”

As a member of 141, you liked to think you didn’t get scared easily. You were an elite operative: there was no room for fear there. If you were arrogant, you could say you were filled with bravery instead. But really, you just knew you had a job and had to do it.

Still, you could objectively realize when things were scary.

Such as now. A seemingly empty farmhouse in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. The task force had been sent out due to rumors of a terrorist organization being sheltered here. So far, no luck.

Really, it just seemed abandoned. There wasn’t a soul around, save for the task force members.

You nudge open another creaky door, gun up and ready. A quick sweep of the room proves that it’s empty. Just like the rest. Goddamit.

“Clear!” You call, turning to leave. You smash face-first into someone’s chest, yelping in fear surprise.

“Just me.” Ghost says gruffly, staring down at you. You can almost swear there’s amusement in his eyes behind that mask. Fucker.

“I knew that.” You grumble, lowering your gun.

“Mm. Jumpy, then?”

“I— this place is spooky!”

“Really?”

“Yes.” You nod adamantly. “Empty farmhouse? Middle of nowhere? We’re a horror movie waiting to happen.”

“You’ve been watchin’ too many movies.” He shakes his head. “Price ordered us out. Let’s go.”

“Thank fuck.” You sigh, then quickly add, “Not that I’m scared or anything, it’s just—“

“Spooky.” He rolls his eyes, and you scowl.

“We can’t all be made of nightmares and horrors, Ghost.” You shove at his shoulder, stepping past him to leave the room.

Honestly, you’ve never been more glad to be done with a job. You’d take a firefight over this, any day.

Ghost’s low laugh follows you.

“That’s a new one.”

“Add it to your repertoire.”

A door slowly opens in the hallway ahead of you, making a loud noise. You clutch at your gun as Ghost curses behind you, tensing.

Soap steps out, giving you both weird looks. “Fuck’s up with you?”

You might kill him. No, you will. Right as soon as you’re out of this stupid farmhouse. No need to add him to the list of ghosts here.

“Spooky place.” Ghost huffs from behind you, making you grin.

“Yeah, spooky place.” You echo.

“…weirdos.”

[modelbus]

Headcannons of what form of gambling the boys would like best because I’m very tired :(

Included: Ghost, Price, Soap, Graves

Day 10 - Bet, Game, Contest

Ghost

I wanted to say one of those normal poker games with fancy rules and stuff, but I don’t think he’d have the patience…

Like he’s got the best poker face (the mask helps) but he just can’t be assed to sit and learn.

Go fish on the other hand…

Wouldn’t like slot machines, this man sees right through their bullshit and calls them all rigged.

Soap would badger Ghost into playing something, and Ghost would 100% use the chance to make jokes about it.

Honestly I can’t see him liking gambling that much though.

Price

This man is a poker player!! I think euchre, even though I think that’s mostly a Midwest game.

He’d like the strategy of euchre, of having to read a partner.

“C’mon doll, we could’ve won that one.”

I think him holding a hand of cards would be hot okay

This man just gives off the vibes of someone who sits in one of those fancy ass rooms smoking cigars and talking shit with old dudes.

I think he’d know when to stop, withdrawing from the game with a cheeky smile and an honest goodbye.

“Well, I know when to call it quits.” Type of shit.

If you aren’t playing with (or against) him, he’d want you on his lap. You’re a good luck charm, after all.

Soap

I think Soap would be all over the place. Slots? Yes. Blackjack? Absolutely. Roulette? He’s already playing it.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to play more complicated games (he will, if he feels like it), but he’s convinced that the shorter games are better because they go by faster and give him more chances to win.

Soaps talks SO MUCH SHIT.

Even if he loses he is convinced he’s the best gambler. Not really, he just likes annoying everyone

Honestly, he’s the one who pulls out a deck of cards.

Is the sole reason 141 knows what “strip poker” is, and is also the reason Price banned it.

Not really in gambling, but he loves dares and bets. Funnily enough, he tends to win them, despite them being outlandish.

Graves

I know he’s not on 141, but that southern charm just gets me, so he’s here. Deal with it.

Dare I say Texas hold ‘em…

Cocky son of a bitch, but unfortunately he’s good enough to back it up.

I can definitely see him having a good time just throwing cards though. Just passing time and bonding with others.

He’s the type to hold up a poker chip thing and be like “I’m just calling it this much, no more.” Or “I’m in.” Very dramatic mother fucker.

God forbid someone tries to cheat or count cards, because he will call them out. He doesn’t take lightly to cheating in his card games.

I just think I need to point out his southern accent. It exists. It needs to be appreciated.

Fist bumps someone when he wins. It’s a celebration.

[modelbus]

Please reblog if YES so your followers will know!

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Hi. I’m on time (barely)...

Pairing: Ghost x Gn!Reader

Day 6 - Mistaken Identity

Christ. You haven’t seen crowd this big since… well. Last year, because this festival is a yearly thing, but still.

“Mark!” You call out, reaching for your friend’s hand. This is why you prefer to avoid the big crowds and come earlier. But no, Mark insisted you had to come to catch the late-night crowds.

In your opinion, the light festival wasn’t even that cool. Sure, it was pretty, but the sheer number of people tended to ruin it.

Your friend squeezes your hand, and you’re stuck getting dragged along until he ducks into a bakery. Maybe he’ll buy you something as an apology for forcing you to endure this. One can dream, right?

“God, Mark, I told you there’d be a shit ton of people.” You grumble, taking your hand back to unzip your jacket.

“Mark?”

Your head jerks up to stare at a man who is definitely not Mark.

Amused eyes squint down at you, the rest of his face hidden behind a skull-patterned face mask. He’s taller than your friend by a long shot, and blond. Not to mention, fucking built. How didn’t your realize this wasn’t your friend?

“You’re not Mark.” You manage to say.

“You’re not Soap.” He returns, tilting his head slightly.

“Who the fuck is Soap?”

“Who the fuck is Mark?”

Touché.

You glance around, like your friend will magically appear. He doesn’t, of course, but it was worth a shot.

God, is it even worth going outside and looking for him? Maybe you should just stay here, buy a pastry, and call him.

A hand on your back startles you out of your thinking, and you instinctively step forward when the man puts a little pressure there.

“Holding up the line.” He explains gruffly, nudging you forward a little more.

“Sorry.” You wince. Following the wrong person, holding up the line, what’s next? “Sorry for grabbing you, too.”

“It’s fine.” The guy pulls out his phone, the screen lit up with an image of some guy. “Ah. That’ll be Soap.”

His friend, who he thought you were. When he silences his phone, your eyebrows shoot up.

“He can wait.” The guy says to you, by way of explanation. “What do you want?”

“What do I—?” You start to repeat, confused, but he jerks his head toward the glass displays of food.

“Food.” He answers.

“Oh, you really don’t have to get me anything.”

“Too late.” He pulls out his wallet, and you’re too stunned to stop him. “I’ll have one of those small sandwich things.” He informs the cashier, then corrects himself, “Two of those. And a chocolate cupcake.”

You’re left to watch as he pays and grabs the food, practically herding you to one of the few open tables. He puts a sandwich and the cupcake in front of you, staring at you expectantly. Only when you take a bite out of the sandwich does he nod approvingly.

“Are you not going to eat?” You ask, glancing at his untouched sandwich.

“No.” His find leaves no further room for question, so you shut up and eat the sandwich.

“Simon?” Someone asks, and the guy across from you barely looks away from you to nod.

You look up at the newcomer, recognizing him as the guy Simon had silenced. Soap, you think.

“Guess this is the end of our adventure.” You joke to Simon.

He shakes his head. “I’ll wait for your friend to get here.”

“You really don’t have to—“

“No point arguing with him.” Soap interrupts. “We don’t mind.”

You smile gratefully at him. Well, if they’re offering…

“Thank you.”

It’s Simon who answers, “anytime.” And strangely, you feel that he means it.

[modelbus]

Almost didn’t do this one, oops… this is very joking, very short, just like a little lighthearted slice of life with John :)

Pairing: John Price x Gn!Reader

Day 2 - “Left! Other left!”

You squint at the frame John’s holding on the wall, trying to see if there’s anything off about it. Maybe it needs to be over a little more, just a bit more centered.

“Right.” You decide, watching as your husband shuffles a few inches right. “Little more? Stop!”

…no. That doesn’t look right either. The wall composition is all off. No wonder you’ve never hung anything on the wall before. Who knew it’d be this hard?

John sighs loudly, still holding the frame. “Love, I think—“

“It’s not centered.” You insist, knowing damn well he’s about to tell you it looks perfect.

“Okay, okay, it’s not centered.” He agrees quickly. “God, if the boys saw me…”

You laugh. “Okay, to the left. Other left!”

John curses, stumbling over his shoes in an attempt to quickly change direction. He swivels his head around to glare at you when you laugh harder.

“This frame is going to be the death of me.”

Finally, you fixate on the frame again. To your surprise, it’s actually… in place? The space to the right seems to match the space on the left, and you could cry tears of relief. No ugly home for you, not today.

“This the spot?” John asks. “Gonna need the command strips, love.”

“Right!” You exclaim, brightening as you finally get to open the package of command strips.

He shifts back, enough for you to stick two on the wall. One for each corner. Very carefully, John hangs the frame on them.

Stepping back, he loops an arm around your waist. Together, the two of you stare at the frame.

It’s beautiful. Perfectly centered. An artistic masterpiece.

You can’t wait to stare at it every day.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you hardly hear John clear his throat.

“Sweetheart…” he says slowly.

You tilt your head back to look at him. “Hm?”

“You’re aware it’s crooked, right?”

“Fuck!”

[modelbus]

Flufftober 2024

Prompts

Day 1 - lost pet meet cute

Day 2 - "Left! Other left!"

Day 6 - Mistaken Identity

Day 10 - Bet, Game, Contest

Day 12 - "This is spooky." "Really?"

[modelbus]

Flufftober 2024 Day 1!! We’re doing it!! Yall I thought about a different person for this, but I just couldn’t do anyone but Tommy… I forgot to say, but most of these will be pretty short because I write them the day I post them!

Pairing: Cc!Tommy x Gn!Reader

Day 1 - Lost Pet Meet Cute

“Oi! Get back here!”

You hear his voice before you see him. It’s practically a shriek, and loud enough that you—irrationally—think he’s talking to you. Your head whips up just in time to see a dog race past you, and a boy sprinting full speed toward you.

“Look out!” He shouts, clearly going too fast to even attempt to put on the brakes.

Unfortunately for the two of you, you tend to freeze in times of panic.

He crashes into you, sending both of you tumbling onto the pavement with matching groans of pain. You press your palms into the ground, raising yourself up a little.

“Shit, I am so sorry.” The boy apologizes frantically, grabbing your arm and helping haul you to your feet. “You’re fine, right? Wont sue me? Friendly little accident!”

“I’m fine.” You confirm, brushing dirt off your pants. “Are you? You seemed… panicked.”

“My dog.” He offers by way of explanation, holding up a leash. “Old lass slipped through her collar again. I keep trying to say she’s too much of a skinny queen for her old collar, but nooo—“

“That was your dog?” You interrupt. Actually, now that you’re looking at him… it kind of matches.

Lanky dog, lanky guy. And from the two second glance you got at the dog, it seemed lighter colored, just like his blond hair. All that shit about owners matching their pets is true, you guess.

“Was.” He repeats, emphasizing the word. “The wilderness can have that rebellious traitor.”

You laugh, but quickly school your face into seriousness like he has. “Of course. She’s abandoned you.”

“Damn right she has!” The boy breaks into a grin. “…but I do actually have to get her. My mum’ll be proper pissed if I don’t.”

Before you can think too much about it, or the plans you had, or the list of things you really need to get done, you’re speaking up.

“I could help. If you want.”

He brightens. “That’s exactly what I need to catch her! A partner in crime!”

A partner in crime. Why the fuck not?

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He mentions, starting to head off in the direction of the dog.

“I’m—“

“—Tom’s partner in crime.” Tom finishes for you. “Damn right you are.”

You can’t help but laugh. “…yeah. Sure.”

It’s a weird side quest to go down, helping a guy you just met find his dog. But, looking at Tom, you can’t help but thinking that you made the right choice.

He seemed decent enough, after all. What could go wrong?

[modelbus]

ATTEMPT 3 AT A SHORT REQ, TAKE TWO.

Ranboo, Acting AU, Word; ‘Authentic’ (I’m really setting you up for the title ‘Authentic Acting’, huh? XD)

Filming for (disney-channel-but-better) original, “When Our Stars Collide” (The Superhero/Supervillain-Coming of age series, with two protagonists who go from: friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends, all in seven seasons!) is a lot of fun! That is, until your Co-star is having an off-day, and can’t for the life of themself throw a good fake-punch. 17 (5 minute) takes, 3 (unhelpful) breaks, an entire set of exhausted (and pissed off) film crew, and an overly dramatic, tired Y/N, had Ranboo willing to do almost anything to just finish the stupid scene, so they could all go home. (And he could buy his best friend Boba to apologise..)

So, is it really all that surprising, that Ranboo reluctantly agreed to ACTUALLY punch Y/N, per her request? Or that he accidentally punched WAY to hard? Or that she refused to break character, despite the throbbing black eye that she could feel forming?

No. No, it wasn’t.

This long ass mother fucking shit is probably the shortest request I’ve ever sent you..

But its still absurdly long. And It still took an hour. And I still finished it at 1AM.

-✨🌌🌙 NOT Anon

omg I can’t believe my eyes it’s a short request from you?! Not being able to call this “Authentic Acting” is killing me by the way…

Pairing: Cc!Ranboo x Gn!Reader

Acting AU - Authentic

“Maybe you should’ve taken those fighting classes.”

Ranboo’s head whips around to pin you with a betrayed look, his hands still curled into fists from the last take. There’s fake blood smeared over his costume, and you grin back at him, knowing your costume looks the same.

You do really love working on the set of “When Stars Collide.” Not only was working in a superhero movie your dream role, but having Ranboo as your costar was great. He was a hell of an actor, and an even better person.

Typically, filming the fight scenes was a shared favorite. You got to look badass, and pretend to actually be badass! What else could you possibly want?

But today… today just wasn’t Ranboo’s day. He’s thrown fake punches at you hundreds of times by now, but today he just seems to be struggling. Either his elbow placement is wrong, or it isn’t positioned correctly, or there isn’t enough force.

“Maybe we should take five?” One of the assistants suggests, checking their watch. It’s been over an hour (and over 17 takes) of doing this; no doubt everyone else is just as tired.

Except this would be the fourth break you guys have taken. And things are already on a tight schedule as is, any more breaks would have the crew falling behind.

“No, no I’ve got it this time, I swear.” Ranboo says, shaking his hands out. You can read the anxiety in the move easily.

“Just punch me.” You suggest, shifting you feet back into position.

“What do you think I’ve been trying to do—“

“For real, I mean.” You interrupt. “Just punch me.”

Hesitancy flickers across his face, but he doesn’t immediately shoot the idea down. He’s probably just as tired as you are.

“I can take a punch.” You add, just to help convince him.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. C’mon, we’ve got this!”

You nod at the camera people, not giving him time to back out. Choice made, no going back.

Both of you get back into character and place, your eyes narrowing into a glare as needed in the script. He scowls back.

“Action!”

“You think you’re hot shit?” Ranboo snarls. “I can take you down with one measly punch!”

“Try it, then!” You throw your arms wide. “You’re a coward at heart, and we both know—“

His fist slams into your face.

Holy shit.

When did he get that strong? When did he learn how to actually punch? You stumble back a few steps, nearly hitting a prop. All you can feel is pain, radiating out from your eye. It’s like you can feel the bruise forming.

Concern flickers in Ranboo’s face, but you don’t give him a chance to break character. It was a perfect punch, ignoring the fact it was authentic.

You attempt a sneer, but know it looks more like a pained grimace. “Fuck you.”

“You said to punch you. Maybe you need to stop underestimating me.” He turns, cape sweeping wide behind him. “Leave me alone.”

“You’ll come back to me!” You shout, staring at him. God, your face fucking hurts.

“Not this time.”

Ranboo exits, leaving you alone on camera. You shake your head, turning away too.

“He’ll come back.” You murmur to yourself, looking down at the ground.

“Cut!”

You press a hand to your face, hissing in pain. Within seconds, Ranboo is there.

“Are you okay? Was that too hard? I think you’re bruising, I’m so sorry—“ He starts saying, hovering worriedly around you.

“‘M fine.” You say. “When did you get such a good punch?”

“I don’t know! Can I help? Should I get ice?”

You move your hand, giving him your best attempt at a grin. “If you get me ice, I’ll marry you right fucking now.”

“Right, ice. And I’ll order you food. And say sorry. A lot. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—“ Ranboo turns on his heel, leaving to go grab ice, not letting you finish. “—apologize.” You finish, sighing.

Yeah, you’ll definitely have a black eye from this. But hey! At least you got the shot.