#HOPE THESE ARE AT LEAST GOOD/FUN TO LOOK AT

[thetrasha]

talking about your buggy, could we have a "fem!reader is under the influence of something and cannot lie" but reader actually has a crush on who's with them at the time of the fic?

i thought about buggy, sabo, sanji and law because to me they would die being complimented knowing she couldn't lie, but feel free to write about whoever you seem fit

thx a bunch viu!!

Thank you so much for the request, anon! (●ˇ∀ˇ●) This was so much fun, I loved the chaotic energy. I hope you like this one~~ (Plus: You know I appreciate a good Buggy ask 🥺)

Truth Serum Shenanigans

feat. BUGGY, SABO, SANJI, LAW, BROOK

In your defence… you were the scout for today, which is why you left the ship in such a haste.

You bolted as soon as the ship was anchored – the gentle rocking of the waves has been annoying you for at least two weeks and you felt unsteady on your own feet. It was the first time you’ve been at sea for that long – the Log Pose just wouldn’t show a reliable route and recalibrate every few hours, which meant that the course had to be corrected time and time again…

You barely had any grasp on what it felt like to have solid ground beneath you these days… so the mere sight of soil relieved you. Yes, the… profession you’ve chosen for yourself was indeed unconventional and time spent at sea could get rough, but you weren’t the only crewmate to slowly succumb to insanity!

And before anyone could steal this opportunity from you, you ran into the dense jungle – the stubby thicket was so dense that barely any light shone through… not what you usually went for when you wanted to explore, but you weren’t picky in this sad state of affairs. It was absolute bliss to be able to walk around freely and stretch your limbs without any water beneath you. You dared to say that this might have made you more efficient; you were covering so much ground all by yourself just because you were ecstatic to see a change of pace.

The vegetation was strange, but not extraordinary for Grandline standards. It was just a regular island you needed to use to stock up on basic supplies, such as perishables, wooden planks and freshwater – the latter having the highest priority. So far you weren’t that lucky. You’ve seen plenty of fruits – ones that looked so much like Devil Fruits to your untrained eye, with their hypnotic swirls and intricate patterns – and prey animals, finding food definitely wouldn’t be a problem… and there were enough trees around to supply a whole city with enough lumber, which means you were covered there, but freshwater? That was surprisingly rare.

You tried to dig a moderately deep hole with your hands to taste a hint of groundwater, but even that tasted somehow as salty as the ocean. You didn’t know whether this island was deeply entrenched with cyclical ocean tides, but considering that flora and fauna could live near the shoreline pretty much disputed that theory – or plant life and animals had evolved to withstand the saltiness of the ocean here. It was just… strange.

You continued walking through the jungle. Some vines had to be cut down to find a way through what had previously been clearly untouched nature, but after trekking through so much mud and moss that you’d forgotten where you came from – thank God for your compass and the vivre card your captain handed to you that would always lead you back to the crew – you could hear it:

The gentle, almost inaudible pitter-patter of water drops hitting another body of water.

You unsheathed your sword and cut through a tall grass and reed, closing your eyes to follow the sound. A few birds fled from the sharp swing of your sword, alerting other animals nearby that immediately retreated back into the jungle… so much so that it rattled the crowns of the trees around you. Lonesome leaves were falling onto you and landed in your hair, but you were concentrating on your observation skills.

And just when the sound was unmistakably near, you opened your eyes again.

A lake! Like an oasis, flowers representing each colour of the rainbow neatly framed the entire lake, gracing the surface with a few petals that almost made the entire thing look magical. The water looked too good to be true – crystal clear, almost glittery in nature, and pale blue.

Even though it wasn’t a great idea to drink stale water – a river would have been much preferable – you knelt down, feeling the lush grass beneath you. You cupped your hands together and scooped up some water. It felt different from anything else you’ve ever encountered before, but you’d taken a sip anyway.

Freshwater!

Oh, the others will be so grateful…!

And it was beyond delicious, too. Refreshing and almost fruity in nature. Definitely had a sweetness to it.

A great find.

So… why did everyone look at you like that when you carried back a sample in a flask…?

“Don’t tell me you… found the Fountain of Truth?”

“The what?”, you repeated, feeling funny all of the sudden…

BUGGY

Buggy was conflicted.

On the one hand, he knew he could count on your exploration abilities to find anything he’s ever wanted, but on the other hand, he felt frustrated with himself for sending you away – he didn’t think anybody ever read his inventory reports, but of course… you do read them. You were a perfect pirate with the perfect skill set… and you fulfilled your duties diligently.

And you’ve apparently read that you badly needed more freshwater reserves to continue travelling efficiently, meaning you, with all your good will and kindness, trekked through a jungle and put your health on the line to confirm the presence of water that is, first and foremost, drinkable. And nothing else. It was meant to be a surprise, a grand show opener if you will, to reveal to the other fools that you guys had found a great treasure that would guarantee absolute power… for a certain amount of time. He could extort any information with this!

Now you’re the one who’s under a spell though – you have to tell the truth, no matter the question or comment.

That’s why he was hesitating to be around you right now. You… could truly say anything and he’d know that it’s true. Even though having so much power over someone else’s secret was very much something Buggy was in favour of, you were still… you.

Maybe you’d tell him that none of your teasing meant anything to you – and he’d rather not know these things.

It was way easier to pretend.

But the crew clearly didn’t think you’d have to be kept under lock and key and sat you down in the common area, firing questions at you non-stop. The cackles that came from that room were unbearable, which caused Buggy to stomp over in the first place, huffing at the disrespect – especially when nobody even saw him entering the room. All eyes were on you instead… as was a literal spotlight stolen from the circus tent.

THESE IDIOTS!!!

“-out Cabaji?”

“…Tryhard.”

Cabaji growled at Mohji who’d asked the question in the first place, even glaring at Richie, who was laughing, too.

You were crushing this room without even trying like… a damn stand-up comedian.

“What do you think about the Captain?”, Cabaji asked with a sinister smirk, having seen Captain Buggy stand around while growing madder and madder at the commotion the crew causing – and now that you’ve made an honest joke at his expense, he wanted to get you into trouble.

“He’s funny and cute.”

“And about that nose?” Someone from the crew chimed in before they broke out in laughter.

“I like his nose.”

Absolute silence. The crowd went still – you could have seriously heard a pin drop in that environment.

Until Buggy made it very much known that he’s heard everything. He shouted at everyone to quit this nonsense and get the Hell back to work, for they’d still have to find a reliable source of water… and he shot a sneer towards Cabaji whose soul left his body for a moment.

Major fuck-up.

You could just… stare. There was no thought going through your mind – Buggy… he heard everything you said. And he knew you were telling the truth. What a disaster!

Maybe you were going to be thrown off the crew, maybe you were going to be tortured! - Wait… you guys don’t really do that. Well, maybe he will –

“Do you mean it?”, Buggy’s voice was meek and his face was set aflame in embarrassment.

The blush had already spread down his neck and painted his collarbones deep pink as well.

“Yes.”, you said bluntly. After all, you had to tell the truth.

He nodded, looking at you with so much wonder that it was hard to imagine that he was, in fact, a fearsome pirate with a bounty on his head. He looked like someone who’s never even heard these words uttered to him.

Or... like someone who… was completely in love.

“I think you’re very attractive, Captain.”

Buggy whimpered – literally whimpered – and his grin wobbled for just a moment before he turned around in frustration, berating you for being such a tease that couldn't even respect your captain and telling you to get back to your position. He wouldn't tolerate lazy idiots who couldn't even lie to him in that moment!

You shyly fidgeted around in your seat, not knowing what to say to him. Especially when he clenched his fingers so hard that his hands detached themselves from his body, falling down onto the floor.

And he just went and left you to your thoughts without retrieving his own body parts, his head in the clouds.

How you fell in love with this man – you’ll never know. But he was an endearing fool.

SABO

“The Fountain of Truth?! This is what we came here for?! You need to tell us these things, Sabo!”, Koala screamed while you were sitting next to Hack who was fussing over you.

Originally – apparently – Sabo had planned to use this powerful serum on underground brokers to find out just who’s really responsible for all that weaponry and explosives that kept ending up in countries at risk of civil war. Someone was trying to divide and conquer and the Revolutionary Army wanted to find out who it was – without forcing any of the Army Officers to investigate to be totally discreet about it.

Luckily for you all, you four were indeed pretty discreet. You were good at your respective jobs, but on a personal note…

“I would have liked you even more if you could have told me beforehand. I wouldn’t have tried to drink it.”, you pouted with sad eyes. You looked up at Hack who reported on the lack of water on their inconspicuous vessel and he could but raise his arms in defeat and apology.

“Liked me even more? That’s possible?” Sabo was always ready for a quick resort, utilising his charisma to his advantage. He was also too intelligent for his own good, figuring people out before they revealed any substantial info about themselves. As Chief of Staff, he was fantastic, but you thought he was an even better man.

“I doubt it, too...”, you sighed, looking at him with yearning burning in your irises, “You’re so pretty and… you treat me so well. You’re like a prince – wait, I don’t mean it like that! I hate nobility, but I mean-”

Koala’s cackles caught you off-guard, she couldn’t help but double over with tears in her round eyes, slapping Sabo’s back repeatedly while he was totally frozen in place. Hack visibly sweatdropped and turned around, feeling bad for the grave you’re digging for yourself.

“Don’t laugh, Koala!”, you whined loudly, alerting the other three immediately, “I’m just saying – Sabo’s so… ah, he’s everything a girl could want! He never strays from his principles, has vowed to save the world, but no matter how bad it gets, he tries to be everyone’s beacon of hope! He’s always kind, protects me every time I get into trouble and… he acts like-”

“We get it, (Y/N)…” Hack intervened, knowing that you’d be upset at them if they let you keep talking about your crush on Sabo. Mostly everyone knew what was going on between you two – you were already attached at the hip and acted like lovebirds wherever you went.

Sabo took every mission you took and even went as far as intimidating the recruits for flirting with you, telling them, in your name, that you’re definitely not interested and that they should focus on their duties, but… neither of you could see that you were basically married already.

“H-aaaaaaaaah?!”, Sabo pointed at you as you tilted your head at his beet red face while your two companions whistled innocently, “I… will… take everything that’s been said into consideration.”

Koala snorted once the mighty Chief of Staff pulled down his top hat to hide his red cheeks and those eyes that were filled with happiness. The grin he wore couldn’t be hidden from anyone’s view, though.

SANJI

You were sitting down in the breakfast nook of the Sunny, trying to answer a bunch of rapid-fire pop quizzes – most of its questions consisting of Luffy asking whether you think he’d become King of the Pirates, always getting a resounding ‘yes’ in reply at which he pumped his fist and cheered.

So far, you were asked if you’ve ever seen anybody drool in their sleep (yes), who it was (Usopp), whether you know who knocked over Chopper’s nightlight (yes), who it was (Luffy) and who replaced it without saying a word (Zoro).

The crew was excited to use you as a tool for entertainment.

Especially… well… there were two people who knew something that shouldn’t be discussed. One of them could be trusted with that type of information, but the other…

Nami smirked, “Who is your favourite crew member?”

“Chopper.”, you said without hesitation and a sweet smile aimed at your doctor. Robin smiled as well, letting your guys’ reindeer friend hop off her lap.

Chopper cheered, calling you names while doing his silly happy dance that always made you smile sweetly. He was… just the cutest.

Nami’s devious giggle did make you uneasy, though.

“Aside from Chopper… who do you like the most?”

“…Sanji.”, you revealed to a chorus of gasps – meaning Franky, Brook, Usopp and Chopper gasped with varying degrees of shock – and your eyes widened. You couldn’t even hold that information back! The serum was far too powerful.

Of course your roommate would find it funny to embarrass you like that. You haven’t paid interest on the money she’s lent you! She was out for blood now. Even if her eyes held a fond look within them. No matter how much she’s thought this would benefit you – she was dead wrong and the Devil!!!

And Sanji, having heard everything since he stood just by the stove, dropped a tray of refreshments.

All eyes darted over to him until the other members of the Straw Hats looked at each other and silently decided to leave the room.

Franky sent a thumbs-up Sanji’s way while Zoro raised an eyebrow at the chef.

Robin and Nami giggled at patted your shoulders gently.

THIS WAS TERRIBLE!!!

Sanji and you blinked at each other owlishly. Nobody dared to speak up first.

“Really?”, he said with a sad chuckle, “I know you have to tell the truth… but… why me?”

Your longing smile mirrored his own.

Sanji was a total idiot. He’s always lusting after women without meaning any of it. He just has to be useful to someone, to prove it to himself that someone out there could want him like that. He wants to be kept around, even if he doesn’t allow himself to hope. Maybe that’s why, whenever he was overbearingly kind to you, his eyes shone with something else – something different. Sanji never seemed to look at Nami and Robin like that; he acted like a moron around every woman, but he almost looked at you like you’ve already broken his heart many times, every time.

“You were there for me when I pushed you all away and never made me feel guilty for it. You believed in me when I couldn't do the same. I… need you.”

Sanji bounced back like your words had made a physical impact on him. His smile brightened, turning gummy before clicking his tongue, looking away from you. For the first time, you’ve seen him struggle to pull out a cigarette.

It was just his way of hiding his tear-filled eyes from you until he could blink them back.

“I think I love you…”, you added sheepishly –

–and watched as he tumbled over, eyes rolling back with a face of pure bliss.

But he did hit his head after fainting, which prompted you to run to Chopper in a frantic panic.

And… Franky and Zoro went in with horrifying expressions – katanas drawn and rockets ready to launch, thinking that this conversation went way different…

Pure chaos.

LAW

“Are you absolutely sure you drank from it?”

“Yes, Captain.”

You sighed as soon as Law used a tiny flashlight to peer into your eyes, inspecting your pupils. As soon as you came back and saw what you’d brought with you, he was furious… You’ve been told to get into the med bay immediately and stay there, while Bepo was to follow your verbal directions on how to go to this so-called legendary ‘fountain of truth’.

You rolled your eyes at Law’s expression. You were still sceptical about this… Of course, such a powerful potion would aid him in his crusade against his own tormentor, but you thought he was more rational than that. Nobody would have to tell the truth if they drank this; this was just a gimmick to make it seem like the journey was worth it. You were bound to free will.

“Have you ever tried to hide an injury from me?”

“Yes, Captain.”

You looked down in shame. You… You didn’t mean to say this! How was it… possible…?

Law squinted down at you in disapproval, almost eager to use his scan on you right now just to show you that he’s capable of taking care of you without being prompted to do so, thank you very much.

“Has anybody else on this crew ever hidden an injury from me?”

“Yes…”, you nodded, eyes looking anywhere but him.

“And did you assist this certain someone in hiding their injury last week before I could tell this unknown stranger about the importance of gloves?”

“…Yes…”, you replied, now knowing that he knew.

Of course Law knew what was happening on his submarine. But you did think that you were quiet subtle about hiding Bepo’s burn from Law… The polar bear didn’t want the captain to know that he burnt himself while you were all roasting marshmallows and making hot chocolate over a bonfire on a humble winter island near the Calm Belt. His paws were sensitive… and he wanted to look cool in front of the surgeon he admired so much.

Law sighed, his hands clenching and unclenching, “Who do you think I am?!”

His frustration with your carelessness oozed out of his every pore. He felt responsible for everybody on his crew and made sure to shield everyone from unnecessary harm. Your captain’s always been the one to take the most daunting tasks and leave the less-lethal stuff to you guys. Even in emergencies, you’re all looking towards him for guidance.

“The sweetest man alive.”, you blurted out.

And before you could cry out and try to redact your statements with a bunch of other true statements that would make it less obvious that you were hiding a massive crush on the captain, his reaction stopped your entire train of thought.

“WHAT?!”, he shouted, shaking you by the shoulders.

“I-I-I-”

“-WHAT??!!?!”

“I mean… it’s the truth…”, you said, looking away from him with a smile, “You always remember the last page I read even though I never tell you… and you always tell me where I’ve lost my bookmark when we're alone in your study. You also hand me a flower whenever we dock just to tell me to look it up in your journal. I don’t know if you genuinely want me to learn more about foreign plant life or if you just want to give me a flower, but you’re so sweet, Law.”

Law couldn’t make a single sound in response. He stood there… panting.

“I am going to go now. I'm looking forward to our daily chat later... when you're back to normal!”, he announced awkwardly, loud enough for anyone to hear as if somebody else had been in the room and then robotically walked away.

You could see that the tips of his ears were cherry red, though... so cute...

“Bepo, Mum and Dad are fighting!!” Shachi said to the polar bear who's just come back.

“NOOOO!”

…that was the last thing you heard until the crew erupted into screams.

Apparently, Law swapped a bunch of items in the common room with sea animals from below the Polar Tang.

You knew that he wasn't really angry, though.

BROOK

“Yohoho~ I hope you like this song, my dear (Y/N)!”, said Brook with a loving smile as you sat down in front of him, watching him entertain you as the rest of the crew made its way towards the thick jungle. Robin had informed everyone that the Fountain of Truth has been a tool for the World Government and CP0 agents for decades and Luffy couldn’t help but drag everyone into another mess – excluding you, of course, since you were now quite vulnerable. Since Brook was your best friend, he offered to stay with you to watch the Sunny.

“Of course. I love all of your songs.”

You really did. You also just… really loved Brook. He was always there for you – you’ve somehow taken to one another and now that you’ve spent so much time together, you’ve adopted each other’s habits. You’ve been humming a lot more lately and he’s gotten really into plushies. You reckon that it has to do with you trying to cuddle in his hammock… quickly noticing that his bones are quite hard. You didn’t want to make him feel bad, which is why you put a stuffed animal right where his pillow is and he’s kept it there since.

“I appreciate it!”, he mused in his sing-song voice, strumming a few notes on his guitar and smiling as soon as you mimicked the pitch with your own hums.

You were… an amazing woman.

“You know, Brook, I think you’re the most creative man on this planet…”, you commented absent-mindedly, looking into his empty eye sockets with a dreamy gaze that revealed your true affections for him.

At that, his breath hitched and he missed his own beat.

“You’re important to me. I know you know this, but I want you to be absolutely sure that it’s the truth. The most important person in my life!”, you smiled.

Brook nodded shakily, swallowing dryly. He couldn’t help but take a peek at your happy expression… You were always so… authentically raw around him. Your imperfections made you who you are, and he could see a soul that shines brighter than the stars beneath all of your self-critical thoughts.

But you were just as clever, of course. You knew that this sentiment just mirrored his own feelings towards himself – he didn’t believe that he was worth it either.

You were sensitive like that, noticed the little things.

“May I ask you a question?”, he murmured, pausing the song. Your eyes immediately snapped up at him.

“Of course. Now’s the best time for that, I guess.”

“Do you think we would have ended up together if I were still alive?”

Your heart just broke – and his did, too.

He looked at you with so much sorrow, even if he didn’t have the means to express himself like that. The coldness in his empty eyes was just… soul-crushingly sad.

“Irrelevant.”, you replied honestly, surprised at your own unmistaken clarity, “I love you just the way you are, Brook.”

He didn't say anything; he could just stare.

Then his bones turned pink. He was blushing!

“Yoho… ho… I love you, too, my dear.”

Somehow, that’s when it clicked to the both of you that everyone left the ship to force this moment – and you were suddenly very happy about the effects of the truth serum. And you giggled at this stupid turn of events.

...Was everyone but you two in on this mess?

[nights-at-crystarium]

Okay this's a long post, but I'm BEGGING you to slow down and read the above stuff. The general sentiment's bleak and depressing, though, whether you're a creator or a reader, we're all stuck in this current reality.

In our xiv corner, I noticed that some people actually begin to look up to my work as an inspiration and a success story. While this "success" keeps being shaky and uncertain, I have to keep promoting my work like cursed in order to stay in the same place, I AM able to work on Fragments full time and have a home and eat, so I guess that qualifies as success these days. I hope this doesn't come across as bragging, in face of horrors I simply want to provide a positive example, to acknowledge how lucky and privileged I am that, despite everything, there are still enough people that love and support Fragments.

I'm in my 30s, but I've never had any real comic aspirations, no ocs that I dreamt of since I was a child. So, while I emotionally resonate with the jaded creators in this post, my story's a bit different. I'm forever a fanartist, a fandom dweller that tried making something out of pure love, and it happened to be in a fandom large and active enough to pick up.

It began in 2022, in the hellish post-apocalyptic socmed landscape that I've been able to navigate only because I have a decently analytical, "seller" mindset, and a lot of spite for the evil that took away MY internet. They shit all over my home, now I'm fighting tooth and nail to keep the tiny island that keeps shrinking every year (the censorship, the algorithms, the conservative and purist idiots). Audience becomes more and more shallow, hard to please (the oversaturation, everyone's an artist now), hard to grab (everything has to be FLASHY!!!!! Bite-sized, instant gratification), trained by twitter and tiktok to consume without giving anything back.

Making a comic (or fics, or regular art, anything) isn't hard. It's nice and fun. It's more accessible than ever now! But getting it out there? Will you have enough mental fortitude to keep pushing your work, day after day, for months, for years? If you stop showing up on people's feeds, you're forgotten. But what if there isn't enough new material to show? Not everyone can churn out a new art every day. Recycling old stuff? A part of you dies whenever you do that. Creators are also scared to interact and support each other due to the cancel culture, so everyone's on their own now. At least I am. I write, I draw, I publish, I promote. To say it's exhausting is to say nothing.

You have to conform. To make attention-grabbing visuals, to sterilize what words you type (unless you're on tumblr, bless) so that your post isn't dumped to trash by algorithm for having "support" or "dead" or "fuck" in it. Even if you jumped through all of those hoops, there's still a risk that people don't care for some reason. Try again.

One of the above posters expressed that to make comics is to be punk again, and boy does it resonate with me. I have so much anger and frustration and spite in me, I'll fight and retaliate until it literally kills me. My way of fighting is holding onto the one good thing that I have in my life, working on Fragments and then being a freak about it with my readers. Fragments is a mature work, it has the ~problematic~ shit that'll make the tiktok-brainrotted people clutch their pearls. Good. It doesn't even conform to the classic comic/manga layout, it's something else entirely, not even because I'm so desperate to be original, but because I do what works for me, what's easier to draw, what brings me joy. The entire comic's punk as hell in every way imaginable. And yet, it managed to find enough other punks that love it just the way it is. It's been 3 years, and I'm still blown away.

I'm a confident person, I know what I'm doing, I LOVE what I'm doing, I HAVE FUN (until I have to promote the goddamn thing again). My work's unusual and it'll probably never stop being niche. However, it's got just enough vibe to attract my tribe, for which I'm grateful. Just wanted to say don't give up, random person thinking of making a comic, be yourself, do whatever the fuck you want, prepare to endure a lot and then some more, but it might just work out for you even in 2025.

P.S. One last thing!! Never give in to the perfectionism. Done is better than perfect. Draw and move on, even if you feel dissatisfied with it. Chances are, you're your harshest critic, and no one else will notice the thing that drives you crazy. Don't get caught up in the loop of doom where you wanna redraw/rewrite what you've already published. MOVE THE FUCK ON. KEEP WALKING FORWARD.

In your view/experience. is the rate of "incompleteness" among webcomics more or less the nature of online personal projects as a whole? Or is there something specific to webcomics like laboriousness, audience expectations, relative medium infancy or whatnot?

well for one thing webcomics has changed significantly in the last ten years. it used to have a much lower barrier for entry, just get a smackjeeves account or set up a website with a wordpress plugin. starting a webcomic when i started my webcomic vs starting a webcomic now are totally different experiences.

so i can only speak to people who started their webcomics roughly ten years ago. and roughly ten years ago a lot of us were a whole lot younger with a lot more time and energy to spend on a comic for free. this part is probably still somewhat true for new artists.

but then you get older. your ideas change. your skill develops and the old stuff isn't as good. or you don't have as much time, you got a day job. unless you're one of like five people on earth your webcomic is not paying your rent. you need to make money. your shoulder hurts. you're 30 now. you're struggling to make updates on time between whatever else makes you happy and what else you need to do to live. you wrote this story when you were 21, you don't relate to it anymore, you have different ideas, you've grown up, your audience has noticeably dropped off from the peak, social media managing is hard, you have to go to work, you're so tired, all the time.

it's a lot of things.

[pitchsidestories]

Lost in Translation II Hannah Hampton x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1502

summary: Reader barely speaks English. She learns her language, just enough to make her smile, and maybe steal her heart. requested

author's note: Hi there, just a quick note to say this isn’t meant to make fun of anyone who struggles with a new language. It’s more about the feeling of alienation that can come with starting over in a new country. We hope you enjoy the fic. <3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

Your heart pounded in your chest.

One last breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was no big deal. All you had to do was open the door and then…

Your mind blanked. And then what?

What were you supposed to say again?

One more breath. Right. You got this. You’d prepared for this.

You pushed open the door to the locker room and immediately, twenty sets of eyes turned to look at you. This had felt way less scary during your first tour of the Chelsea facilities, when the place was empty.

“Hello, my names is… y/n.”, you managed to press out.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you flinched about how odd your voice sounded. You didn’t sound like yourself, too stiff, too foreign.

A woman stepped toward you, a polite smile on her face as she said: “Welcome to the team. I’m your captain, Millie. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. I’m here to help.”

You frowned slightly. That was not what you had learned in your English classes so far. You guessed she was greeting you but you weren’t exactly sure what any of it meant.

“Slower… please.”, you asked her, trying to ignore how much your Italian accent bled through every word.

Lucy raised an eyebrow at Millie: “I think she doesn’t speak English yet.”

Millies eyes widened in understanding. Nodding, she quickly turned back to you: “Sorry. I’m Millie. I’m the captain.”

That, you understood.

“La capitana, okay.”, you nodded back.

“She’s from Italy I think.”, Keira said thoughtfully.

Lucy looked around the room: “Does anyone here speak Italian?”

The other players shook their heads or shrugged.

You had no idea what was going on and that realisation immediately started to sting. These were the people you were supposed to spend every day with from now on and you already felt so left out. Maybe this whole transfer had been a mistake.

“I don’t think so.”, Niamh concluded.

Lauren grinned: “No Italian, Bronze? I thought you were so good with languages?”

“I never played there!”, Lucy shot back. “But maybe she understands Spanish, Portuguese or French better than English.”

She turned to you, expectantly. But you could only shake your head, no idea what she had just said.

Millie groaned dramatically: “Where is Russo when you need her? But we can’t ask an Arsenal player for help.”

“Why not? At least until she settled in.”, Keira chimed in.

“I’ll learn some Italian.”, Hannah announced suddenly, all eyes including yours turned to her.

“No, Keira. And thanks, Hannah. That’s the spirit.”, Millie said, giving Hannah a grateful nod.

Lauren’s voice dripped with scepticism: “It’ll take forever to learn Italian.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, LJ!“, the blonde goalkeeper replied with a roll of her eyes.

“I’m realistic.“, Lauren shot back, folding her arms.

It had been a few weeks since you joined the Chelsea team. On a rare free evening, your apartment slowly filled with teammates you’d invited for a home-cooked Italian dinner.

Watching them settle around your table made your chest feel warm. It almost felt like home , a rare sense of belonging on this cold, rainy island.

“I hope you like it... it’s my nonna’s recipe.“, you said shyly, smiling as you put the self-made noodles into the boiling water.

The rich aroma of tomato sauce filled the air, making mouths water and stomachs rumble.

Hannah had just arrived. She wrapped you in a warm hug, her arms, as always, surprisingly strong.

“Ciao, y/n. Salsa di pomodoro?”,she asked with a grin.

“Si.“, you beamed at her.

Lifting her chin proudly, she announced: “Imparo l’italiano.”

“Eh, Hannah, you’re learning so fast.“, you observed, genuinely impressed by how determined she’d been to stay true to her word since the day you joined.

Lauren snorted:“She’s such a nerd.”

“No, she just wants everyone to feel welcome., Sjoeke said warmly. “I even taught her some German.”

Wieke leaned in light-heartedly: “That’s good. Dutch isn’t too far off from German.”

“Sooner or later she’ll be able to talk to everyone,” the red-haired defender added in a matter-of-fact tone.

Sighing softly, Guro looked between the two of you:“I think it’s really cute. Also... have you girls noticed how they look at each other?”

“Don’t even start.“, Lauren groaned playfully.

But Catarina smirked: “No, I noticed it too.”

“Ever since she first walked in.“, Millie added dreamily, twirling her fork through the air.

Hannah ignored the teasing. Her attention was entirely on you. Her blue eyes sparkled in the flickering candlelight, soft and focused as if the noise around her had faded into silence.

“Maybe we could... imparare... uhm... insieme?”, she asked, a little hesitantly.

You grinned:“Ah, sure... I like that. Molto.”

The goalkeeper looked at you, her voice low and fond: “Maybe you don’t need it anymore. Your English is getting molto buono.”

“You're always kind.” You felt flattered by her observation, a slight blush rising to your cheeks.

Hannah shrugged nonchalantly: “I'm just being onesta.”

“Of course.“, you chuckled, a little nervously.

The blonde raised an eyebrow:“Do you need help with anything?”

“No, sit down, it's almost ready.“, you replied, waving her off gently.

You quickly placed the pasta and sauce on the table, muttering with a small smile: “Buon appetito, everyone.”

While everyone began to dig in, you noticed Hannah still looking at you.

“Grazie mille.”, she said with a polite smile.

You bit your lip and looked down as you sat at the table, unsure how to respond.

Thankfully, Lucy chimed in: “That tastes great, y/n.”

Yes, you were new and struggled with the language but you could tell she meant it.

“Thank you, Lucia. For me, it’s like il sapore of home.”, you italo-englished your way through the sentence.

Lucy gave you a wry grin: “Trust me I get that.”

“I knew you would.”, you giggled, turning back to your pasta.

Your teammates really loved the dinner. The room was filled with laughter and beautiful mess of Italian, English and exaggerated hand gestures. You eased into it. For the first time in weeks, the feeling of homesickness almost lifted from your chest because it felt all so familiar all of a sudden. You didn’t expect to have so much fun that night.

They were showing you, in every small gesture and effort to include you that you belonged in this team. You were wanted and it was freeing, on and off the pitch.

So a few days later, when Chelsea won the FA Cup, you truly let yourself enjoy it. The celebrations went on until the early hours of the morning and sleep was the last thing on your mind.

In a quiet moment, you stood of to the side, sipping your drink. You let all the emotions of this season wash over you, grateful to have a minute to yourself when Hannah seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

In her typical sunshiny manner, she beamed at you, holding out her glass.

You clinked yours against hers, smiling up at her: “We will see each other in Svizzera, va bene?”

It was less of a question and more of a promise. She had become such a central part in your life in London that you knew you would really miss her during the summer break.

She nodded: “Va bene. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll miss you.”, you admitted in a rush of boldness.

“I will miss you too.”, Hannah said, her voice softer than usual.

“And the team too.”, you added quickly, suddenly shy.

The grin was back on her face: “I hope not as much as me.”

Was that really flirting? Or were you just misunderstanding again? It didn’t matter, you took the risk.

“Hannah? Have you ever been in Italia? You could practice Italiano there…”, you said, blinking innocently at her.

She smirked: “Is this an invito? Because I will say yes and come visit you.”

You nodded: “It is.”

“I will be there. And you will have to show me everything.”

“Prometto.”, you said. You hadn’t realised how close your faces had gotten. Your noses almost touched. You would only have to lean forward and your lips would have met. You allowed yourself that sweet little daydream. It would have been so easy, just letting your bodies do the talking. No other translation needed.

Sjoeke let that little dream bubble burst.

Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and alcohol as she called for you: “Come on, girls. You don’t want to miss the sunrise!”

“We’re coming.”, Hannah replied, looking surprisingly flustered too.

She took your hand in hers, fingers intertwined like it was the most natural thing in the world as you walked toward the pink-orange sky. Electricity buzzed through your whole body.

Because this right here didn’t need any words. This you understood.

image sources: pinterest, https://www.instagram.com/_hannahhampton/p/DKzvaVZIbZs/?hl=de&img_index=3

[jellysmosh]

More Than Just a Dream

Summary: As an actor, you knew more people would be noticing you after starring in an indie movie that gained some decent popularity. Although, the last thing you expected was to watch your no.1 YouTube crush yap about your performance in their latest video. Title is from Out of My League by Fitz and The Tantrums.

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Tags: Fluff, actor!reader, two idiots losing their composure, gender neutral pronouns for reader but more feminine qualities

Word count: 4.7k

Note: Based on this request for celeb!reader, this was my take on it! Happy belated birthday to our special guy! I hope my fellow Spencer-heads enjoy this one. <3

✩

You had been acting for a good majority of your life. Nothing major, local productions, community plays, your school’s drama troupe, extracurricular acting classes, you were even a theatre major in college. It was your passion. You loved diving into a character, exploring their story and becoming a part of a narrative separate to your own. You’d always been a huge fan of escaping into another world.

That’s how you ended up auditioning for and being cast in a small production company’s film as the main character. You were no big name, so when you got the call offering the part, you were ecstatic. It was called Shuttlecock, an offbeat black comedy about a virgin who somehow becomes the owner of a sex shop which they initially thought was a sports supply store. Long story. It was fun and bizarre but had vulnerability and heart. It was the first time you were mesmerised watching back something you had acted in. While you would not necessarily consider this a big break, it was definitely a huge step in your career.

The film did decently well, you tried not to let it get to your head as your best friends showered you with compliments, constantly telling you your “star was rising”. You started to semi-believe them when a few actors you had admired for years followed you back on Instagram. But one account in particular made you freeze in your tracks, sitting up in your bed when you saw the notification.

Smosh started following you.

“Oh my god”, you breathed out, “what?”

You had been a Smosh subscriber for ages. You recalled watching old sketch videos as a young theatre kid, they had definitely influenced you, in your comedic acting skills at least. And now, they followed you back. You resisted the urge to message them, they followed you minutes ago, you needed to play it cool.

✩

It was days later, when you were watching the latest Smosh Games video that you realised why they may have followed you.

“I have no idea”, Shayne put his arms up. Him and Spencer were doing another video where they guessed the movie by the frames.

“I… I think I know this”, Spencer scratched his chin, squinting at the monitor in front of them.

“Of course you do”, Shayne replied, slapping him on the back, “you got this, bud, I’m just here for moral support.”

Spencer was deep in thought, leaning forward. His fingers were resting on the keyboard as he tried to figure out what it was.

You recognised the first frame. It was from Shuttlecock. You felt excitement build inside you. It was a very vague one, a simple shot of one of the sex shop’s walls from the outside.

“I need to make sure”, Spencer said under his breath, skipping to the second frame.

The next one was of you. Well, it was your hand, pointing at something out of shot, fingernails covered in nail polish that was chipping off slightly.

“Yep”, he said with finality, typing the movie title in while Shayne whooped in excitement at him getting the correct answer.

You covered your mouth, scared you might scream with the giddiness that was rising in your chest. You didn’t want to alarm your neighbours in the adjacent apartment.

“What is this movie?” Shayne asked as they flicked through the other frames that would have popped up if they guessed wrong. There were a couple of different cast members and sets, the final one was of you looking at another character incredulously while holding a vibrator at arms length. This made the two of them laugh.

“This indie movie, Shuttlecock”, Spencer replied, “I saw it recently. It’s so good, dude, so funny, and I’m obsessed with the main actor.”

Your heart did a weird jump in your chest, you slapped your hand over it in alarm. Spencer, a.k.a your favourite person at Smosh, was talking about you.

“They played this sort of innocent, but not naive, and really hilarious character who ends up running this weird sex toy shop, it’s hard to explain”, he laughed as Shayne looked around, expression bewildered. “I’m not doing a good job talking about it, I promise it’s so good, we can watch it later.”

Shayne threw his head back in laughter before agreeing.

Spencer pointed at the camera, “if you like funny movies, watch Shuttlecock.”

Then they moved on with the video like it had never happened. You wanted to shriek. If you had more energy, you would have run laps around your room like a dog waiting for a walk. You couldn’t believe he had talked about you, specifically you, in a video. You fumbled with your phone as you opened Instagram, scrolling through all the new follower notifications, your eyes scanned for a specific name.

And there it was.

Spennser started following you.

You had missed the notification since he followed you at the same time a wave of new followers came in. You kicked your legs in excitement. Had he not realised you were already following him? Why hadn’t he messaged you? Should you message him? You reasoned that you weren’t being a creep, and it was normal to want to ask to collaborate with a creative person you were an admirer of. And this had nothing to do with the parasocial crush you had been harbouring for him from your side of the computer screen for the past few years. Nothing at all.

You took a couple breaths to calm yourself down. You could totally message him, hit him with a cute (and flirtatious) ‘heard you were a fan?’ with a wink emoji. You shook your head. No, that was cringey. Maybe a simple ‘hi, love Smosh Games’. No, you were still cringing. You ended up chickening out, thinking too hard about it made you just a little bit nauseous. Maybe you would try again when you were feeling braver.

✩

Bestie: ‘Seriously, DM him. NOW!’

You stared at the text message from your best friend, you felt like there was a hive of bees buzzing in your head, confused, frantic, excited, scared. It was early in the morning and you were getting ready to run off to a meeting when your phone started blowing up. They had sent you a TikTok edit of you using clips from Shuttlecock, which was crazy enough, you had never seen a fan edit of yourself ever. But the part that freaked you out was at the very start of the edit, it kicked off with the clip of Spencer talking about you in the recent Smosh Games video, smiling in that way you had engraved into your brain.

You: ‘I don’t know…’

You messaged back, apprehensive.

Bestie: ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me, you’re like super into this guy. And he just rambled on about how great you were in your movie. This is your chance, TAKE IT!!!’

You wanted to scream again. They were kind of right, but you had a million reasons to be nervous about it.

You: ‘What if he wants nothing to do with me?’

You texted with one hand while the other fiddled with your hair, a nervous habit.

Bestie: ‘You are actually a huge pain in my ass.’

They shot back, making you giggle.

Bestie: ‘Did you see his face? He’d probably click his heels with joy if you DMed him.’

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. They were just glazing you at this point. You couldn’t blame them, gassing you up was part of best friend duties.

The internal battle on whether or not to message Spencer raged on when it was interrupted by a new direct message appearing on your phone screen. You opened it so fast, you didn’t even care that they could see that you read it. As your eyes rapidly read over the message, you felt your heart beat even faster. This was almost as thrilling as when you were first casted in the movie. You read the message again and again and again to make sure you were interpreting it correctly.

Smosh wanted to feature you as a guest in a video.

You returned to your conversation with your friend.

You: ‘I’ll talk to you later, something insane is about to happen.’

You were totally going to be late to your meeting.

✩

After weeks of correspondence and the rapid approach of the event in your calendar named ‘FILMING AT SMOSH HOLY SHIT’, the day had finally come.

You had spoken with the team multiple times about what they wanted you to come and record. You tried your best to keep it professional and mature, you weren’t sure if they realised how big of a fan you were. Essentially, they were filming a Try Not to Laugh video on the Smosh Pit channel for Spencer’s birthday, and they were inviting guests to have a turn making him spit water. Emily Rose had the bright idea of inviting you when she watched him gush about you in the Games video he did with Shayne.

“It’s going to be a surprise”, she had explained to you over a video call. “Some guests he will be anticipating, but a few are going to be extra fun because he has no idea they’re coming. We’re going to save your turn for near the end of the video because he’s going to lose it.”

You chuckled at that, both nervous and excited.

“Are you sure he will?” You were a little unsure. Sure, he followed you on social media, you saw him like your posts, but he only talked about you one time in one video.

“Oh, yes. He will.” Emily Rose practically cackled, “trust me.”

You shrugged. She seemed confident that this was a good idea, and in what world would you ever turn down a chance to film a video with Smosh?

When you went through the whirlwind of arriving at Smosh HQ, meeting people, being whisked away to the area where they were hiding surprise guests, and preparing to appear on camera, you felt like you were walking through a fever dream. The excitement that buzzed in your body from your head to your fingertips was akin only to the feeling right before you stepped out on stage for a performance. In a way, this was the same, but the audience for this performance included Spencer Agnew, which made you sweat from anxiety.

You were a fan of the guy, you thought he was funny and charming and watching videos of him brightened your day. But you had never actually met him, and now you were going to go out there in front of a whole cast and crew and try to make him laugh hard enough to spit water, that was a bit daunting.

You shook out your limbs and tried to relax. This was going to be fun. Emily Rose said so. And so did Courtney and Angela when they saw you, offering you friendly smiles as they nudged each other in sheer enthusiasm. You didn’t expect that many people at Smosh to recognise you, let alone seem super glad you were there. As filming started and people took turns doing their bits, you watched on the monitors behind the partition. You covered your mouth laughing multiple times, not wanting to be too loud on an unfamiliar set. You were having a blast watching Spencer’s beloved castmates, crewmates, friends, and former coworkers attempt to break him, most succeeding.

“No way!” Spencer guffawed loudly after spitting his water. A couple of his former colleagues from ClevverTV surprised him, doing over the top impersonations of some of his most famous Smosh bits.

That was followed by Angela and Amanda doing a bit inspired by the three of them playing Resident Evil 8 together, then it was Chanse reprising his Bit City role as Cunty Spencer but with a Fred Darts twist this time. Everyone moved so naturally and put so much thought into their bits. Emily Rose had told you that you just needed to walk out there and the rest would take care of itself. Whatever that meant. So, you didn’t really have a proper bit ready. That terrified you.

For a split second, you forgot you were actually there, feeling like you were at home watching the latest TNTL video on your computer, and when you snapped out of it, it all felt so surreal again.

You were prompted by the team to get ready. It was your turn next.

You mentally prepared yourself as best you could, drying the bit of perspiration you had collected on your hands on your jeans and attempting to fix your hair. When given the cue, you walked out from behind the partition. As you turned to him, you locked eyes with Spencer and felt a bit embarrassed, offering a small wave.

As soon as Spencer recognised you, which took about one second, he immediately spat out half his water, followed by a gasp, which made him choke on the rest of his water and then he was thumping his own chest as he sputtered, coughing hard. The sudden display of a complete lack of composure made Courtney and Shayne, sitting on either side of him, spit their water as well with surprised amusement. The room erupted with yells and roaring laughter, many of them never having seen Spencer get so red in the face.

Turns out Emily Rose was right. No bits needed.

“You’re Y/N from Shuttlecock”, Spencer simply wheezed out, his eyes were a little watery from choking, but they were wide as he stared at you.

You nodded. “I am”, you replied, smiling at him. “I’m so glad you all spat because I had nothing prepared.” The crew and cast responded with another round of laughs. “Happy birthday”, you leaned in to quietly say.

“Holy shit”, Shayne was cackling, “how did they get you on here?”

“Instagram DM”, you simply replied, shrugging. You looked at the cameras, “it’s just that easy.”

“They’re not a huge blockbuster movie star just yet”, Spencer turned to the room, he held his hands out like he was defending you.

You raised your brows at him, “yet?”

“I have big plans for you”, was his fast response, earning another bunch of laughter from the room, you joining in.

“I’d love to hear them”, you couldn’t help grinning.

The video had to continue, so you scurried away, heart still pounding hard and fast in your chest. You tried to convince yourself it was because you were just nervous from being on camera. You were glad the viewers wouldn’t be able to feel the heat emanating off your body through their screens when they eventually watched this. Filming wrapped not long after your turn, and the mood was so high when they called ‘cut’, that everyone lingered to chat and mingle, the amount of people on set much higher than a usual shoot.

You were finishing up talking to Arasha when the man of the hour approached you. He was finally talking to you, and it wasn’t over Instagram messages, so you felt even less prepared for this moment than you could hope for. You knew you would probably speak with him one-on-one at some point since the moment you received that DM from Smosh, but now that he was standing in front of you, it felt dreamlike, like you weren’t in control of your own body.

He looked a little sheepish as he spoke, “hi”, his voice was loud enough to be heard in the loud room, but still soft.

“Hi”, you echoed back. You had been performing for most of your life, but somehow felt out of your depth just talking to a guy you loved watching on YouTube. “I love watching Smosh Games, by the way. I’m a big fan of your work”, you couldn’t help yourself from blurting out. You cringed at yourself internally, you couldn’t be nonchalant in this moment if you tried.

“I'm a big fan of your work”, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, cheeks slowly reddening, but refusing to break eye contact.

“I’ve only been in one movie, Spencer”, you laughed, feeling a little less anxious to speak to him. He seemed to light up when you said his name, but you were sure you were imagining it.

“Yeah, but I bet you'll be in many more and I'll be a fan of those movies when they happen”, he explained as you felt your neck and face heat up. “Like I said, I have big plans for you.”

You guffawed in a way you were sure was unattractive, but Spencer was smiling at you nonetheless.

“You want to quit Smosh and become my manager?” You joked, nudging him lightly on the arm.

“I’m thinking about it”, his voice was low, you were pretty sure you were the only person in the room that could hear him. There was a quiet lull between you for a second as you stared at each other, smiling like idiots, eye contact magnetic, unable to look away. His grin was bordering on goofy when a familiar brunette practically jumped on him from behind.

“Hey, Spence! Hi, Y/N!” Angela greeted the both of you as Spencer regained his balance and Courtney trailed after Angela, joining the circle.

“We’re all so glad you could make it, Y/N”, Courtney gently rested a hand on your shoulder, “we’re grateful you could take time out of your schedule to come meet a bunch of strangers.”

You shrugged, “I was more than happy to come over. I’ve been watching Smosh for ages, so you guys don’t really feel like complete strangers to me, honestly.”

“Are you for real?” Angela stared at you with wide eyes, “you’re a fan of Smosh?” She leaned into Spencer, mumbling near his ear, “you totally have a shot, bud.”

He practically shoved her away as she giggled, directing her attention back to you. “I’m sorry, but he has not shut up about you since he watched Shuttlecock. You can ask anyone in the office and they’ll agree. He’s obsessed, so I’m just excited for him that you seem to like our content too.”

“Angela”, Spencer’s brow was furrowed, but you could tell he wasn’t mad, just embarrassed. That also made you feel embarrassed in turn, wondering if it was obvious how hot your face was as you thanked them. Your hand gently adjusted your hair as Courtney piped up.

“Yes, obsessed with your movie”, they gave Angela a pointed look that made her shut her mouth and nod along sagely. “He is definitely a big fan. So, you guys must have a lot to talk about. We’ll leave you to it.”

They gave you one last winning smile before basically dragging Angela away.

“Uhh..” Spencer scratched the back of his head, looking back at you, “ignore Angela, she gets post-shoot zoomies and says wild shit.”

You breathed out a laugh, you had calmed down significantly, feeling less like you were about to have a heart attack and more like you were just a little nervous while talking to your YouTube crush.

“I’m really, really happy you liked Shuttlecock”, your voice was barely above a whisper, sincere. You moved slightly closer so he could hear you. Instinctively, your hand gently grazed his forearm, a silent plea for him to see you were being genuine. Your eyes were glued to his again, your heart skipped a beat when he offered you a gentle, almost shy, smile. You felt like the air was especially warm in this corner of the set.

“I can’t believe you’re here”, his voice was quiet again too. He raised his eyebrows, it was as if he was in a daze. You had never seen him like this in any videos. “Angela was kinda right, frankly.”

“About which part?” The rest of the room became a blur to you, the sounds around you were muffled and distant sounding. All you could focus on was the man in front of you, cheeks pink and expression unguarded. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, no amount of stage fright compared to this feeling, like you were perched on a precipice, threatening to tip over and plunge into something unknown.

“That-”, he looked down, hesitating. His arm twitched like he wanted to reach out to you, but he stopped himself. “That I haven’t stopped talking about you since I saw the movie. I am a little obsessed, I guess. Oh man, I sound like such a creep.”

“No”, you quickly stopped him, “you do not sound like a creep. I think I’m the creep here, honestly.”

“How?” His shoulders shook a bit with humour.

“Because”, you took another step closer, probably the last one you could before it was a complete breach of personal space. Plunging into the unknown. “I have been watching you on YouTube for ages. I had to stop myself from screaming out loud when I saw you follow me. You have always made me smile when I’m having a bad day before you even knew me.”

He covered his face, you could tell he was laughing, ears beet red. It felt so good to fluster him like this, it gave you a rush you had to chase.

“I have had this huge YouTuber crush on you”, you continued, watching his face leave his hands to snap up look at you, astonished. “So imagine my surprise when I watch a new video from my favourite channel and my crush is talking about me.”

When you made eye contact with him again, time was suspended. The air was sucked out of your lungs as you took him in. His face was flushed, glasses a tiny bit askew, a couple strands of hair diverging from the rest to dangle down by his eyebrow. You were sure you looked a mess, your face was so, so hot. You adjusted your hair again.

The spell was broken when another staff member called Spencer’s name by the door, yelling something about being behind schedule. As you both looked away from each other, you felt like you had come hurtling back down to earth from floating through space. You hadn’t even realised most of the people that were loitering behind had all left.

“I, uh”, Spencer pointed back towards the door with his thumb, tone reluctant. His expression was still stunned, “I have to go, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry”, you shook your head, pushing down your disappointment. You knew you couldn’t keep him to yourself all day. “Duty calls.”

He remained for a few beats longer, just looking at you. Then the voice sounded again, more frantic this time, prompting him to scamper off, shouting a goodbye to you over his shoulder.

“I’ll message you later, can I message you later?”

“Yeah!” You were almost shouting so he could hear you as he got further away. He wanted to talk with you more, that sent a thrill through your body. “Yeah, you can!”

The last you saw of him was his hand waving as he was ushered out the door. You smiled and waved back, already missing his presence. You spoke with a few more people before you left, Emily Rose walking you to your car.

As you drove home, you were riding the high of a good time at Smosh HQ. You tried to focus on that and not the fact that you told Spencer he was your crush and he did not respond to that confession. In fact, he practically ran away. Pulling into your parking spot at your apartment building, you dropped your head as your car stopped, horn sounding as your head hit the wheel with a ‘thump’.

Focus on the positive, Y/N, you thought to yourself, you got to film at Smosh, that’s fucking amazing. You would have never expected that a year ago, in fact, you-

Your own thoughts were interrupted by your phone dinging multiple times.

You picked it up to check who was sending you so many messages and your heart stuttered in your chest. There were notifications from Spencer.

Spencer: ‘I’m SO SORRY, I had to run, but I wanted to tell you…’

Spencer: ‘I have a huge crush on you too. I honestly can’t stop thinking about you.’

Spencer: ‘I mean I kept talking about you after seeing your movie, but after meeting you irl today…’

Spencer: ‘I feel like I’m going insane, I’m so sorry for spamming you.’

You stared at your phone, your entire body warm, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Before you could reply, another ding from your phone.

Spencer: ‘I don’t normally act like a freak btw, I just don’t want to miss this chance.’

You laughed at his text, you felt like you were the freak here, sitting in your parked car grinning at your phone. You saw the little sign saying he was typing pop up and disappeared a few times before another couple messages came through.

Spencer: ‘You’re so out of my league, I was speechless when you told me about your crush on me earlier.’

Spencer: ‘Y/N. I would absolutely love a chance to take you out to dinner sometime. On a date. What do you say?’

You frantically typed a definite, ‘Y-E-S’, slamming your thumb down on the send button and throwing your phone like it was on fire. This time, you let yourself scream. A high-pitched, victorious one that sounded more like a screech. You saw a cat on a nearby fence jump in surprise and skitter away. You let your head drop down again and kicked your legs around the pedals out of giddiness. Your horn sounded through the car park a second time, covering the sound of your excited yell.

Silly, silly Spencer, you thought, if anything, he was the one who was out of your league.

✩

Tommy, Courtney, and Angela stood huddled together, holding their afternoon coffees and teas, whispering conspiratorially.

“He’s being so weird”, Angela muttered, the others hummed in agreement.

They were all watching Spencer, sitting at his desk and bouncing his knee at a speed nobody has ever bounced their knee before. He was texting someone, they had deduced, fingers flying across the keyboard. They were growing concerned, he was normally way more chill than this, seeing him seemingly write out an essay at record breaking speed was a new concept. His brows were drawn together, serious.

“Did something bad happen?” Concern laced Tommy’s voice, but they all continued to stare.

“No”, Courtney replied slowly, “I think this is his own personal, weird type of excitement.”

“Excitement?” Angela grabbed Courtney’s wrist with her free hand, “Oh my god, what if he’s texting Y/N?”

Courtney gasped at the idea while Tommy shook his head.

“No way, they were just here”, he reasoned, taking a sip of his drink, “he’s not brave enough to message them so soon, right?”

The other two silently stared at each other.

“I dunno”, Courtney’s tone was sing-songy, “they were getting pretty cozy before Y/N left, I actually wouldn’t be surprised if they messaged him.”

Their quiet discussion was interrupted by a ‘bang’ as Spencer abruptly kicked the side of his desk as he scrambled to stand up from his chair. He was staring down at his phone, reading something over and over again before throwing his hands in the air in silent celebration.

“Oh, oh, oh, something’s happening”, Tommy fluttered his hand around in a feverish way.

“Spence!” Courtney threw caution in the wind, calling out to him, “what happened?”

He turned to them in surprise, arms still in the air. A boyish smile broke out across his face, his excitement came off him in waves, everyone in the room feeling it.

“I’ve got a hot date, that’s what happened!” He exclaimed like he couldn’t keep it inside, like he had to tell them or he was going to explode.

“That’s my boy!” Angela cheered, the three of them clapping like he had just won a trophy. “Happy birthday, Spence!”

✩

Note: I hope you guys like this, I changed and rearranged it a bunch of times before I was happy with it lol. Let me know what you think! <3

♡ masterlist

[itslifetreesworld]

So I've been having this idea of doing one of my favorite looks of Ethan and Benji across the M: I series! Obviously Benji joined in mi3 so I put the first two Ethans together to jump start everything. I hope to do each one every day so stay tuned!

I will also write something explaining why I picked that particular costume/look, with screenshot references and anything I found interesting during the process, so if you are interested in some ramblings here we go:

Mission: Impossible

I know everyone thinks of the Langley suit when talking about the first M: I movie (so am I). I'm not saying it's overrated because it's not, but I do think maybe that's too much of a cliche if I also pick that? So the other day I watched a video essay discussing the evolving of costumes in movies and they mentioned this grey striped suit with blue shirt and a blue tie in M: I and I just thought, damn, that's a really nice suit:

It was the suit Ethan wore when he met with Max. It's a bit of a shame that Ethan slowly turns to a very utilitarian all-black-and-leather choice of clothing and does not really wear anything like this anymore.

Plus, I think it is one of the very few times where Ethan wears a long coat (the only other appearance actually being in FR? Correct me if I'm wrong)

Mission: Impossible 2

Ok so the thing is, I don't remember a lot from mi2 ... (would you blame me thou) so when I watched it again trying to pick a favorite look, what I realized is that... (Spoiler alert if you haven't seen mi2 which is from,,,literally 25 years ago)

...that a lot of my favorites are actually the villains in Ethan's mask!?!? I find it very funny but then it would not be fair to do that, maybe I can do that as a bonus one after everything? Anyway eventually I picked Ethan in this grey-ish blue shirt with a vest:

I think this was technically still part of the disguise of Nekhovich, but it was pretty cute (and I'm running out of options)

My favorite part of this look is actually the disheveled hair due to the removal of the mask, and it's also super fun to draw :D

Mission: Impossible 3 (finally)

My first choice of Ethan's look in mi3 is actually the one with the brown suede jacket, which is also the one with the most screen time (I think?)

The second one that came into my mind is the tactical suit during the mission to rescue Lindsey, which is also something l like a lot but never really reappeared on screen:

(btw do you know how hard it is to find anything that's neither pitch black nor blurry while showing the suit during this sequence, this is the best I can do)

But as I put them next to Benji...none of them feels right!? At that point I realized I had no other choice than this aforementioned all-black T-shirt and jeans combo when he called Benji in Shanghai.

I am not complaining about anything, the beaten-up Ethan and the blood are all part of the look and they are VERY GOOD (I mean to draw).

Speaking of Benji, before doing this, I genuinely thought he only had one costume, the one when he's rambling about the rabbit's foot:

But the one when Ethan called him is actually slightly different! I think it was the same blue jacket that gave me the impression of only one costume:

Anyway, I actually preferred the rabbit's foot one, but again for pairing him with Ethan I went with the second one.

Btw I cannot find anything about what pants Benji wears in the movie, so I had to make something up. Judging from the dress code of the IMF at that time, I guess it was probably also something dark or black, colorless, and probably not really Benji's choice of clothing.

Another thing I realized from this is that Benji in his pre-field agent days might be quite sensitive to the cold? In both of the IMF office scenes, he wore at least 4 layers and he kept his jacket on, in comparison Ethan only wears a light sweater while Luther is wearing a sweater and a jacket, no one else in the IMF seems to wear as much as Benji did:

It was probably just part of the character building, to have this kind of geeky-nerdy look? He doesn't seem to wear particularly more than others in the following series.

Anyway that's all of my ramblings for my fav looks in mi1-3! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading, and looking forward to seeing you again maybe tomorrow ;)

[zepskies]

Ahhhh thank you, friend!! 🥹💕

not gonna lie, at first after reading the description, then seeing the nine months time pass, and reading this I thought a baby ??? ...until I remembered about his undercover prison mission lmfao 🤦🏽‍♀️🤣 all I have to say about blake is boo this man!, lmao. also she needs new friends, those girls are not a good support system at all :/

Hahaaaa nope, not quite there yet with a baby, but Blake is def a boooo.👎🏽 And honestly yeah, reader could definitely use a better support system. Sarah is the only somewhat real one in that group 💙

ay pobresitaaaaa 🥺 i feel so bad :( but part of me is a sucker for the person a looking after a vulnerable person b so I liked where this was headed...😅

Indeeeed 😭😭 But yeah exactly, same loll! 🤭

I swoon 💖 love me a protective man.

Ugh yes! I'm such a sucker for these moments loll

yeahh she deserves better friends for sure. friends she can be safely vulnerable with ...no matter how much i love the comfort opening this left for mark 🥲

Honestly a great and valid point. It takes a lot for this reader to crack, but she's at the end of her rope. At least Mark's able to catch her this time ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

oh this hit hard :( 🤍 such a heavy feeling

Literally the worst feeling, poor thing. That directly parallels with the song 💙

this sequence was so bittersweet to me. ❤️‍🩹 it felt like a reminder of their long and meaningful past, and just how much they really mean to each other despite all the angst surrounding them <3

Oh very much so! It was all of that, signaling the closeness and history between these two ❤️‍🩹

I don't trust Valwell at all...i'm worried for her 🥲

Me either! I'm setting this up for some fun conflict/angst in the future lol

...yeah she gotta get rocked, oh my. I have zero sympathy for her. like your sister looked out for you better than your own parents, you're mad at her for how your parents treated you (not her fault), so after trying and failing to seduce her drunk fiance...you send her deceiving pictures just to be evil.. you're a weirdo girly. me personally i would have put nair in her shampoo or something. no way she gets away with that scott free 🤠 I hope she does hate herself for this — what an awful thing to do to someone you're supposed to love.

Oh Rachel's the worst lol. Don't worry, her and reader will have their confrontation in the near future, but until then, she gets to stew in being a selfish, entitled, resentful, jealous, heinous bitch 🥲

clinging on to the sliver of hope this is giving me omg

Hehe we'll see what Derek Haas does with a potential save for Mark in the future, but depending on what happens, we may need to fanfic that shit and come up with one ourselves 😆😆

I love this for them 💕 he definitely needs some soft comfort, now more than ever 🥺 i love your mind. this is amazing !!🫶🏽

Right?? Mark thus far has been dealing with this completely alone. At least in this story, he has her to help support him and give him some of that comfort that he's probably craving, but not willing to admit it. ❤️‍🩹

Aww thank you so much, friend!! I literally had so much fun writing this one that I can't wait to continue it soon! 💕

CATASTROPHIC BLUES

Pairing: Mark Meachum x F. Reader

Summary: Nine months isn’t as long as it sounds. When you run into your ex-fiancé at a bar, he finds out what you've become. You find out the truth.

AN: Okay, so this was only supposed to be a 1K drabble sequel to DOWNGRADE for my lovely friend, @waynes-multiverse, but of course it snowballed on me lol. (And there’s a little more to come!) This is set during early season 1, let’s say between 1x02 and 1x03.

Song Inspo: “Hits Different” by Taylor Swift (YT)

Word Count: 6.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, drunkenness, skeevy men, Mark doing his best with an angry, hungover reader (bit of grumpy x sunshine), talk of cheating, what really happened, and other truths revealed…

Nine months. It should’ve meant something.

You should be able to go out with your friends to the club. You should be able to feel confident in one of your favorite dresses and the tallest pair of heels you could almost walk in.

You should be able to let loose on the dance floor, letting the closest attractive guy grind on your ass.

He later offered to get you a drink, his hot breath in your ear. An uncomfortable chill ran down your spine. But you know what? Fuck it.

You went back with him to the bar, taking the chance to rest your achy feet. He tried to make small talk with you, despite you being stiff and awkward now that you couldn’t distract yourself with the vibes of the music running through your body. Now the thump thump thump of the bass was too much, too distracting for a normal conversation.

Blake was an oxymoron—he dressed like a wealthy hipster and talked like a frat bro. He had the skinny jeans and a silky patterned shirt, a thin gold chain around his neck, an obnoxious gold pinky ring, and a trendy cropped haircut. You regretted letting him buy you a drink, but then again, you never wasted good vodka.

You also started to get suspicious when one of your friends “casually” came up on his other side.

“Ask her about her job,” Sarah whispered. You just barely caught it.

“Oh, yeah. So, uh, what do you do?” Blake asked you. You were pretty sure he was more interested in your cleavage than your job.

“I’m an assistant to the Head District Attorney of California,” you said blandly.

The guy blinked. “…Oh. Cool.”

“And what do you do, Blake?”

“Well, my dad owns an advertisement company, so I do some stuff for him every now and then. But mostly I’m a competitive gamer. Like, uh, League of Legends, Counter Strike, Mortal Kombat. What about you? You a gamer?”

Blinking slow, then sighing, you leaned over and locked eyes with Sarah, one of your best friends and a well-known esthetician in L.A.

“Where’d you find the trust fund baby?” you asked. “He one of your clients? Let me guess. He likes his asshole bleached the same shade as his hair.”

Sarah bit her lip in embarrassment. Blake coughed and spluttered into his scotch. You didn’t stick around for the predictable denial and slid off the bar stool. You gave him $15 for your drink, downed the rest of it in one long gulp, and savored the rush of it tingling through your head on your way out of the club.

“Wait!” Sarah called after you. Your other two friends just rolled their eyes and stayed behind to keep drinking and dancing. They were used to your antics by now, just like you were used to theirs. They'd been trying to set you up on dates for a couple of months now. This one was the sneakiest by far.

Sarah, for her part, never let you walk out alone.

“Next time you try to set me up with someone, can you please just tell me,” you said tiredly, “instead of pretending you want to hang out with me?”

Sarah deflated. “Look, we’re just trying to help.”

“I know,” you said, holding yourself against the chill in the air. “I know, okay? I know you guys want me to move on, because I’m a fucking bummer. I know I’m…I’m not handling all this as well as I should be. And I know they still talk to Rachel.”

Tears stung in your eyes, but you sucked in a subtle breath. Sarah’s blue eyes were sad and glassy with guilt, even if it was just by association.

“Go back inside,” you said eventually. “I’ll just take an Uber home.”

But you didn’t.

Instead, you ended up at a bar down the street. You barely ever went clubbing anymore, but you hadn’t stepped foot into a real bar in nine months.

“Come on, sweetheart. You really want to do this here?”

“You’re one to fucking talk! But you know what? Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing left to say. I just…I don’t know how you could do this to me.”

“Please,” he said. The green of his eyes were desperate. It was the first time you ever heard him beg. “Just let me explain.”

You wouldn’t let him touch you, let alone try to hold you. The thought alone made you sick.

“I saw you, Mark. I saw the goddamn pictures. And my sister told me all about how your last night of ‘freedom’ went. But you know what? You’re fucking free.”

You put the ring in the palm of his hand. He stared down at it, jaw clenched. Meanwhile, hot tears streamed down your face.

You walked away first—out of the seaside bar in beautiful Venice, California, with every piece of your heart bleeding out into the street.

Another vodka cranberry at the end of the bar turned into shots you couldn’t name or count. You rebuffed men who tried to talk to you. You ignored the voice in your head that sounded a lot like your dad.

Sweet girl, what the hell’re you doin’?

You stopped trying to answer that question a long time ago. Just like your friends had stopped trying to get you out of the house after work. No more wine tastings or Sunday brunches. No more weekends at the beach. The coarse grains of sun-bleached sand would only remind you of Santa Cruz—a sweltering summer, a perfect day, now fractured and wrong in your mind’s eye.

A fucking lie.

Another empty glass hitting the bar counter drowned out the salty crash of ocean waves, but you finally had to stop when your stomach churned with alcoholic slosh. Your brain reeled when you tried to blink. Your eyes felt dry, irritated, and glassy at the same time.

You got up from your seat and used the wall like an anchor on your way to the bathroom. You checked yourself in the mirror there. Your black dress, your hair, and your makeup were still intact, so you supposed you still looked good, if absent in the eyes. Again, you blinked too hard. Fuck.

On your way back out, new noise was filling the bar. A whole group of four or five people came in and grabbed seats at the bar, laughing, ordering drinks, giving each other shit. They sounded like cops. You knew, because you’d grown up around them your entire life.

“All right, Oliveras. What’re you drinking?”

You stopped short at the voice, deep and rich like aged whiskey. In fact, you needed the back of an empty chair to hold you steady.

“What, you're buying?” she shot back.

Amber. You recognized her profile and the litheness of her frame. You two were old friends, since you roomed together back in college. You hadn’t heard from her in months though. She had called to give her condolences when your almost-marriage fell apart.

And now, your ex-fiancé had an arm draped casually behind her chair. His smile was effortless, charming, the crows’ feet around his eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Well, within reason,” he replied, inclining his head. “I think I’m in the mood for some good fuckin’ whiskey—”

You stumbled in your stupid heels. You nearly took a whole table with you, but two chairs broke your fall. Almost all the cops in the group looked your way, their heads swiveling with a trained response to sudden sounds. Your name fell from Amber’s lips, a small, shocked breath.

Mark’s mouth fell open, his eyes widening when you looked up at him on reflex. You were forced to take him in, his green eyes, the new haircut, the well-trimmed beard, the jeans and dark blue jacket. He had no fucking business looking that good.

But you were like two shocked deers not expecting to meet in a forest—neither one willing to move or speak, or even blink…

Until you stumbled again. Your weight on the unstable chair began to give way.

“Shit.”

He and Amber both jolted to help you. Mark’s hand reached for you first, but you firmly ignored it and somehow straightened onto your shaky feet. You smoothed down the dress and fixed the little straps the best you could, even though one was hanging down your shoulder.

Your arm got tangled in the thin chain of your purse, but you slung that over your other shoulder with all the grace of a toddler. Then you affected a “polite” smile that just came off looking like a grimace.

“Uh, hey. Of all the gin joints in the world and stuff, right?” You made sure to enunciate, hoping your hand wave was casual and not insane. “I’ve gotta go.”

You pointed toward the door before you made it your mission to actually get there. Your heart pounded loud in your ears. The rush of cool and quieter air was a balm to your frayed mind, but it wasn’t enough.

The way he looked at her…

The turning of your stomach became a violent roil. You closed your eyes against the movie reel torturing you in your mind. You imagined how their night would go, drinking, laughing, touching, stumbling back into his house at 2:00 a.m. Maybe he’d end up actually loving her, someone more like him. More than he claimed to have loved you.

The liquid contents of your stomach rebelled, and you threw up right on the edge of the street. You clung to a utility pole as you coughed and cried involuntary tears. You heaved and gasped for breath when you couldn’t stop.

“Hey, you okay, sweetheart?”

Alarm trilled in the back of your mind. You had enough awareness to look behind you. Finally, you noticed the guy. He’d approached you in the bar earlier, but you’d turned down his advances. You couldn’t remember what you said to him. He clearly remembered you, though. 

You waved him off, not even able to speak as you tried to stay upright against the utility pole.

He didn’t take the hint. He drew closer, wrapping the pretense of a helping hand around your arm. He fingered the edge of your leather jacket.

“You need a ride? I’ll get you an Uber or something,” he said, with the facsimile of concern. “Where do you live?”

“Hey,” a voice cut in, deep and with authority.

You tilted your head, and Mark’s stern face came into view along with the rest of him. Him and those damn bowed legs.

“Take a walk, pal. I’ve got her,” Mark said. He flashed his LAPD badge for good measure.

That made it even easier to knock away the foreign hands off your body and angle himself in between. His arm came around your shoulders, supportive and safe.

Half of you was grateful, the other half resentful, but all you could do was glare at him. He shot you a quirking smile.

The other man backed off, trying to hide his annoyance. He continued down the street with his hands in his pockets. Mark itched to do more than just scare him off. A familiar protective anger had burned in his blood, raising his hackles, but he had to focus on you.

He led you back to the front of the bar. He went slow enough for you in those red stilettos (ridiculous, he thought, no matter how sexy they were).

“Late night, huh?” he said.

“What d'you think you’re doing?” you said. Your tone would be more snippy, if you had any energy left. Your inner world was reeling, unfocused and barely conscious. You had no choice but to lean on him as you gripped his jacket, the dark blue denim rough between your fingers.

“Well, I’m thinking I could call one of your friends, have ‘em take you home. You came out alone?” he asked. He was trying to be civil, retaining his sense of humor, but there was no masking the concern in his eyes. Not completely.

“No,” you admitted, “but ‘m alone now. Obviously.” You snorted.

Mark’s lips twitched upward. He heaved a small sigh. “All right. Well, who do you want me to call? Sarah? Yesenia? Lauren?” 

After a moment, you shook your head, even though that just made it swim. Fuck.

“I can’t…don’t want them to see me like this,” you said. The confession provoked a sniffle, a tremble of your lips. This time, you couldn’t stop the sting of tears from flooding over. You covered your face, as if that could stop your embarrassment, your overwhelming emotions from clogging in your throat in a painful lump.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Mark said. His tone pitched deep and gentle. It was an easy reflex for him to give into as he soothed a hand over your hair to try and calm you down.

You didn’t know it, but there was a gaping ache in his chest that had never really faded away. Seeing you again, let alone like this, made it sharp and splintering.

He led you to his car, and he took you home.

For a moment, you saw it so clearly.

Tracing his brows, the line of his nose, and the cut of his chin while he slept. What his hair felt like between your fingers, loose and soft, or gripped tight with need.

The sound of his voice reaching deep into your bones. The way his arms allowed you to reclaim safety whenever he came back to you…

Worrying for your dad on his twenty-five-year beat in Homicide had transitioned into worrying for Mark. He was always quick to reassure you though, to downplay with his ridiculous sense of humor and good sex. The best, actually.

But it was the in between moments you missed the most.

The distant sound of a lock turning in the door had you waking, slowly, a silent struggle in your bed. Your eyes cracked open.

Were you okay now? Was that him? Was he home? Had the past year just been a cruel invention of your mind to torture you?

…No. Your throat momentarily closed up as you realized. This really was just your shitty reality.

You groaned as you picked your head off the pillow, pushing your body up until you were sitting on the edge of your bed. Your bare legs hung off the side. You still wore your wrinkled black dress from last night, but your heels were strewn forgotten on the floor. You didn’t remember taking them off. You didn’t remember getting back to your apartment, let alone to your bed.

However, it all started coming back to you when the door shut again. Fresh coffee wafted in from the living room, along with something sweeter.

Your bedroom door creaked open, and there he was. Mark fucking Meachum.

He held a tray with two hot coffees and a greasy brown bag from your favorite bakery. Your gaze crept up to meet his, though yours was decidedly grumpy.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a smile. “It’s already almost noon, but I figured we can’t start the day without coffee.”

“Did you stay here all night?” you croaked in disbelief.

“Yeah, just, uh, took the couch out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the living room. “Could use a couple of extra throw pillows though. Think I got another notch in my spine…”

At your persisting glare, his expression sobered.

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all,” he said.

“Well, mission accomplished,” you snarked. “You can go now.”

Mark watched you try and fail to stand. You sunk back down to a seat on the edge of the bed, closing your eyes for a second while you attempted to stop your head from swimming.

He sighed and set down the coffee and pastries on your desk nearby.

“Have you been making this a habit?” he asked.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but last night was the first bar I’ve been to in exactly nine months and...fifteen days,” you replied. You swept your fingers over your cheeks, grimacing when you found remains of your mascara. You probably looked like a gremlin. This wasn’t exactly the way you wanted to look when you next saw your ex.

Except you’d never planned to see this man again.

“All right,” Mark said. He grabbed your purse off your desk, where he’d set it last night. He popped it open, your private goddamn property.

“Excuse me,” you protested angrily.

He retrieved a whole pack of cigarettes. “How about these?”

He tossed you the pack, and you barely caught it. Your irritation grew and grew, along with the sting of shame. The worst part was, he knew he didn’t have to say anything.

The unfiltered nicotine in your hand was the reason your father died. He’d been the Captain of Mark’s precinct for ten years—the exact number of years since your dad had quit smoking. It hadn’t mattered much in the end.

Still, you resented that raised brow of judgment on Mark’s face.

You leaned over and grabbed a lighter from your nightstand. You fished out a cigarette from the pack, and you took your time lighting it up. You were being an asshole, you realized, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You made a show of holding the cancer stick between two fingers. You looked up at Mark, right in his eyes, and tried to channel Audrey Hepburn when you brought it to your lips for a long drag.

And you immediately coughed it up. Fuck.

Smoke polluted the air above your head while Mark nodded in vindication.

“Yeah. How’d that feel, Smokey?” he asked (all too high-and-mighty, in your opinion). He crossed the distance and took the cigarette from your hand while you kept coughing. He went into the bathroom to get rid of it.

Meanwhile, you held a hand to your chest and groaned. Damn him, he was right. Your stomach roiled at just the taste of that shit in your mouth, let alone first thing in the morning.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up?” he suggested, sweeping a hand toward your adjoining bathroom when he came back out. “A little coffee and sustenance will be waiting when you’re done.”

“Seriously, you can go. You don’t need to wait up for me,” you rasped, but the man still helped you to your feet with a supportive hand on your arm and your lower back.

“Yeah, and what if you lose your balance and crack your head on the bathroom tile? Nope, not on my watch.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered.

“He ain’t gonna help if you take his name in vain like that,” Mark couldn’t help but tease, fully expecting your glare. That was something your mom used to say.

You groaned, annoyed and still nauseous.

“Would you just shut up?”

“Nope, pretty sure I’m physically incapable.”

You snorted. “Clearly.”

He made sure you were steady on your feet before he left you in the bathroom. You avoided his gaze when he closed the door. His heart gave a painful pulse.

What the fuck am I doing? he thought.

Brushing your teeth and taking a hot shower had its innumerable benefits—making you feel alive and close to normal again, for example. But the one thing it didn’t do was get Mark out of your apartment.

You sat together on your couch while the TV played at a low volume. You saw the remnants of Mark’s night in your favorite throw blanket tossed over one of the armrests. The pillow he'd used for his head was caved in and smelling like his cologne, a rich, woody scent of sandalwood, spice, and musk.

You tried to ignore it while you finished eating a blueberry muffin. He polished off his third donut and washed it down with some more coffee.

“So,” you said. “Amber Oliveras.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What?”

“Last night. You two were out together, seemed to be having a good time. Sorry I crashed your date,” you said, trying not to seem as bitter you sounded in your head.

Mark’s brows furrowed. “We’re, uh, not together. Not like that. We’re just working a case.”

“A case?” you said dubiously. “She’s DEA. You’re Homicide. What kind of case would you be working on together?”

He hesitated, brushing some pastry crumbs from his mouth. “Sorry, I can’t get into the specifics. You know the drill.”

Yes, you knew his cases were supposed to be confidential, but that hadn’t stopped him from telling you details before, especially because you were D.A. Valwell’s Executive Assistant. You had a higher clearance than the average civilian anyway.

But you let it go. It truly wasn’t your business, after all.

It was Mark’s turn to look your way. Morbid curiosity was eating him alive. Or maybe that was just the pull of being with you again, seeing your face, hearing your voice…even if you hated him.

He did think you were torturing him a bit too. You smelled nice, like floral soap and minty freshness. You were wearing an oversized shirt from your college days that was already threadbare from how many times you ran it through the wash. It slipped off one shoulder and barely went halfway down your thighs, brushing the edge of some little shorts. He had to stop his eyes from following the path of your bare legs.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?” he asked.

You paused. You even set down your muffin and chuckled, giving him a long look.

“How does it look like I’ve been?”

A grim silence fell between you two, thick and tense.

“All right," he said. "How long’ve you been smoking?”

You shook your head, lips pursing at his audacity. “You really don’t have any right to judge me. You know that, right?”

Mark rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, an anxious, frustrated tick you knew well. “Look, what happened back then—”

You rose a hand to stop him. “Please, for the love of God. We don’t have to go through this shit again.”

You got up from the couch, intending to throw away the coffee cups and garbage if it meant gaining some space from this man.

But he followed you, stopped you with an imploring grip on your arm.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” he said. He met your gaze, firm, earnest. “It didn’t go down the way she said.”

Your instinct was to jerk your arm out of his grasp, but he just held you in place, gently, but insistent. 

“Are you gonna let me explain this time? If you do, then just let me get it out. And afterward I’ll screw. I’ll walk the fuck outta here, and I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again.”

You stared up at him, close to seething, but there was something in his eyes that stilled you, gripped you more than his hands. A sliver of doubt began to creep in.

Your sister apparently hated you enough to fuck your fiancé. Had she been vindictive enough to lie about it?

You had realized, all too late, that you couldn’t put anything past her. Mark could be stubborn, but he wouldn’t dig his heels in on this without a reason.

So you relented, with a small nod.

Breathing a subtle exhale of relief, Mark guided you back down to the couch. You turned off the TV and sat facing him with your arms crossed. You gave him an expectant look.

Mark steeled himself. Where to fucking start?

A beat to think, and then he knew.

He had to give you everything.

Nine Months Ago...

One late night. One fifth of whiskey at the hotel bar turned into numbers Mark stopped counting—until the Captain reminded him. Your father reminded him beyond the grave, with words Mark never forgot.

You’ve got someone waiting for you. Don’t take that for granted.

He needed to find you.

Somehow, he made it to the elevator by himself. Third floor. Room 304, 305, 306. Fuck. Was it 309?

The door opened, and his addled fucking brain thought it was you at first. She almost had your eyes, if just half the sincerity of your smile.

Rachel welcomed him in and shut the door. He stumbled at the threshold, and she stopped him from falling completely onto the floral-patterned carpet.

“Oh my God, Mark. You okay?”

No. And he knew he wasn’t ever gonna be okay.

But her hands were warm, carving sensuous paths under his leather jacket without him realizing.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” she said, guiding him further into her hotel room. With slurring words, Mark asked her to go find you. He needed to talk to you.

“Shit, think I left my phone downstairs too. Needa get it,” he muttered.

“You’re a mess. I think you need to lay down first,” she said, huffing as she supported his weight over to her bed. She helped him lay down. A subtle smile tugged at her lips as she began to open up his jacket. He resisted at first, giving her a look of confusion.

“You should get comfortable. I doubt we’re gonna be able to move you from here.” She giggled.

He guessed he could see the sense in that. He let her help him shrug the black leather jacket off. You helped him pick it out a couple of weeks ago while you were planning for this trip.

Rachel tossed his jacket to the foot of the bed, and she sat close to him on the edge of it. Her bare thigh brushed against his arm as the skirt of her dress rode up. It looked like she’d been about to take a shower after a night out with you and your friends. He instinctively moved his arm, crossing it with the other over his chest.

“You know, I never got a chance to thank you,” she said.

Mark’s brows furrowed. It was taking all of his concentration just to keep her face in focus.

“For what?”

“You were really there for me when Dad passed. You were like our rock, coming by with food, checking in on me when you visited. It really meant a lot to me,” she said. Her words said one thing, but her eyes were beginning to lead him somewhere.

“Your dad was a good man,” he said tiredly. “You guys went through a lot. You, your mom, your sister. It uh, hit her pretty hard.”

Rachel’s lips pressed together. “Yeah… She was his favorite, you know.”

Mark blinked. “What, he said that?”

“He didn’t have to,” she said, glancing away. She began to drum her fingers against his arm. He noticed it, but he was also trying to concentrate on what she was saying. “He always talked to her more, trusted her more, even when he was harping on her. She got that government job, probably thanks to him. But he was proud of her.”

“’M sure he was proud of you too,” Mark said.

“No, I don’t think so. I just don’t know why,” she said, sniffling as tears welled up in her eyes.

Mark frowned in sympathy. “Aw, hey.”

He didn’t know how to make her feel better, but he didn’t like to see her cry either. He sat up the best he could in the bed. She met him halfway, burying her face in his chest and sliding her arms around his middle for a hug. He gave her that comfort, patting her on the back.

Only, she didn’t stop there. She shimmied a bit higher and buried her face in his neck, where she pressed a little kiss. An alarm bell rang in Mark’s mind, but his body was too slow to respond. She turned her head and laid another kiss on his cheek, and then his lips.

He finally jerked back, holding her at arm’s length.

“Hey. What the hell’re you doing?” he demanded. His tone was sharp without a filter.

Rachel’s tearful eyes met his as she bit her lip. Her hand tentatively drew down his chest, warm over his shirt.

“I just…I finally had to tell you how much you mean to me,” she said. “And I think she takes you for granted.”

His brows furrowing, Mark grabbed her wrist.

“Rach, I love you. I really do, but you’re like a lil' sister to me. I love your sister. I wanna marry her.”

The thought alone struck a sharp jolt of pain through his skull, and through his chest. He did want a life with you. But is that fucking fair?

Could he really shackle you to a dying man?

Sure, he didn’t know how long he had, but that could be a cruel waiting game, one you'd just gone through with your father for three months. Mark didn’t want to put you through that all over again.

“Look, just...go tell her 'm here. Please,” he said. The fight was draining out of him. His energy was waning, his eyes blinking slow.

Rachel nodded, wiping at her tears. She left him in a huff, but she went to lock herself up in the bathroom first. The sink faucet turned on.

Mark sighed. Fine, let her clean up and pull herself together, but she’d better go get you. He doubted he could make it, even if he crawled. But if he had to, he would…

Slowly, the ticking seconds turned longer. His eyes grew heavier, until he was unable to pry them open again. He fell asleep.

He woke to a streaming sun in his eyes, and a pounding ache between them.

Shit. He groaned, covering his eyes. Maybe getting drunk wasn’t good for an already fucked head after all.

“Hmm, good morning, sleepyhead.”

Mark frowned. He looked over and found Rachel leaning on his arm. She was lying naked under the thinnest sheet. He knew, not only because of her bare shoulders, but her nipples poking through the fabric.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunted, immediately turning over to climb out of the bed. He was very fucking relieved to see he still had his jeans and underwear on, but his shirt was missing. He found it strewn on the floor.

“You actually did that yourself,” Rachel remarked. “Think you got a bit hot last night.”

There was a playful note in her voice. Mark grit his teeth. He was fucking pissed.

“You’re over the fucking line, you hear me?” he snapped.

“What, are you really gonna tell her?” she taunted. “It’s not like we did anything. I just prefer to sleep naked.”

He snorted. Sure. And what happened to the part where she was supposed to go find you and tell you where he was? No, the girl saw an opportunity, and she took it.

Mark hesitated though, because she raised a good point. Goddamn it, what was he going to tell you?

His jaw clenched, and he angrily finished getting dressed. He got up and stormed out of the hotel room, but not before Rachel got of out bed and let the sheet fall away from her slender form. She walked in confidence and feminine sway over to the bathroom, smiling in amusement when he quickly turned away before he saw anything.

The door slammed shut.

Her smile slowly fell. Tears of embarrassment stung in her eyes. Not really because he was mad at her, but because he’d rejected her too.

She knew it was wrong. Yeah, she was pretty sure it was the worst thing she’d ever done. Part of her even hated herself for it. You were her older sister, after all. You, who always looked out for her when you two were kids—better than Mom did. You, who got the most attention from Dad, and the quiet reliance of Mom.

Yeah, Rachel did love you...but she also kind of hated you too.

After she got dressed, she went back to find her phone. She cycled through the pictures she took, every angle that made it seem like your fiancé had spent the night in her arms after the hot and steamy bits.

It was a joke. A cruel prank. But maybe after this, you wouldn’t open your mouth to criticize her ever again. Maybe you’d think twice next time, because in the back of your mind, you’d remember that she could’ve had your man.

Now...

Mark finished telling you the story from his perspective. He gave you as many details as he could remember: what she said and did, and what he said and did.

Understandably, you were getting more upset by the moment. That pendulum swung between shock, and anger, and upset again. It all culminated in hot tears as you crossed your arms, holding a hand over your mouth.

“How do I know that’s true?” you asked, wiping vainly at your cheeks.

The problem was, you wanted to believe him. Of course, you also wanted to believe your sister wasn’t quite as screwed up and hateful as you thought she was, but even this was insane. You'd only ever tried to look out for her. Maybe along the way you had been a little critical, a little too judgmental. But had you really deserved this?

Could you even let yourself hope it was all a lie?

Mark met your gaze head on. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m lying.”

You sighed in frustration. “Mark, you’re a professional fucking liar. I’m not a human polygraph.”

“But you know me.”

“I thought I did,” you said, rubbing at your eyes with shaking hands. Eventually, you were able to look at him again. “If what you said is true, why the hell didn’t you just tell me that?”

“You wouldn’t let me! You made up your mind before I could get a word in edgewise.”

“I was angry!"

God, what an understatement. You'd been so furious and hurt, you'd seriously debated taking one of your dad's old golf clubs and knocking out every window, headlight, and tail light in Mark's precious car.

"So you're saying you didn’t even fight for me. You just let me think the worst of you all this time? For what?!” You sunk your hands into your hair and pulled hard on the strands. You shook your head. “And you know what, why did you get so drunk in the first place? Your friends told me you went back to the hotel early, by yourself. It had to be for a reason.”

Mark nodded slowly.

That was when he knew, he really did have to give you everything.

“You, uh…remember those headaches I’d been getting?” he said. “Started about a month after your dad passed.”

Your brows wrinkled with a hint of confusion, but you nodded as the memory resurfaced.

“Yeah, you were going through entire bottles of Advil. But what does that—”

“I went to the doctor.” Mark rubbed a clammy palm over his jeans. He could stare down murderers, drug lords, and terrorists with steel in his veins, but coming clean with you was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He knew it in his bones, just like he knew why he needed to do it.

“Turns out… I’m sick, baby.”

Your expression changed, almost instantly. Traces of anger and doubt fell away, but so did some of the color in your face.

Mark took the chance to get a little closer on the couch. He laid a hand over yours on your thigh, but your whole body was locked up, sitting very still.

“W-What do you mean?” you asked.

“I mean,” he sighed, “I’ve got a mass in my brain the size of Nevada. I don't know how much time I got exactly, but..."

Your eyes widened. Your hands clenched into the fabric of your shirt, until your nails bit into your palms. As you processed those words and began to understand the weight of them, it sunk inky claws into your mind, into every shady corner.

You shook your head in denial, lips trembling. Mark just held your gaze, a silent confirmation that he said nothing but the truth.

"I found out a few days before the trip to Venice. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, but obviously I didn’t handle that part very well," he said.

Anger, stubbornness, suspicion, pretending you didn't care what he had to say—all of that faded. It drained out of your muscles, out of your pores. You began to fall apart.

You turned your hand under his and squeezed, hard. It was a while before you could speak, but Mark was patient. He held your hand and stroked his thumb back and forth across your skin while you tried and failed to hold onto your tears. Then your soul-wracking sobs.

Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He brought you closer, soothing a hand over your hair and pressing a kiss to your temple. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, a coarse whisper. “God, Mark. Why the fuck would you let me think you cheated on me, with my sister?”

He gave a wry huff. “I guess I thought I was being noble. I thought I’d rather have you hate me, than try to stay with me. Watch me break down, bit by bit, for God knows how fucking long. Now I know I’m just selfish. I don’t want you to see me like that… Hell, I don’t wanna see me like that.”

You pulled back on him. Devastation filled your bleary eyes, but you caressed his cheek with a shaking hand.

“Have you gotten treatment?” you asked.

“Doc says it’s not worth it.”

The divot between your brows deepened. “What about a second opinion?”

He hesitated.

“Have you seen another oncologist?” you pressed.

“No. Guess I didn’t see the point. I saw the scans myself. I don’t know how you’d confuse a big fucking tumor for anything else.”

“Mark.” You shook your head and wordlessly guided him closer. You framed his face with both hands, while his own found purchase on the soft curve of your waist.

It was nice to feel your touch again…but at what cost? All that stubborn fire in your eyes, all that pain, it was everything he’d been trying to avoid. 

Still, you were gentle, sliding your fingers up into his hair. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

After all this time, you were still his peaceful spot. If you only knew the amount of death he’d seen in just the past couple of weeks on Blythe’s taskforce, the chaos, the stress of near-misses, being on the sweet razor edge of getting killed, saving his own body the trouble. That thrill took its toll.

Before that, those nine months undercover had been a divorce from his reality, pretending that he hadn’t left you broken along with whatever heart there was left in him.

He never imagined that he’d be here with you again. He never thought you’d forgive him, let alone touch him like you still loved him.

When he opened his eyes, you were still there. Tears clung wet to your lashes. You led him closer, where you tenderly rested your forehead against his.

He let you do it too. You were the only one he’d soften up for like this.

He smiled. “Hmmm. What now, sweetheart?”

You bit your lip, but you slowly pulled back and opened your eyes. You didn’t go far though.

You guided him into an even more familiar path to your lips. It was more bittersweet than he remembered, but worth it all the same.

He was home.

AN: So, you guys forgive me? 😘💙 I know it's not the happiest ending ever, but it felt like a good place to pause for these two. Rachel was more complex than she seemed, and so was Mark's side of the story!

I have at least one more actual drabble in mind for these two, coming soon! 😂 Please let me know what you thought of this one 💜

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Mark Meachum Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Mark Meachum Tag List (Part 1):

It seems like a lot of people on the Dean tag list like Mark! lol So if you prefer not to be on this list, just let me know. I'll take you off no problem (you won't hurt my feelings lol 💜).

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@chevroletdean @hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl

@midnightmadwoman @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@rizlowwritessortof @jackles010378 @nancymcl @spnaquakindgdom @bettystonewell

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @jollyhunter @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog

@leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989 @siampie @masked-lost-girl

@spnbabe67 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @globetrotter28

@cookiechipdough @winchesterwild78 @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @iprobablyshipit91 @bleuatlas

@mrsjenniferwinchester @fromcaintodean @kiddieclaws

[vxnillabxn]

I praise you everyday for posting Zayne content 🧘🧘 it rots brain in a good way

Anywaysss (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))…… can I request a beach day or trip with Zayne?

Like him getting red when you ask him to put sunscreen on your back. ((He finally has an excuse to wear his favorite sunglasses)),, Playing in the water but he acts like you’re childish for throwing water at him,, resting under the shade while you trace his face softly

Lastly watching the sundown together after writing your names in the sand ☹️🫶

(However you want to write it is fine 🧘 your work is always great)

It’s been real hot recently, I’ve been thinking about this

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne x gn!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ warm, sunny fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚this was so fun to write !! even though we're in mid winter here in my country (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑) but this brought so much warmth! ♡♡♡ thanks for requesting and feeding my zayne's content writing spree! hope you love it (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

zayne won a silly contest by accident.

after maxing out the café's reward card by buying nearly a hundred pastries and desserts in a month, he was entered into a small raffle along with other loyal customers who'd also maxed out their cards.

during his next visit with you, the employee kindly told him he'd won a weekend trip to the coast, transport and hotel included.

you were ecstatic. he was a little skeptical at first, but he knew the employee wouldn't joke about something like that. and when he saw your excitement and the way your eyes lit up, he graciously accepted his unexpected prize.

now, a week later, you two arrive at the hotel. he's stubborn about wearing uv-protective clothing; meanwhile, you're more interested in going out to hunt for seashells, to be honest.

you drag him outside, and he carries a bag with sunscreen, a hat, his sunglasses —which he insisted on bringing—, a hotel parasol, and towels.

so responsible of him.

almost immediately, you slip off your outer clothes, letting the warm sun touch your skin. of course, he can't help but stare, hiding behind his black shades.

you pull out the sunscreen bottle and hand it to him with a bright grin.

“help me?”

he looks up at you, and then you turn around, showing him your back.

oh boy.

he stands up and squeezes out some sunscreen, gently rubbing it into your skin. you close your eyes and hum softly in contentment as he moves carefully, trying his hardest not to swallow too loudly and give away how nervous he feels.

when he finishes your shoulders and the nape of your neck, he turns you around. taking advantage of your closed eyes, he lets himself look down at you and smiles softly, brushing your cheek with his slightly oily palm.

before you can open your eyes, he quickly starts applying sunscreen to your face.

“stay still,” he murmurs, making sure every inch of your skin is protected, even your earlobes and neck.

you shift impatiently, eager to explore or at least get some ice cream with him.

“zayne, hurry…”

he sighs and steps back, gently tapping your forehead.

you open your eyes, and he gestures toward the ocean.

“finally!”

you laugh and drag him by the hand, sprinting to the shore. you immediately splash him with water, grinning when he takes off his sunglasses.

he looks at you blankly, then glances away, though there's a subtle grin on his lips.

“is this your definition of “fun”?”

“yeah!” you reply, mischievously.

his wetsuit clings to every inch of him as he decides to swim, and you happily follow, tugging at his leg now and then underwater, or admiring how good he looks in all black.

later, you take him for ice cream, then to admire seashells, —not to keep, just to see— and you insist on looking for tiny crabs.

he never refuses, even if he pretends to look unamused. you know he enjoys it from how gently he digs small holes in the sand, or how carefully he arranges the seashells so you can take pretty photos.

when you finally return to the spot in the sand where your things are, you lie down beside him on the towel. he pulls you close, shielding you from the sun with his embrace.

you can smell the mix of sunscreen and cologne on his slightly salty skin. his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are softly pink from the sun.

you just have to trace them with your fingers, checking if it stings. when he doesn't flinch, you keep gently touching the rosy skin, thinking how cute he looks with this natural blush.

he lets you, smiling faintly as his eyes flutter closed, getting drowsy from your touch alone.

his body feels cool against your warm body, so you naturally pull him closer. he's more than happy with that.

lulled by seagulls and waves, you both drift off for a nap. about two hours later, he gently shakes you awake. when you open your eyes, the sky is painted with orange hues.

the sun was setting.

he helps you sit up, then pulls you onto his chest so you can watch the horizon together; the sun slowly meeting the sea like lovers finding each other.

slow, certain, inevitable.

until they finally merge, leaving only pinkish clouds in the darkening sky as evidence of their daily encounter.

you sigh contentedly against him. it was a wonderful day, and you hope tomorrow will be just as fun.

but you want to leave some kind of trace, some proof of zayne relaxing and actually enjoying himself. people on his medical team would probably pay to see it.

such a rare sight these days.

so you get up and walk a bit further from the shore, not wanting the waves to erase your work. crouching, you start to draw in the sand with your finger.

zayne watches curiously, then comes closer.

you draw a round, cute snowman wearing sunglasses. next to it, a smaller snowman holding lots of seashells and surrounded by tiny crabs.

he smiles softly, tilting his head.

“are they supposed to be us?”

you beam at him.

“hey, i know i'm not as skilled as you, but i think i got the details right!”

you add three little lines to the bigger snowman's cheeks, mimicking his pink blush.

“ha! see? now he really looks like you!”

he smiles, then kneels behind you, gently pulling you back so you fall into his arms.

you look back at him, but he stays quiet. his gaze is intense, yet tender.

“let's do this more often,” he says softly, searching your eyes for an answer.

“come to the beach?” you tease, then giggle. “or win more silly contests like this?”

he smiles, shaking his head slightly.

“let's spend all our days together, just like today.”

your heart flutters. you quickly turn around, making him fall back onto the cool sand.

“every day, zayne. even if we're busy… just ten minutes next to you are enough to make me happy.”

he blinks.

once, twice.

then, with a warm grin, pulls you onto his chest. now you're both lying next to your little masterpiece in the sand, chest to chest.

heart to heart.

you truly do hope for many more days like this with him, even if it takes a little luck…

or buying even more, and more… and more pastries and desserts monthly.

[evilminji]

I just had another Xanxia Thought Child!

Everyone~☆! Congratulate my baby on being born!

*clap clap clap* (ﾉ ˃ˋᗜˊ˂ )ﾉ🎉🎉🎉

Cause like? Here we are? Assuming our Reincarnated Children AREN'T living in Interesting Times™ before they die? And that's no fun~! We should be giving that kid anxiety! Some pre-packaged heart demons! Maybe a twitchy murder finger!

A deep, DEEP seated loathing for Demonic Cultivators and, specifically, their undead minions.

You picking up what I'm setting down? ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ yeah~, that's right!

Zombie Apocalypse.

OC got lucky, originally, was out in the middle of nowhere, camping. Yes... lucky. Oh so very, very "lucky". She had supplies. She had shelter. Everything she'd need for the coming days. Oh, and a front row seat... to watch as everything fell apart.

Got to sit, miles and miles away, and listen, over the phone. As her family sobbed and screamed. Terrified and confused. Chaos, wet gurgling and ripping. The crunching of broken things and mindless groaning in familiar voices. Yes... so very lucky.

She didn't have to watch it.

Just listen.

See the news stations fall, one by one, as cities were over run. Watch as news sites stop updating. As infrastructure starts to fail and her connection begins to get spotty. Then, inevitably, as figures start to shuffle along the horizon. Mindless and wandering.

Like everyone else who survives those first terrible days, there is a steep learning curve. One she barely survives. But... she does. And that matters. She makes friends. She watchs them die. Keeps her promise, made again and again, that they won't come back. That she won't let them hurt anyone.

Civilization falls, yes. But it comes back. It always has. She finds her way to a city state. Prays for the day that "the billions" will end. Cause, after all, they say that if they're careful? Eventually the infection WILL die out. They just gotta contain it. Keep looking for a cure.

Hope is a stubborn thing.

But zombie swarms don't care about hope. They hunger. And what is the city, if not a shell waiting to be cracked? Like tides, they come. Slamming against the walls. Again. Again. AGAIN.

One day... one of the fuckers finds some weak point they must have missed. A breach. They start pouring in. Oc is on wall duty. OUTER wall duty. There are rings, because things like this might happen and everyone planned for the worst.

She's part of the team that stays behind.

Trapped between the second wall and the outer wall, trying to drive them back. Seal the gap. Cover fire rains from above. Each step, a hair from nashing teeth and clawing hands. There are so many. So, so many.

Too many, in the end. At least for her.

She's separated from the group.

A death sentence.

So fast...she barely feels being torn apart.

It's strange. The sky was so blue that day. Beautiful, really. Felt out of place for hell on earth. It was the last thing she saw. Endless... so beautiful and endless. She... she had just enough time to realize what was about to happen. To think "ah...", feel this strange... calm, settle deep.

That it would finally all be over. To end like this.

How unfair.

Oh well... at least she get to-

Then she's fucking blinking and there's a GOD DAMN ZOMBIE.

Naturally, she hit it with a wok. She was unaware there WAS a wok near-by. And also? Why is she in a kitchen? Like... an OLD as fuck one? But also not old? Clearly used one. Feels vaugly like the ones people rigged up during the early days... but like... not. And also Chinese. Questions for later!

Wait. No. Why the FUCK is she a ZYGOTE?! *flexs tiny "baby" hands* *is actually like 8* Ah... so she's in hell. Well fuck you too, god. I guess.

There is a scared child scream.

Religious crisis later! Zombie smashing now! She finds one trying to claw into a cabinet. Smart kids! Trapped themselves, but still! Smart. Good to put a barrier between themselves and the zombie. She crushes its skull with the wok. Rescues her... sib..lings? Oooh that's a weird head rush.

Okay, not hell. God just thinks they're fuckin FUNNY. I see how it is.

Well I'm about to be hilarious. (New life motto:Get!)

OC proceeds to Experienced Zombie Fighter her way through several houses. Rescuing who she can. Calls a retreat. Gets everyone to a defensible location. Oh joy, back to the swewers. She did NOT miss this.

Turns out? Town is being attacked by a small Demonic Cultivator sect. They brought zombies.

She's about to bring pain. Who the FUCK weaponizes ZOMBIES. Wanna uses nukes for a fist fight next? You idiot!? You ABSOLUTE BAFOON?! Is setting aside that whole "cultivation sect" thing to freak out over later.

(What? Like her neighbors old web novels? Those Xanxia things that he loves to talk about? Misses like crazy cause no one can find any physical copies of stories like that, here in the west?)

(...could...could find.)

OC starts to fuckin Ambush Predator them. You learn to fight dirty, in the apocalypse. Cause there ARE bastards out there. And not everyone was willing to be a decent fuckin human being. You're "cultivation" or whatever isn't gonna do SHIT, if you're too concussion to use it!

Blow to the head! Slit the throat before they recover.

Move on to the next one.

Kill as many fuckin zombies as you can along the way.

It is AS she's doing this? Somebody just sorta? *Yoink* scruffs. This small, filthy, murderous child? Sassy and immediately tries to stab them? Good reflexs! Taking that knife though. It's clearly cursed. Who gave you that? Did you take that from one of the demonic cultivators? Honestly, next time just use a kitchen knife. You don't know where their knives have been!

Blinking, she stops struggling to actually look at the adult holding her in air jail.

Huh. Bright colors. Doesn't seem to be on Team Zombie. Better check. Oi! How do you feel about Zombies? "Utter abominations. A crime against the dead." Oh, hey~! A reasonable and well adjusted adult! Hi~☆! ( ^-^)/"

Is her complete 180 from vicious, seething, hell child to calm and agreeable young lady mildly off putting? Yes. But, meh. The Cultivator thinks it's kinda cute. He bets she bites. Adorable.

Him and HIS team are here to murder the Demonic Cultivators and purge the Zombies. Wanna come with him? You have a talent for killing things. And, you know, a spiritual root. Mostly the first one. A fine quality! Good for ALL sorts of terrible demonic nasties. I'm assuming your parents are dead?

....wow. You're really bad with kids.

So I've been told! Is that a yes?

Only if oc can either bring her siblings or, should they not have spiritual roots, you help her arrange something equally beneficial. And just like? Rest of his team? Find him calmly debating with this filthy, blood covered child? That he's just? Holding directing out in front of him at eye level by the back of her shirt?

She's just hanging there from his grip. He looks quitely thrilled.

Oh... oh no. Who let him around a child? He traumatizes children! Why IS THAT CHILD COVERED IN BLOOD!? Shixiong what have you DONE!? (Adopted! Presumably! This IS how one obtains children, right?) (NO!!!)

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hdgnj @leftnotright @spidori @lolottes

[viviansturns]

𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒑𝒂𝒍𝒔 - part 1

... you find yourself falling for your university pen pal

cw (whole series): flirting, fluff, very sad angst

September 10th, 2024

Hi Matt, Or do you go by matthew?? I kinda like matt better so i'm sticking with that.

I don’t really know how to start this. I haven’t written an actual letter since I was like, 8, and it was addressed to the Tooth Fairy. I also wrote one to my family when I tried running away.

Anyway, I’m y/n. I’m in my first year at Oxford, and I signed up for this pen pal thing because I thought it would make me have purpose and also practice my penmanship. I honestly just want to yap and vent into letters for some rando to respond. 

I’m majoring in psychology which is already horrifying. Also fun fact I like drawing people I see on the subway. Or just drawing people in general, that’s always fun. I do pottery, I play volleyball, and I have an cat named sally. I’m also super into photography and polaroids and such.

I don’t know what you look like, but I’ll stereotype you when you get back to me and tell me your major!

I hope this program’s mailing system is quick. Anyways bye!

—y/n

P.S. Are we allowed to swear? Cause i’m itching to.

_______________

September 21th, 2024

Hey Y/N,

Matt’s good, matthew is for my teachers and that’s it. Also the mail shipping takes like a week, that's crazy.

I haven’t written a letter like this since forever, so this feels different and way personal than text messages or whatever.

I’m in second year at UCLA, studying Art History. Mostly trying to figure out why people painted the weird stuff they did, and hoping my own sketches don’t look like a toddler’s.

Pottery sounds impressive. I can’t even handle a moldable eraser I fear… anyways I’m super into drawing people too so it’s crazy that we both draw ppl on the subway!

I don’t have a cat, but I’m definitely a cat person. Low-key hoping you’ll send a Polaroid of Sally sometime. Please please please.

I like that you want to vent in letters. Same here. No pressure though, I just wanna talk to people about things.

Anyways I’m looking forward to hearing more about Sally and everything else you want to share.

—Matt

P.S. Here's a sketch of a cat if that maybe convinces you to send me a pic…

ALL CREDITS TO John Nixon ON PINTEREST

_______________

October 2th, 2024

Hi Matt,

You win. Sally and I took a Polaroid just for you. I tried to get her to pose but she’s deeply uncooperative and bit my thumb halfway through. Ignore that my face is in it, being right up against my face is the only way she’ll ever cooperate.

I put it in a little sleeve thing so it doesn’t get smudged. I expect a thank you note (or another sketch).

Also your cat sketch was like so good. Like, I showed my roommate and she said, “Tell your pen pal I’d buy that for 12 bucks at a thrift store.” Which is her version of a compliment, I think.

Psychology is still horrifying. Did you know there's a phenomenon called "the illusion of explanatory depth" where you think you understand something until you try to explain it and realize you know nothing? That’s literally this degree.

Anyway. My week’s been kind of weird. I dropped my coffee on a guy’s shoe and then he asked me out right after. I guess that's a good sign? 

This letter’s kind of all over the place but whatever, you said no pressure, and I’m holding you to that. 

Hope UCLA is treating you nice. Tell me more about your art history class! Also, I’m kinda sad that the shipping takes so long. I guess the distance from oxford to LA is really far but still…

—Y/N

P.S. You never answered if we’re allowed to swear. I’m going to assume yes and just censor myself creatively until confirmed.

_______________

October 13th, 2024

Y/N,

Sally looks like she owns your apartment and you just pay rent. Also I thought she was a full grown cat, but she's a kitten! Also I owe you a thank you for the Polaroid, sally is so cute. You look nice too. Or at least the corner of your face

The sketch I sent was just me messing around. I hadn't drawn anything outside of class in a while. It felt good, actually. Thanks for giving me a reason, I might just keep doodling shit for fun.

This week’s been foggy. I’ve been spending more time in the library than I want to admit, mostly pretending to read while I look at the pages. There's a painting in one of my textbooks of a woman crying in the dark, but you can’t see her tears. Just her hands. I keep coming back to it.

You said you draw strangers. Ever think about what they’d say if they saw the versions of themselves you made? Do you make them kinder looking?

—Matt

P.S. I wouldn't mind any other pictures of you or Sally or something.

_______________

October 23rd, 2024

Matt,

Thanks! You’re so sweet, I'm sure you look nice too.

And yeah, I wonder about that sometimes, how people would react if they knew I’d sketched them mid-yawn or while picking at their sleeves on the subway. I don’t make them better or worse. I try to draw them like they are, but there’s probably bias in my work. I think it’s hard not to romanticize people when you’re just observing.

Thanks for the sketch again and the new one. Just so you know, I’m cutting them out to put it above my desk. I also want to get back into sketching, if you wanna keep doing that back n forth.

Oxford’s been grey in that relentless, boring kind of way. I bought an overpriced croissant and ate it on the steps outside the psych building like I was in a film. It was stale.

What about you? You never really told me what made you choose Art History. Or drawing. Why that, and not something practical?

Also, if you really want a photo of my full face, say it straight next time. I’m not scared.

—y/n

P.S. That was a threat.

P. P. S. I'm just kidding, you’re cute lol

_______________

November 3rd, 2024

Y/N,

Fine. I want a photo of your full face. Direct enough? I kinda want to draw if you think that's okay.

As for Art History, my mom wanted me to study something “useful.” I picked this to spite her at first. Then I stayed because it stopped feeling like spite and started feeling like mine. I like looking at something that once mattered to someone else and figuring out why. That includes faces, sometimes.

I don’t know. The world’s already loud enough. Drawing is the only thing that makes it quiet. It’s not even about being good at it. Just having a place to put things.

Lately, it’s been harder to concentrate in class. Everyone’s always talking like they’re performing for each other, and I keep zoning out. It’s exhausting, pretending I care when most days I’m just trying to keep from going under.

I’ve started sketching you. Just based off that Polaroid. Not in a weird way. I just liked the way the light hit your cheek. I’m really into sketching people if you haven’t noticed…

Send the real photo. I want to get it right. Or at least try.

—Matt

P. S. I’m out of things to P. S. write back soon I guess?

_______________

November 14th, 2024

Matt,

Umm I’ll have you know I always write back as fast as possible. mail just takes ages dude. Also, I attached the photo. Let me know if it’s okay, I tried to make it a not awkward picture.

It’s weird, letting someone draw you. There’s something about it that feels like handing over a version of yourself and hoping they don’t miss the parts that matter. But I trust you. I don’t know why.

Psych’s been eating me alive. We’re doing a unit on perception. How two people can look at the same thing and see it completely differently. It made me think about you. But I feel like you pay attention. 

And I get it, it’s also hard for me to pay attention in class. Everything just moves so slow.

Also, I sat in that terrible jazz café again. The muffins haven’t improved. But there’s something comforting about knowing exactly what you’re going to get. Even if it’s underwhelming. I really like consistency if you couldn’t tell. Maybe that’s why I like this whole pen pals thing

Draw me how you see me. I won’t be mad if it’s not perfect.

—Y/N

P. S. Ugh. I’m tired.

[Photo here, could not find a good one, mb! Also i wanna be inclusive so just imagine ur face here.]

_______________

November 28th, 2024

Y/N,

The photo is way better than the Polaroid. You’re smiling in it, which surprised me for some reason. Not in a bad way. Just didn’t expect it.

I finished the sketch. It’s folded into this letter. I kept thinking I was done and then going back in to fix the curve of your mouth. You smile a little unevenly. That’s not an insult. It made the whole thing feel more alive.

Most of the time when I draw people, it’s like cataloging expressions. With you, it felt more like remembering. That sounds too serious, but I don’t know how else to say it.

I’ve been kind of stuck lately. Everything’s loud and too much and pointless in that vague way where nothing is technically wrong. But drawing you just steadied everything for a bit.

Anyway. Hope it looks like you. Hope you don’t hate it.

—Matt

P. S. You don’t have to, but I’m always willing to draw more.

P. S. P.S. I know the pen pals program is pausing over the break, but I’ll miss hearing from you. Write to me anyway?

ALL CREDITS TO @Chommang ON YOUTUBE AND INSTAGRAM.

_______________

December 10th, 2024

Matt,

Duh, I'll write during the break. Even if it’s just one letter because of this stupid shipping time.

I didn’t hate the sketch. I love it, actually. I stared at it longer than I should admit. You made me look calmer than I usually feel. Softer, maybe. It’s strange, seeing yourself through someone else’s hands. But I don’t know, it made me feel understood.

It’s literally unfair the amount that you’re able to capture facial expressions. I showed it to Sally and she immediately sat on it, so take that as her formal approval.

I’ve been thinking a lot about perception lately. Not just in the psych-class way, but in the real-world way. Like, how you can know someone for years and never see them. Or never know someone for a couple months and see them.

Oxford’s gotten cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones feel hollow. But I like the way the fog rolls in across the river in the mornings. Makes everything feel unreal in a good way.

Anyway, you said you’re always willing to draw more. So I’m holding you to that.

—Y/N

P.S. I made you a playlist. You don’t get a say in the matter. It’s one of those spotify codes that you can scan.

_______________

December 22nd, 2024

Y/N,

I’m glad you liked it. I think I was trying to draw how you made me feel, not just how you looked. Hope that doesn’t sound weird.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t reread your last letter a few times. That part about perception—I keep circling back to it. How some people never see you right, and others just... do. I think that’s rare.

Campus is quiet now. Everyone’s gone or going. I stayed behind for a few more days before heading home. Something about the silence feels easier to manage when it’s earned.

You mentioned fog. I haven’t seen real fog in months. Just Los Angeles haze that smells like old traffic. But the sky’s been orange lately, and it’s the kind of color that makes you want to say something even if there’s no one around.

I’m working through the playlist. Trying to really pay attention to the lyrics.

—Matt

P.S. I hope you’re having a good christmas break. If we were in the same city, I’d take you out for hot chocolate at the Italian cafe. Or maybe a better place, I don’t know oxford.

ALL CREDITS TO Mike Phillips ON PINTEREST

_______________

January 3rd, 2025

Matt,

You got your wish. I’m writing from my childhood bedroom. I’m surrounded by a shit ton of glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. Sally is sulking in my suitcase because she loves my parents and knows I’m leaving again soon..

Break has been fine. Way stranger than I’d like, like time folds differently here. Everyone I used to know feels just a little unfamiliar, like they’ve all been redrawn slightly wrong. Or maybe I’m the one who shifted. I don’t know.

Your letters make more sense than most conversations I’ve had since I got back. That’s not a sad thing. I think it just means I trust you in a way that’s starting to feel pretty permanent. I guess I’d say my relationship with my parents is complicated. I’m not about to trauma dump on you, but things are just weird around them.

Appreciate these lovely sketches, that’s a great santa/elf?

—Y/N

P.S. You were right about smiling. It is harder to fake than it looks.

ALL CREDITS TO Elliana884 ON PINTEREST

idkkk how i feel about this...i tried being creative and now i have this.

*THESE POSTS ARE SCHEDULED AS I AM AWAY CURRENTLY, TO FIND OTHER PARTS YOU NEED TO SCROLL DOWN ON MY BLOG*

[rawritzrobin]

Count to Ten

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, mentions of blood, violence (but not really), soul sucking fluff

A/N: The world sucks right now. Enjoy a piece of happiness from the only man that would be able to save us all from this place. (Repost because I broke my last post :D)

Masterlist

The air was cold. The air in Gotham was always cold. The time of cold that hits you when you least suspect it.

Kind of like today.

You weren’t even sure what time of day it was anymore. You couldn’t think straight. The pounding in your head was not helping the situation one bit.

Somewhere to your left, a pipe was dripping in a steady, mocking rhythm.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You try to lift your head again, but the room tilts. Your vision blurred at the edges, white stars clouding your vision. Your wrists ached where the rope bit into your skin. You stopped fighting against them a while ago. 

You swallowed. Your mouth tasted like copper. You were not sure how long you had been tied to this chair. The last thing you remember was walking to your car from work. You mentally kicked yourself for leaving so late. You knew better. Gotham didn’t give a damn what time it was. Someone was always watching. 

“You hear me, sweetheart?”

The voice was too close. You could hear the grin in his voice. You turned away from the direction of the voice. 

“Your boyfriend’s late to the party. Maybe we were mistaken about how much you mean to him.”

You clenched your jaw. He’s coming. He always comes. You just hoped the emergency signal had gone off.

The man laughed and paced a slow circle around your chair. You avoided looking at his face. Didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You put on a brave face, but deep down, you were terrified. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

He stopped directly behind the chair, and looked down at you like a hungry animal. “Maybe I can have some fun with you before he gets here.” You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. You tried to pull away, but the sudden movement only made the pounding in your head worse.

A sound at the far end of the warehouse echoed through the room. Heavy boots on concrete. Measured. Certain.

The air around you changed.

Your breath hitched. The man behind you shifted. His cocky demeanor changed almost immediately. 

From Pride. Into Fear.

******

Jason didn’t look at you. Not yet.

His entire focus was on the men standing between him and the only thing he’d ever sworn to protect.

They started to shout into the shadows, some threat about leverage, about ransom.

He raised his pistol and chambered a round. The sound cracked the silence like thunder. The men around you tensed. 

“You picked the wrong person to mess with.”

The next five seconds were chaos.

Gunshots. Screams. The wet impact of bodies hitting concrete.

You flinched but didn’t look up, not that doing so would help seeing how the headache still clouded your vision. You knew how this was all going to end. You were thankful the men kept you in the far back of the warehouse.

The silence returned, but only for a moment.

You felt his presence before you heard his voice.

Footsteps. The rasp of his breath behind the helmet. The gentler shift in his weight as he crouched in front of you.

“Y/N?”

Your lip trembled. You opened your eyes, just enough to see through your lashes.

“Hey, doll,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Can you hear me?”

You nodded. Tears sliding over your cheeks.

“I’m here,” he murmured, softer now. “I’m gonna get you out.”

He lifted a gloved hand and brushed your cheek with his knuckle. A touch so soft it almost didn't feel real.

His eyes narrowed beneath the mask. His voice lowered, deadly calm.

“Close your eyes for me.”

“Jay…”

“Close them, sweetheart. I need you to trust me.”

You swallowed hard and obeyed, blinking the tears away before darkness took over.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “It will be over soon.”

You waited for his next order.

“Count to ten.”

You clenched her eyes shut so tight it hurt.

“One…”

You heard the scrape of his boots moving away.

“Two…”

A wet sound. Something heavy hitting the floor.

“Three…”

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“Four…”

Metal clattered against concrete.

“Five…”

A muffled groan, cut short by the sound of a gunshot.

“Six…”

Something warm splattered across your arm. You flinched but didn’t dare open your eyes.

“Seven…”

His voice, low, close: “Almost there.”

“Eight…”

The ropes shifted around your wrists. 

“Nine…”

The pressure eased. You drew your first full breath in hours.

“Ten.”

You didn't dare open your eyes. Not yet. You collapsed forward, but his arms caught you before you could even think about the impact. Carefully, you felt his arms snake under your knees and behind your arms.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said again, voice raw. You could hear the subtle shake even through his voice changer. 

You buried your face in his chest. His jacket smelled like leather and cigarettes, with a tinge of gunpowder.

He carried you out of that warehouse as gently as possible. 

Past the bodies. 

Past the carnage he left behind. 

All you felt was the steady thump of his heart against your cheek.

You felt the familiar feeling of a leather seat behind you once he set you down. You opened your eyes slowly.

Jason was kneeling in front of you. Helmet off. Mask off. Hair damp with sweat. His teal eyes meeting yours.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded once, even though you weren't entirely sure it was the truth.

His gaze softened. He reached into a pouch and pulled out a wet cloth. With hands that had just ended lives, he wiped the blood from your cheek. 

The smudge on your arm. The tears from your cheeks.

He took his time. Like if he went slowly enough, maybe he could erase all of it. Every bruise, every nightmare, every memory of tonight. 

Once he was satisfied with his work, he leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead. He pressed his forehead to yours. 

“Let’s go home.” he murmured.

Your lip curved up, just a little. Just enough.

You nodded.

He gave you a tired smile.

“Count to ten, sweetheart.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “That’s all you ever have to do. I’ll handle the rest.”

[raginggeeksworld]

13 and 2

Your husband is bullying me again. With bucky as husband and john getting bullied because why not. Also could u make reader call bucky, james or jamie. It is freaking cute.

Hope u have a nice day cutie

Sorry for the delay, I got caught up between switching summer jobs and moving and my laptop also died for a week, so um yeah, here ya go!

These are a few moments where John gets bullied/made fun of etc. Timeline is nonexistent, though the first scene is from TFATWS, while the rest is mainly set after *Thunderbolts

John Walker Hate Club

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x wife!reader

Domestic fluff, John Walker hate kinda

Word Count: 1.4k? (Idk lost count)

Notes: Got a bit too John centered at the end, but oh well :) Not liking this so much, but I hope the jokes weren't too cringe-y, enjoy!

The ride was silent. Y/N sat between Bucky and Sam on the back of the truck, not even trying to pretend she wasn't pissed off.

John Walker, the new Captain America, cocky piece of shit that he is, kept flirting -or rather tried to- with Y/N, much to her annoyment.

She should've felt at least a little flattered, but it was harder and harder to not be annoyed when the pick up lines slowly became more and more daring and... suggestive.

But that silence was short lived when John started talking, his partner chiming in here and there. Bucky and Y/N stayed silent of course, knowing if they spoke the conversation wouldn't be civil anymore. At least Sam was able to keep his cool, a skill they had yet to aquire.

"James?" Y/N asked so quietly only Bucky was able to hear her, thanks to the super-serum.

Bucky turned to her with a softer gaze and Y/N nodded towards his vibranium hand that was curling into a fist and loosening again and again.

"Is it acting up?" Bucky just nodded, squeezing his hand into a fist again.

"Just a little stiff. Phantom pain again," Bucky reassured her and she nodded.

Then John turned to Y/N, who just blinked back at him before turning her attention back to Bucky. "Seriously? You're not even gonna say anything?"

"With the way you talked our ears off an hour ago I would've thought you like to run your mouth," Lemar said with a light chuckle.

She didn't answer. And it could've been left at that, but then John opened his mouth.

"If you ask me, I know another way you could run your mouth, sweetheart," John winked back at her. Bucky's gaze turned into a murderous glare.

"Hm, I've got you speechless huh?" John smiled. Y/N locked eyes with him for a second before answering, her face unreadable.

"Every breath you take is a stunning endorsement for abortion." John's smile immediately fell.

"Woah, Y/N-" Sam started but Y/N wasn't done.

"Do you feel no shame for using the same amount of oxygen as an intelligent person?" Y/N asked with a deadpan look, staring back at him as if actually expecting an answer.

John sat there in silence while Sam quickly started up a conversation with Lemar. All of a sudden Bucky joined in too.

"And what was your name?" He asked Lemar and Y/N leaned back in her seat, satisfied, when John looked away from her, visibly awkward.

"Battlestar," Lemar answered with confidence. Y/N raised a brow at the name.

"Battlestar?" Bucky asked sarcastically, but Lemar just nodded proudly. There was silence for a few seconds before Bucky and Y/N yelled at the same time.

"Stop the car!"

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

The mission went surprisingly easy. There was no extreme weather, their mood was shockingly good, but that was probably due to the fact that the boys stayed back at the Watchtower.

Except John. That bummed the mood a little, but oh well.

The church they had to get inside seemed just as abandoned on the inside as on the outside, straight out of a horror movie. Although the still intact glass windows added a little beauty to it in the moonlight.

"Hey, Y/N!" Yelena called out, pointing to one of the figures on a cobweb covered painting. "He shall make a fine groom for thee!"

"Huh," Y/N looked around in thought, the mission now secondary to their teasing game.

"John! Thou'st mother is out for a stroll I see!" She said with a mocking posh accent, pointing to the image of a cow.

"Just shut up you two! We could've been done 10 minutes ago if you stopped being children," John said with a frustrated sigh, walking ahead of them.

"Oh heavens!" Y/N yelled in mock fear, making John turn around in alarm, hand on his gun. "Lay thine eyes on the field in which I grow my fucks! Thou shall see it is barren!" She pointed to the empty space at the altar.

"Ha-ha, very funny. I hope you enjoy being immature," John told them sternly, and Yelena mocked him silently.

"If I was immature I'd make dick jokes, but that's your specialty, and I'm not going to rob you of your only happiness in life," Y/N smiled back at him before joining Yelena at the back entrance.

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

>New message in THUNDERBOLTS<

Walker: for once i woke up early and already got done everything i planned for the day, wow, i feel immortal!

Y/N: 04-07-2030

Walker: what

Walker: Y/N what!

Bucky: 10 pm

Walker: what does this mean?!

Bob: what is happening?

Yelena: the newlyweds r planning to kill John

Bob: oh okay

John: DOING WHAT

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

>New message in THUNDERBOLTS<

Walker: i think im bi

Yelena: Which one

Walker: which what

Yelena: bilingual, bisexual, bipolar?

Bucky: I know, a bitch

>Y/N liked the message<

>Ava liked the message<

>Yelena liked the message<

Walker: i sent that as a joke but now i feel offended

Bucky: Good, it means you still have a long recovery ahead

Y/N: And ur a bitch!

Walker: i liked the bucky who didnt know how to use a phone

Y/N: I like every version of my Jamie

Walker: Ew

Y/N: Just say you're jealous of our healthy marriage

Walker: i hate you all

Bucky: we hate you too

>Y/N, Yelena, Ava, Bob liked the message<

>John left the chat<

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

The common room was finally silent in what felt like an eternity. Alexei dozed off on the sofa, the TV now tuned on a reality show Yelena was showing Bob. Ava was probably in her room, as usual.

It was one of the rare moments where the place felt more like a home, rather than just a place where coworkers lived. That moment only applied to the common room. The kitchen was another case.

Bucky was in the kitchen, making dinner for himself and his wife, making up for the lost time in the past few weeks. It also didn't hurt that his sweetness usually resulted in him being brought to bed by his wife, not that he would ever complain about that.

But John was there.

In the kitchen. Sitting next to Y/N. Talking to her about another identity crisis. He just slided into the kitchen, right when she almost yanked Bucky down on herself.

John looked visibly troubled, a sight that was rare, but not uncommon. "And I've been trying. I realize I've made mistakes, but all of us here did. We've been a team for almost two years now, and you guys still bully me like a dickhead! I feel like nobody here likes me," he said leaning back in his chair.

"You intuition is top notch," Bucky spoke and Y/N had to take a sip of her drink to hide her smile.

"See? Your husband is bullying me again!" John turned to Y/N with an offended look.

"James haven't done anything wrong! Plus, you're a grown ass man, deal with it," Y/N rolled her eyes and instead focused on the muscles moving in her husband's back under his compression shirt. Or at least tried to, but John couldn't shut up.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about! I'm being targeted!" He complained.

"Exceptional observation skills! With an eye like that you could be the next american eagle," Y/N muttered into her drink and Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, disguising it with the clattering utensils.

"Remind me to never go to you with my problems ever again," John grumbled as he got up to leave the kitchen.

"We didn't ask you this time either," Bucky said, but John flipped him off as he exited the room.

And although all of them bullied John -Bucky worse than anyone else- the married couple was still the first people John could count on when his days got darker.

Not intentionally, but it was still Bucky who understood how much effort and hard work it took to put your past behind you, to accept the things you've done and still decide to change despite what the world told you.

It was still Y/N, caring and sarcastic Y/N, who made sure to make fun of him every chance she got, she was still the only person besides Bucky who could understand his pain, without trying to fix his problems for him.

Yes, John was jealous of their marriage, how easy it seemed, how healthy it was. But he also saw the hard days, the dark times where even he didn't want to tease their arguments, because he saw how much effort it took to maintain their marriage.

And maybe that was the turning point for him. That his wife didn't leave him because it was easy. She left because he made it easy for her, because he gave up the effort, because he let himself drown instead of asking for help, like Bucky and Y/N did with each other.

The bullying continued. Sometimes worse than ever before, mainly because Y/N decided to teach Bucky some new phrases and insults, which resulted in some very colorful yelling matches.

But despite the constant "hatred" shown towards John, being with this team of misfits still made him feel at home.

Especially Bucky and Y/N, who Bob and Yelena started to call 'Mom' and 'Dad' -as a joke of course.

[emeraldserenade]

Bob Reynolds x civilian!reader going on their first date?

-🐞

Coffee Shop Meet ~ Robert "Bob" Reynolds

synopsis: You and Bob go on your first date after a chance meeting

tw: fem!reader, none?, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi, 🐞!! This is long overdue and I'm sorry!!

➽──────────────❥

You met Robert Reynolds at the coffee shop, you were sitting in the quiet corner of the busy cafe by yourself when he walked up.

"Hi... uh, c-can I sit here?" Bob questioned, motioning to the empty seat across from you. You gave him a good look and realized he was on the news with "The New Avengers".

"Yeah," you moved your things closer to you so he had space to set down his cup and pastry. You gave him a sweet smile before going back to the drawing you were working on. You finished it but something felt off, you decided to ask the man across from you. "Hi, sorry to bother you but can I ask for a favor?"

"Oh, yeah.. yeah," he gave you a cute nod.

"Does this look off to you?" You spun your sketchbook to face him and watched as he looked it over.

"No, no," he shook his head. "It looks great," he told you and you nodded slowly, you could tell he wasn't lying or at least he didn't look like it.

"Thank you, I guess I was just being too harsh on myself," you shrugged before you both fell back into silence.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

After that day, any time either of you went, you looked for the other. You begun to lose hope until he walked into the gem shop you worked at. "Hi, welcome in!" You didn't look at who walked in, too busy on organizing shelfs. But when you did look, you found the cute man from the coffee shop all those weeks ago looking at a table of zodiac gems. "It's you!" You exclaimed, startling him. "Oh, I'm sorry," you gasped. "I't just that I've been looking for you since the day at the coffee shop but I don't even know your name."

"Oh, I'm B-Bob, yeah Bob," he replied, clearly still a little rattled from you yelling.

"I'm y/n!" You held your hand out and he hesitated but still shook it.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

That day started you friendship with Robert Reynolds that had now turned into something more. He tried to get you to see the worse in him, not in a self destructive way, but in a way that let him know all he's done. And you did, you knew everything and still chose him. So there he was, nervously wiping his hands on his pants while you two waited for your table at some restaurant neither of you had tried before.

"Bob?" You softly called for his attention across the table, you two were sat in a booth.

"Yeah?" Bob had lost his nervous habit of repeating himself or stuttering over his words as he got more confident around you;

"Will you come sit next to me? You feel so far away," you asked and Bob obliged and moved to the same side. "See, this is better. Now we can feel the heat radiate off each other while not having to talk too loud," you smiled at him, your smile making Bob smile.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

The dinner went by smoothly, the two of you laughing by the end. You walked out hand in hand before taking the short walk down to the ice cream parlor. You watched as Bob ordered a two scoop waffle cone while you got a single scoop waffle cone cup. It didn't matter anyway since the two of you shared your ice cream on a bench in the park. "I had a lot of fun," you told Bob, your arm linked with his.

"Me too," Bob affirmed. "Would you like to do this again? Maybe as my girlfriend?"

"I would love to, to both of those questions," you smiled, Bob matching your smile with his own. You always loved his smile, his eyes always seemed to shine when he did. He smiled with his whole face and it made you so happy.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

[queersyourgender]

Hi! I hope your 4th of July was a good one (if you celebrate it ofc)! I hope you stayed hydrated and ate some good food ofc. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do another multi person one-shot thingy.? (Perhaps the same ppl from the fibromyalgia one? Or legit anyone else, but that’s up to you ofc) Maybe something regarding hyper mobility in the hands or just in general (typing that sounded odd ngl); but maybe the reader wears those rings that help prevent their fingers from extending (?) too far. Or maybe about the reader constantly popping their back and hips and how the crew would feel about that? (Again, tbh idk I thought it sounded fun) Whatever the case may be; have a great day/night, hydrate,consume food, and get some sleep!!! (Also you (I believe) interning in physical therapy medicine is pretty cool!!)

Mini-Multi — Hypermobile Hands: Dana Evans, Dennis Whitaker, Melissa King, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, and Jack Abbot

Notes: Hello my darling!! Unfortunately, I have done the exact opposite of getting good sleep, so you'll have to forgive the quality of this request fill haha. I'm so sleepy wehh... but anyways, thank you!! Enjoy ^°^

———

Dana Evans: Dana's actually quite hypermobile herself. Not to the same extent as you, that she would need those hand rings to keep her fingers fixed, but enough to pull some contortionist things that would have some men call an exorcist on her. At least, in her younger days, anyway. So she's at least a little bit familiar with your daily struggles in this usually overlooked regard, and usually has to be the one to remind you to take your rings with you before you head out somewhere.

Dennis Whitaker: He feels bad for it, but he's completely fascinated by your rings. He thinks they look so cool and interesting, even though they're an aiding device, even more so that they're an aiding device. He speculates they could probably pack a decent punch, but begs you not to test that theory out on anyone anytime soon, for the sake of your hands more than anything.

Melissa King: She likes holding your hands while you have the rings on, running her fingers over the metal and tracing the shapes of any designs they might have. She starts showing you different designs to buy so that you can even be fashionable about wearing them, but really, she just wants to play with them while you have them on.

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch: He doesn't think much of them, in the sense that he just takes and accepts them as a part of you, which means that he loves them just as much as he loves you. He makes sure you take care of them, wear them correctly, keep track of them so that you don't lose them. Anytime he sees anyone else wearing similar rings, he instantly remembers you, though that may be because he constantly has you on his mind regardless.

Jack Abbot: This loser loves your rings so much. He thinks they're the coolest thing in the world and keeps buying you ridiculous amounts of them to have around, in your car, in your nightstand, in your locker at work. He loves the way they look on your fingers, says they make your hands look elegant and pretty like the rest of you.

[alligatorcarapace]

Okay so I know the 03 Donny Medic headcanon is super popular, but I just thought of a fun alternative to it.

Looking at 03 canon, weirdly enough, anytime we see the gang hurt that either Splinter, Leatherhead, or Casey seems to be the one moving them around and replacing cloths and what not.

Maybe after season 4 I could see Donny brushed up on his medical stuff, but before then? There seems to be an implication the adults(How old is Leatherhead in 03, cause in Mirage, based on that one Laird drawing he's a teen, and in 2012 he starts out implied young but then is trapped in Dimension X for like 40 years so is def an adult by then???) take care of them instead, which considering how 03 deals with their family and friend dynamics tracks.

Meanwhile, interestingly, Donny has not shown a lot of medical specific knowledge, only things that interact with other concepts such as him recognizing that giant bugs with stingers likely function similar to earth's common bees, wasps, and hornets. However he struggled with actually treating the giant wasp's paralytically effect's on Raph, besides a hope that it too will wear off(Yes there is actual things you can do when stung to help lessen pain and other issues, I've gone through that myself. Stepping on stingers is not a fun experience. Dipping the area in cool water for preventing swelling helps a bit. Though with the turtles being turtles idk if that'll work. I mean they where doing the cold rag over forehead treatment on unconscious Leo at the farm house so maybe???)

Of course if you can find a scene pre-season 4 that counters this, fair enough. I just can't think of any scene like that right now.

Not saying they don't exist of course.

I'm also not saying that Donny or the other boys have no medical knowledge, just not the specialized stuff that say 2012 Donnie has(One turtle will collapse from the stress of everything he's doing, but hey at least he can reanimate the dead while making retro-mutagen). Instead I imagine they can do the minor stuff anyone who's taken a first aid class might know.

So what about the adults?

What are their qualifications and experience that led them to learn what Donatello "I want to learn everything" Splinterson didn't yet?

Well for Casey Jones, we know has to have some level of medical knowledge from his own solo vigilante gig pre-meeting the turtles. If he did any actual hockey he might've picked up some stuff there.

Then there's Splinter learned under the Ancient One and clearly knows some of the healing mystical stuff him alongside the Daimyo have.

Lastly Leatherhead was obviously raised in that environment and clearly is shown over and over to have his biochem mutagen degree, we can see that even in Good Genes, though even there he struggles since he did not make Bishop's knock off ooze.

Keeping to 03 themes, rather than one of them doing everything, it's a combination of them all helping.

This also has the fun side effect of Leo during his training under the Ancient One, would likely be the first time anyone besides his dad (or brothers for the minor stuff) would be helping him patch up. After all, we saw what he was fighting while fighting his emotional demons. He would need a patch up after that.

For Leo, it sets in the loneliness being away most likely brought with it. But for the Ancient One? This is his Great Grandturtle, his poor hurt, silly, great grandturtle.

A moment of bonding, but it's painful for both them, and that's not becuase of the physical wounds.

[rekino2114]

“What a Way To Start Summer.” A sort of short and sweet let’s get into summer request, starring our favorite married couple. Makima x Male Reader. It was the day after Nayuta’s last day of school, summer started. Y/n and Makima had woken up entangled with each other. They had a pretty long night of passion, (I didn’t come up with a particular reason why (hey, it’s me during editing, maybe their particularly special night was due to the fact that summer had started, leading to Nayuta being constantly free, so Y/n and Makima knew they would have no time to themselves between her and work, so they just made sure to get their lusts out)), leading to their current position. Bare and holding each other close. They commenced some simple pillow talk, complementing each other, at first being a bit sexual, but then melting down to a pool of wholesome “I love you.” “*giggle* no, I love you.” “I love you more.” “Haha, no, I love you most.” Just romantic I love you after I love you. When they lean into kiss each other, but then their faces drop as they hear their bedroom door handle jingling, and they realize that both their tops were exposed then at break neck speed move to cover themselves. Then Nayuta busts in with their eight dogs in tow. She begins jumping on their bed excitedly rambling about all the fun things they’ll do now that it’s Summer. They gently coerce her out of the room, but before they all go, Fenrir looks back at them with a gaze that says “I know what you two were doing last night. Geez, at least have the decency to put your clothes back on.” And as soon as the door shut, after a comedic, awkward pause they both look at each other and say “…yeah maybe we should put some clothes on.”

First Summer request! I hope you enjoy it. It’s a little short and a little vague, but I just wanted to request something that was a sort of lead-in, y’know? Be sure to have a great week!

Nayuta waking you and makima up on the first day of summer

Pairing:makima x male reader

A/n:the first summer post for the nayuta daughter au which is coming out.....on July? Seriously? It's been one month since I've been out of school? It seems like a week... anyway I hope you enjoy this

As soon as you woke up you felt a soft hand stroking your hair, when you fully opened your eyes you were met with those familiar yellow eyes looking at you with love

"Good morning darling, how did you sleep?"

You shifted a bit and smiled at makima

"Amazing, like always.....especially after last night"

Makima giggled and got even closer to you

"I'm glad you enjoyed it love, It's always such a special moment when we're intimate with each other"

"I feel the same, you always know how to make me feel good"

"Well that's just because that's what you deserve, plus bringing you pleasure, seeing you happy knowing that I'm the reason for that....it makes me happy too"

"I think I understood that last night, you really kept going for a while, the only reason why I was able to keep up with you is because it felt so good.....and it's not like I was doing much in the first place"

Your wife smiled at you again and fully closed the distance between your bodies she wrapped her other arm around you while the one that was playing with your hair moved lower tracing patterns on your chest

"Well, I had to make sure you were thoroughly satisfied and relieved of all of your tension. You had a long week, and with summer starting we're most likely going to be much busier, with nayuta always being here and more devils popping up we're not going to have much time for ourselves unfortunately"

"To be honest between taking care of nayuta 24/7 and fighting devils, the second one is definitely the easiest"

"Hehe, I can't say I disagree with that but thankfully i have such a wonderful husband to help me with both of those things"

"Of course, why would I not help my amazing wife? You're perfect makima I love you so much"

Makima's smile widened even more, and she got closer. You could feel her hair tickling your neck, which made you realize how long it had been since you saw her with her hair down and how beautiful she looked like this, not that it made much of a difference since she was always beautiful

"I love you more"

"No, I love you more"

"Come on darling don't be like this, we both know I love you more, I would do anything for you"

"Me too, I love you"

"........I love you so so much"

Just as you were about to close the distance between your lips and kiss each other you heard the sound of the doorknob turning, realizing that you were still fully naked you quickly covered your bodies with the blankets before the door opened revealing nayuta standing there with the dogs behind her

"Mommy! Daddy!"

She let go of the leash and immediately jumped on your bed. She was still in her pjs, and her face made it obvious that she had just woken up

"It's the first day of summer vacation! I don't have to go to school tomorrow!"

"T-that's great sweetie but-"

"Can we go get ice cream today? And then tomorrow we can go to the beach! And then we can light up fireworks and- and then we'll watch so many movies and then-"

"Please nayuta calm down, we'll definitely do all of those things, just not.....in these next days"

"Whaaaaaaat!!?? Whyyy!? You're so mean mommy!"

"We haven’t even prepared yet, we need to plan things out and then we can do all those fun things ok? The summer is very long"

"Exactly, we'll have lots of fun, you just need to wait we promise"

Nayuta pouted a bit but nodded

".....alright but you better keep your promise"

"Yes, yes, of course, just go back to your room now ok? We still have to get....ready and then we'll start the first day of summer"

"OK mommy"

Nayuta moved away and grabbed the leash before going outside of the room, before she could fully disappear however fenrir looked back at you and barked once in your direction, a weirdly judgmental look in the dog's eyes

You and makima stood frozen for a while looking at the now empty hallway before your wife turned towards you

".....maybe we should put some clothes on"

"......yeah....maybe we should"

[its-tuff-out-here]

Rafayel is finally taking a break, at an appropriate time, for once in his life. He finished all his galleries and exhibitions, so now hes relaxing.

Humming quietly as he debones a huge salmon. A pot of rice steaming on the stove.

He seems at peace, and like he's in a good mood, which is why i believe it's the perfect time to show him what I made. Hoping his good mood would make him kind and not make fun of my thing.

I shuffle inside the kitchen, hiding something behind my back.

Rafayel notices my presence instantly and looks up. His eyes brightening when they land on my face.

"Hey, cutie. Whatcha got there?" He asks curiously. His eyes flickering between me and the fish that hes carefully slicing.

"I made you something." I answer. "And you have to tell me it's good."

He raises a brow in amusement. "I have to tell you it's good?"

I nod. "Yeah, if it's bad, lie to me."

He snorts. "Okay," he puts the knife down, "show me."

I scramble for a moment before raising my arms to show a quilt blanket that I sewed. It's a simple quilt that consisted of some squares having seashell designs, seahorse designs, plain dark blue squares, and plain khaki colored squares.

Not all points of the squares aligned, nor are all the stitches straight.

It's a bit of a mess, but its a functioning blanket at least.

Before he can speak up, I spoke first, "It's my first quilt ever. Be nice."

Rafayel chuckles and rinses his hand for a moment before walking up.

"First ever and it's this good? Wooow, cutie. You might be a quilting prodigy in the making." He says with a teasing voice.

I grow slightly embarrassed and subtly hide my face behind the quilt. Playing it off as if i dont want it to touch the floor.

"Do you like the fabrics? I chose the cheaper designs since I didnt want to have too much pressure to do good on my first quilt." I explain as I point to the seashells and seahorses

"Its great, I love them. And its the perfect size to fit on our couch." He muses as he picks up the blanket. "Oh? And it's got some weight to it."

"I tried making the points of the squares all match. But I can't tell if it did or didn't. My eyes are crooked, I can't tell if the lines are straight." I say as I point to the seams between the squares.

Rafayel hums and analyzes the blanket for a second. "It looks good. They look straight to me. And if Thomas arrives and sees it. He'd think it's straight too."

"You say Thomas can't tell if Teal is blue or green." I point out. "I can't tell if you're subtly saying my lines are crooked or not."

Rafayel chuckles and folds the blanket.

"Your lines are amazing, my heart. I swear." He says as he places the blanket down and wraps his arms around me.

"Okay good. I decided I like quilting. I wanna do more." I inform him.

"Oh? That's fun. Let me go to the fabric store with you next time." Rafayel grabs his phone to check his calendar. "I'll buy you some more fabric-"

"I get mine from Walmart." I intrurrupt. "Its cheaper. I wanna use chesp fabric for my test subjects."

"Walmart?" Rafayel scoffs.

He looks down at me in utter disbelief. "My bride deserves the best of the best. Including fabric. If you mess it up, it's fine. Who cares? We can still use the fabric. We can just rip the seams and try again if you hate it. But I doubt it. I think you'll do great. As always."

"You have too much faith in me." I sigh as I rest my forehead against his chest.

"You lack too much faith in yourself." He retorts. "Im simply evening it out."

He suddenly picks me up and begins walking out the kitchen.

"Alright. To the fabric store!" He cheers.

"Honey, you're cooking food."

"Oh shoot." He turns back to the kitchen. "To the fabric store after dinner!"