Maybe some fluff with Actor and a male da reader where maybe reader plans to confess his love to Mark but he does it first and reader gets really flustered and stuff?
Interrupt
So this came out pretty gender neutral, but I hope this very late reply satisfies your request.
Actor Mark x GN!Reader, TW: relationship trauma mention
Words: 415
“Mark, I’m serious, I need to talk to you about something.”
He holds the rose between his teeth, glancing back at you in the mirror as he does his eyeliner.
“I’n lishening!”
You feel mildly defeated, having your feelings dismissed in such a casual manner. For a moment like this, you really wish that he would be giving you his undivided attention. Your stomach twists and knots, making it difficult to bite back the words that sit on the tip of your tongue. It feels as though your vision is spinning, desperately trying to get a foothold as your heart starts steering the ship.
When you remain silent, Mark raises an eyebrow at you. He caps his eyeliner pen, moving onto mascara. The rose keeps his lips in that same forced smile that you see him perform on stage all the time. Slightly pained, shining in the spotlight to draw attention from what is lurking in the shadows behind. You ring your hands together in a nervous attempt to grip onto reality stronger. But your fingertips release as you start sliding down the steep slope into the deep pit where you have shoved down your feelings.
Fuck. Now is a terrible time to confess to him. Minutes away from walking on stage and putting on a show just like every other night, and here you are taking up his limited time in his dressing room. What if he rejects you? What if he laughs in your face and turns your confession into the next punch line for his audience to gawk at? Then there is the other part of you that is scared of him getting hurt again after what happened with Celine. You love him far too much to see his heartache once again, especially at your hand.
Mark quirks an eyebrow at you, wondering why you’re so silent despite giving you the floor to speak your mind. He watches you struggle to form the words, wringing your hands together as the cogs keep turning. It then dawns on him, softening his heart as he approaches you, taking your hands in his as he gives you the rose that stayed between his teeth.
“I love you too.”
A wave of relief washes over you like a warm hug, which he quickly wraps you in one of his own. You blink back the tears of worry that had built themselves up, not wanting to ruin his performance attire.
Mark wakes you up with a gentle shake, smiling softly at you as your eyes peek open at him. His hand goes to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your skin adoringly.
“Good morning, dearest. I hope you slept well.”
“Mhmm…”
Still drowsy from not having the time to properly wake up yet, you sit up in bed. Your hair is messy and you rub your eyes. He just sits patiently on the edge of the bed, letting you take the time to wake up more. You blink at him as your hands fall into your lap, and he brings your head closer to his to place a kiss to your forehead.
“If you’re awake enough, I have a small gift for you.”
“Hmm-?”
“Good enough for me.”
He picks up a shiny red box up from the floor, placing it daintily in your lap. There’s a satin ribbon keeping it together, and he just beams as you process the sight of the box. When he nods to you and you know he can’t contain his excitement for much longer, you pull at the tails of the ribbon, watching as it unwinds and falls to the wayside. You lift the lid, revealing a dark red silk robe with golden embroidery. Your initial with Mark’s sit entwined on the left breast side, and you run your fingers over it as you admire the feel of it.
Mark smiles as he lifts up a matching robe for himself, taking a few seconds to change into it, watching your face. You smile up at him, holding it close to your chest as you stand up a bit shakily, not having stretched properly yet. He helps you into it, holding the shoulders as you wiggle your arms into the sleeves. When the belt is all tied, he kisses your cheek with a proud smile.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s wonderfully you, and I’m happy I get to match.”
I really couldn't think of anyone else who would have fit this prompt.
Actor Mark x GN!Reader, TW: none
Words: 418
You’re just working that same old job, feeling unfilled and trapped by dead ends. Each day is spent slaving away for people who would never step into your shoes to understand the conditions they put you through. But you look up, and you swear it is just right out of a movie.
He meets your eye with a surprised smile, almost startled at your looks as you try to quickly look away again. But he won’t be deterred, walking over to you and trying to start up a conversation.
“Hello? I was hoping that you could help me find something? If you’re not too busy, of course.”
Fucking, goddamnit. You try not to meet his eye again but he’s just so persistent, and of course he had to be strikingly good looking to boot. You sigh, putting down the broom you were holding and turning to him.
“What can I help you find, sir?”
“I seem to have lost my number, is it possible I could have yours?”
You wish you had the defenses up to stop yourself from letting out the noise of surprise, but to no avail. He seems rather proud of himself, offering his hand out to you since you seem a little woobly.
“Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”
“No, no, I’m fine-”
You take one step and he ends up catching you as you trip over your own feet. Your eyes are wide as they search his, filled with love and complete admiration.
“I hate to say this, but you are the most perfect person I’ve laid my eyes on. Just one chance with you, that’s all I ask?”
At the worst, surely you’ll just get a free meal out of it and you’ll never see him again. But there’s something pulling on your heart strips like you’re in a Hallmark movie cliche.
“Alright, just one. But really, I should get back to work.”
“Absolutely not, you’re looking dreadfully pale. I will get your manager, just come sit over here.”
Standing back up you realize your head is spinning, so maybe it is a good idea to sit down. The man disappears off into the aisles, leaving you to figure out why your heart is pounding and your hands are clammy.
Fuck, no, you refuse to believe it’s love at first sight. But, on the other hand, what if it is? What if this is your escape out of this hellhole?
So in this specific scenario, this is an AU where the DA is the one that gets corrupted by The Entity. Also Mark/Celine/William are in a poly relationship because I said so.
Mayor Damien, Actor Mark x Celine x William J. Barnum, DA!Reader, TW: break up, possible codependency, possession, drunkenness
Words: 861
“I think we should just be friends.”
Those words had stabbed him through the heart, after giving all of his heart away to you. Returned to him shattered and broken, hopelessly torn apart as you coldly turned your back on him. It became difficult for him to come to work, knowing you’d be there, a ghost of what was. It’s like something snapped in you, and the person he loved disappeared into nothingness. A void pulses where his softened heart once rested in his chest, clutching it whenever he’d catch you staring at him.
But you don’t leave him alone, despite him trying to give you the same courtesy. It’s as if you’re taunting him on purpose. Sometimes he swears your eyes turn dark while possibly scanning him for vulnerabilities. Within months he becomes withdrawn, even retreating from Celine and William. It isn’t until Mark pounds on his door with coffee and hair drenched from the rain that he finally breaks down. Falling into his friend’s chest, sobbing his sorrows away.
Mark doesn’t bother with the pleasantries after he witnesses Damien collapsing, just quickly moving the two of them to the nearest couch and letting Damien spill his heart out for him to see. The pain he’s been bottling inside, how even being at work makes his stomach churn in ways that even makes a simple cup of tea seem like too much.
“I think you need some time off. I can talk to them, if you’d wish-”
“No! Please, don’t let them know I told you…”
Damien pleads with his eyes, clutching onto Mark’s hand desperately as he holds himself as a shell of the confident mayor he once was. But Mark couldn’t promise he wouldn’t, he had noticed something off about your behavior as well. When he goes home to William and Celine, they all agree that Damien shouldn’t be in that house all by himself right now. And Celine, she volunteers to go talk to you, despite every nerve in her body screaming at her to not.
She was always the bolder twin, protecting Damien but she never thought she’d have to protect him from you. Even if they’re adults, she’s never seen him so shattered before. She grabs folds of her skirt as she walks up your steps, knocking firmly on the front door. Even touching the wood with her knuckles she can feel something dark emanating from within. Her hand jumps up to the protective locket around her neck, rubbing her thumb against the brass heart.
“What do you want?”
She sees your eye sitting beneath the chain holding the door locked. The shadows seem unnaturally thick, disguising your features even if you should be rather visible with the light outside.
“We’re concerned.”
“Well isn’t that lovely. Leave.”
Celine’s nostrils flare, stepping a bit closer.
“Look, I know what you did to my brother. We all do. I don’t know what happened to you but he gave you everything and you discarded him like an old teddy bear. How dare you.”
She feels rage from the other side of the door, your labored breathing the only thing between you.
“I would suggest you leave.”
Celine looks you in the eye once more, and there’s something different in her eye. Pity? Concern? Perhaps mourning the friend she thought she had. With a turn of her heel she glides back down the steps to her car, taking one last long look at your house before closing the door and driving off.
She gets back home and she explains to Mark privately your conversation, and he just sighs as his shoulders drop.
“We can’t force them to get help.”
“I know! But-”
“Celine…”
He takes her hands in his, squeezing them affectionately as he meets her eye.
“We cannot. Force them.”
“So what do we do then?”
“Help your brother. If they want to be helped, they will tell us. But we have to trust them right now.”
She doesn’t like that Mark is right, but she relents, visiting Damien and William in the parlor as they try to keep Damien’s mind occupied.
Late at night, the house phone rings, and Mark rubs his eye as he goes to investigate. He finds Damien already at the receiver, and his heart drops as Damien is almost shrunken against the wall.
“Love, darling, please-”
Once he hears those words, he walks closer with far more purpose, taking the receiver from Damien’s hand while holding his friend close. You’re ranting to him, drunk and slurring your words. Words that would never be used to describe his friend come spilling from your lips, and Mark has to stop himself from squeezing the receiver so tight it snaps.
“Hello. This is Mark. Please lose this number, you are no longer welcome around me or my family. Goodbye.”
He slams the receiver down, letting Damien pull away and wipe away his tears, drowning in William’s silk pajamas. Mark looks at his friend, resting his hands on Damien’s shoulder before bringing him in for a tight hug.
“I know it hurts, but I promise, soon this will be ancient history. Just one day at a time.”
You cannot convince me that Actor isn't a prissy bitch who hates getting his hands dirty. So I'm making him get them covered in clay.
Actor Mark x GN!Reader, TW: snake imagery
Words: 780
“But darling! I don’t want to get my hands dirty!”
Mark whines at you as you lead him into the pottery studio, pouting and dragging his feet. You simply roll your eyes, used to his shenanigans and half-hearted tantrums as part of his diva nature. At least you convinced him to wear something he doesn’t mind getting dirty, although that was an ordeal in and of itself. It’s a bit obvious he doesn’t feel entirely himself without all of the sparkles and furs, but he’ll live for a few hours. At least you didn’t tell him he can’t go full glam with his makeup. He’s head to toe in custom dyed red coveralls, with sparse bejeweling detailing on the legs and back pockets. It was yesterday’s crafting project in preparation for this, paired with a bandana keeping his curled hair protected.
“Oh hush, you’re fine. You are not too delicate to touch some fucking wet clay.”
“But my manicure!”
“You can wash your hands! Washing your hands is not illegal!”
He juts out his bottom lip at you, protesting by pulling you into a hug. It’s only now you realize he’s wearing heels, because of course he is. You turn around, letting him hold you to his chest as you listen to the instructor, who gives Mark a particular look. Perhaps not expecting to see such a famous face in her studio. She doesn’t draw attention to it, and brings you all over to a wheel for a demo. You’re shown several kinds of pottery making: slabs, coils, thrown, and you deliberate over which one you may try. Mark relaxes a bit, and you can tell he’s starting to get intrigued when he leans more over your shoulder. You pat his cheek, which he returns with a small kiss to your cheek. It takes a moment to realize that you most certainly have a lipstick print on you now, but you choose not to draw attention to it.
When you’re all released to various stations with your wedges of clay, you try and get one next to Mark. You remove your ring, adding it to your necklace so it doesn’t get clay on it.
“Darling, could you take mine as well?”
He holds out his ring to you, a golden ring with scaly detailing. You take it, kissing it before adding it on the chain. He can’t help but look as it rests around your neck next to yours, and he melts a little bit. You remind him of the piece of clay in front of him, and his focus shifts back to creating.
You decide you’re going to make a couple espresso mugs for the two of you to drink out of in the morning, making them with the slab method demonstrated. To get handle specifics, you take Mark’s hand when he’s not paying much attention, holding his fingers up to the strip of clay to make sure it’s big enough for him to hold comfortably. He freezes, a bit baffled as to what you’re doing.
When you look over at his project, you see several ropes rolled out, covered in score marks.
“What are you making, sweetheart?”
“I’m not sure yet, I got stuck in the loop of making snakes…”
“What about, a jewelry tray? Maybe one that we can put our rings into in the bathroom for bath time?”
“Oh, I like that idea. Do I have to get rid of the snakes?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe make them all squiggly together so it looks like a bunch of snakes. It’ll look cool once it’s glazed.”
Mark nods, squeezing your hand before taking it back, starting to curl the coils together to create his tray. Once your espresso mugs are to your desired measurements, you place them on the shelves to dry out to leather hard. After washing your hands, you go back to your shared bench and watch Mark, leaning into his space with dramatized intrigue.
“How’s the tray coming along?”
“I like it! And I made a spot where our rings should rest, like they’re the eggs being protected.”
Your heart warms at his sweetness, looking at the detailing he’s put into it. You help him get it over to the shelves, and slip his ring back on his finger when his hands are washed again.
“Trying to marry me again, mi amor?”
“Maybe. We’ll have to come back tomorrow so I can do it again.”
The two of you walk out to his car, happily putting the top down for the ride back.
“So was pottery class the hell you thought it’d be?”
