#they bonded over making fun of that old man behind his back

[notyourmusebby]

Helmut Marko: “the atmosphere was quite toxic”

The atmosphere:

[hellodarling1357]

Can i ask for Cassian x reader fic where the reader becomes friends with Bryaxis?👀

Like someday she decides to go down to the lower part of the library and meet the monster everyone is so afraid of... and finds Bryaxis, silly guy who just wants some friend to talk to. And the reader begins to visit him from time to time, chatting nicely and just having a good time

And poor Cassian so stressed out with these two😮‍💨

Friend and Foe

Hello!! Thank you for sending me this request, it was so much fun to write!! Sorry it took me so long but hopefully the Domestic Cassian makes up for it, we love a man who can cook 🥹

Bryaxis really is just a silly, goofy guy

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 3.1k

After being mated for all of two months, Cassian had basically begged you to move into the House of Wind with him. It really hadn’t taken much convincing, especially after Rhysand had ensured you that you wouldn’t be imposing.

So the very next day, your belongings were all packed, Rhys using his magic to move them for you, and Cassian was helping you do a final sweep over your old apartment, barely containing his excitement as he reassured you, yet again, that everything was sorted.

“Okay, I think I’m good. Ready to go?” You asked with a final glance around the room.

Cassian, who had given up on trying to convince you to stop fussing and had instead decided to sit on the floor by the window, jumped up with a broad grin stretched across his face.

“About time.” He teased, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, your forehead, then your nose, before wrapping an arm around your waist as he led you outside.

As soon as you had locked the door behind you, Cassian was scooping you into his arms and leaping into the sky, flying you towards your new home.

*****

You had been to the House of Wind multiple times, but this time felt different; you weren’t going there to visit Cassian, you were going there to live with him, to start your life with him.

You nuzzled your face into his neck, pressing kisses along it as he tightened his grip on you, quickly approaching the balcony that jutted out of the mountain.

Upon landing, you prepared yourself for Cassian to place you back on your feet. Instead, he shot you another wide grin and walked towards the balcony doors with you still in his arms, not letting you down until you had crossed the threshold.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” He softly said before pulling you in for a kiss.

You smiled against his lips, realisation finally hitting that this would be your everyday from now on, the thought causing you to wrap your arms around his neck and tug him further down to you.

“Now, please remember,” Rhysand’s voice drawled, “this is still a shared space.”

You broke away from your mate, cheeks reddening in embarrassment, but Cassian simply looked annoyed at the interruption.

Giving him a sheepish smile you, for the hundredth time, thanked Rhys for letting you move in.

“Don’t mention it, it’ll be good to have you around.” He brushed off as Azriel entered the room.

“Especially if it means we no longer have to listen to Cassian complaining about how much he misses you, how far away you are, how—” But the Shadowsinger was cut off by Cassian throwing a book at his head and shooting him a glare.

You grinned at them all and laughed alongside Rhys, surprised at how quickly you had grown comfortable around Cassian’s brothers after only really meeting them a few weeks ago.

“Anyway,” Rhys interrupted, picking up on the taunt that was seconds from escaping Azriel’s lips, “We were just heading off. Figured we’d give you the night to…settle in”

With a wink at you and a teasing ruffle of Cassian’s hair, the two males made their way out towards the balcony before flapping their wings and heading towards Velaris.

“So…” Cassian started, eyeing you with an intensity that you had first seen after accepting the bond. “Where should we start?”

You knew he wasn’t talking about unpacking.

*****

It had been three months since you had moved into the House of Wind. Cassian had made space in his room for all of your belongings and the two of you had set out redecorating it together to make a space of your own.

You had fallen into a routine, not just with Cassian, but with Azriel as well.

Your mate had decided to take it upon himself to set up a training and defence program for you. But, when he first caught sight of you in your skintight Illyrian leathers, he had quickly decided it wouldn’t be the most productive use of your time and had handed the task over to Azriel instead; although, not before muttering to keep your leathers on for later, with a wink and a pat on your ass as he sauntered back inside.

You had also grown a lot closer to the rest of the Inner Circle, finding that there was always someone floating around if Cassian was away.

Now, however, you slumped into one of the plump armchairs and let out a sigh. Cassian and Azriel were both away checking in on the Illyrian war camps, Mor and Rhys were at the Hewn City, and Amren… you weren’t entirely comfortable spending time alone with her just yet.

Deciding you couldn’t spend another day aimlessly roaming around the house, you made your way towards the library that was built into the mountain.

You had dragged Cassian there after first moving in, spending hours marvelling at all of the books whilst your mate trailed after you, looking as though he wanted to be anywhere else. You, however, happily let him follow along, handing him book after book to carry for you with a cheeky grin that he couldn’t say no to.

This visit, however, had you wanting to explore the deeper parts of the library, with a sudden desire to browse through some of the ancient texts that you hadn’t had the chance to peruse yet.

The further down you went, the more intrigued you were by the seemingly never ending darkness that spiraled into the depths of the library.

Whether it was out of boredom or pure curiosity, you pulled one of the swinging lanterns from the wall and let it guide you through the inky black space, the lights from further up growing smaller and smaller with every step, the shelves of books coated in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

Despite the silence and the darkness of the unknown space, you felt at ease as you reached, what you could only assume to be, the bottom of the black pit.

Edging further into the space, the light coming from your lantern begun to flicker and you tensed at the sudden rustle of movement from behind you.

“Hello?” You cautiously called out, stretching the lantern further out to illuminate more of the room. Straining your ears, you listened closely for the slightest sound of movement, instead, however, a small cluttering sound bounced across the floor and ended by your feet.

Looking down you saw the small stone that had been thrown from the darkest corner of the space. Not quite knowing what to do, you slowly leant down to pick it up, turning it over in your hands a few times as you squinted into the darkness.

There was another quiet rustling noise and then another stone came into view, stopping where the other one had landed.

You picked this one up as well, your expression a mixture of puzzlement and amusement. With a quiet laugh to yourself, you gracefully threw the first stone back into the corner, watching it bounce across the floor before disappearing into the darkness.

A pleased sounding gasp of excitement filled the space around you and then the stone was bouncing back towards you in a hurried manner. You were smiling now, throwing both stones back and waiting with anticipation before they were sent your way again.

Still feeling unsure about playing this game with a creature shadowed by darkness, but not being one to question the weirdness that seemed to live within the Night Court, you sat cross legged on the ground and continued to bounce the stones back and forth.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You said into the darkness, feeling somewhat silly and not expecting the reply that followed.

“I know. I’m Bryaxis.” The chilling voice of the darkness replied.

*****

After that initial trip to the pit of the library, you found yourself heading down there at least once a week. You continued your game of throwing the stones back and forth but as the visits built up you found yourself asking questions about the creature and, in return, he provided you with a deep insight into the long forgotten histories of the world.

Walking back into the House of Wind after one of your library trips, you were surprised to find Cassian in the kitchen surrounded by numerous pots and pans and piles of food.

“Hi,” You greeted excitedly, leaning up on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “You’re back? I thought you wouldn’t be home for another few days. And you’re cooking?”

Hand still holding a wooden spoon, Cassian turned to face you, his other hand cupping your cheek as he lent down for a kiss.

“Hi,” He said against your lips. “Az took over for me,” Another kiss as he backed you against the counter. “Thought I would surprise you.”

You hummed against him, content in letting him wrap his free arm around your waist as he hoisted you onto the kitchen bench, legs coming up to wrap around his waist as you deepened the kiss and knotted your hands through his hair.

A sudden hissing sound had Cassian jumping back and turning in horror as the pot of boiling water started to splatter out across the stove.

“Where were you, anyway? You weren’t here when I got back.”

Content to have your mate beside you again, you absentmindedly swung your feet as you helped yourself to the pile of cut carrots he had set aside.

“Down in the library.” You answered between mouthfuls.

“Oh?”

You dipped the carrot into the bowl of a sauce looking substance, deciding you liked it and going back for seconds. Cassian, noticing this, flicked your nose and moved the sauce out of reach.

“That’s for later.”

You poked your tongue out as you jumped off the bench and moved to stand next to him as he stirred the still sizzling pot.

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird. A few weeks ago when you were away I got bored and wanted to explore the library a bit more,” Cassian turned his back so you helped yourself to whatever was simmering on the stove, earning your nose another flick and a sound of mock outrage from your mate.

“Anyway,” You continued as you lent against the bench, content in watching him cool for you. “I got right down to the bottom of the pit and met this creature,” You weren’t really sure how to describe your newfound friend, you had never actually seen his true form. “And we’ve sort of become friends, I guess?”

You laughed at the silliness of how it sounded, not noticing how Cassian tensed. “You never mentioned anyone else living in the library, his name is—“

“Bryaxis.” Cassian interjected, looking at you with an expression of horror and concern.

“Yes, that’s him” You said excitedly, still missing your mate’s distress.

“Y/N,” Cassian took your hands in his trembling ones and looked over you as though checking for any signs of harm. “Please tell me you’re joking. Did Rhys set you up?”

You stared back, surprised by his response, “Cass? What’s wrong?” But he didn’t seem to hear you.

“Have you seen him? Are you hurt? Y/N, how long has this been going on?”

“I’m fine? And no, he always stays in the dark. Why are you freaking out?”

But Cassian couldn’t answer, simply pulling you into a tight hug as he buried his face in your hair.

“Promise me you won’t go back.”

“Love, you’re starting to scare me—“

“Y/N, I need you to swear it to me. I can’t believe I didn’t know this was going on…” He trailed off, the haunted gleam still present in his eyes.

You were stunned by his reaction, not once had you seen Cassian acting so spooked. Sure, he tended to get a bit possessive around other males but this was entirely different, he seemed completely and utterly fearful of the thought of you being in Bryaxis’ presence.

“What happened? He’s never done anything to cause me harm. We just sit and talk and throw stones back and forth… Is there a reason he’s down there?” Maybe you had missed something, and Bryaxis was, in fact, some sort of monster.

Cassian pulled back, still somewhat wary but you could feel the tension leave his body.

“No, he’s always just been there. I had… an encounter with him, years ago—“

“Did he do something to you?” You cut in with concern.

“No, but… You said you haven’t seen him?”

You shook your head, still at a loss for what had brought all of this on.

“Good. Good,” Cassian muttered to himself now, turning back to finish dinner. You silently got some plates out for him to serve up and opened a bottle of wine, still watching your mate from the corner of your eye.

*****

You were both sat at the table but Cassian couldn’t seem to bring himself to eat, merely pushing his food around on his plate.

With a sigh, he looked up at you, “Y/N, you know I’d never usually ask this of you, and be so…,” He trailed off, swirling his wine before taking a sip. “Please, I really don’t want you going back down there.”

Now it was your turn to sigh, putting your fork down as you reached out to grasp his hand.

“How about this, you come down there with me—,” Cassian started to interject but you gave him a warning look to let you finish. “You come down there with me. You can see that he’s not this monster you seem to think he is, and if not, then we’ll talk about it. But I’m not just going to stop visiting, as weird as it sounds, he’s my friend.”

Cassian knew there would be no changing your mind on this, so with a grimace of a smile he reluctantly agreed, sighing at the beam of a smile that lit up your face.

*****

It had taken weeks to get Cassian back into the library, and not for a lack of trying on your part. Whenever you were both not doing anything, you would suggest heading down there. And every time you did, Cassian would suddenly have something he needed to do, or would mercilessly distract you and leave the library as a long forgotten thought in your mind.

This time was going to be different, you refused to let him weasel out of it again.

“Love, what’re you doing right now?” You innocently asked as you sat yourself in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” You expected as much, especially when he lent in and trailed lingering kisses along your neck.

“Good,” You stood up, pulling him with you. “Come with me.”

Your conspiratorial grin had Cassian thinking your mind was on something else, so he eagerly followed after you, pausing when you walked in the opposite direction of your bedroom.

“Sweetheart…?” You just walked back to him, holding his hand and dragging him alongside you.

Once you got to the library entrance, it finally clicked what you were doing.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Cassian.” You said but he was slowly taking backwards steps away from the library door.

“I just remembered, Rhys needed me to—“

“No he doesn’t. I already checked.”

The frantic panic in his eyes had you almost feeling bad about deceiving him. Almost being the key word.

“Cassian,” The commanding tone of your voice had him stopping in his tracks. “If you don’t come down there with me, right now, then there’s no more sex.”

He gave you an unconvinced look, clearly thinking he was calling your bluff.

“I’m serious. This has gone on long enough. No more sex until you go down there. In fact, I’m staying at the town house until it’s done.”

Cassian stared you down with a torn expression of frustration and disbelief. You stared right back, letting out a sigh of relief as you watched determination spread over his face.

“Fine,” He was a man on a mission, marching towards the library and grabbing your hand in his as he walked by to keep you at his side. “Let’s get this over with.”

*****

You didn’t even try to stop your delighted grin as you headed down into the deepest depths of the library.

As the lights flickered and as darkness started to surround you both, you felt Cassian beginning to tense and slow his pace. Refusing to let him change his mind, you sent a wave of emotions down the bond that told him exactly what he would be missing if he bailed on you now. Cassian squeezed your hand in response, his steps picking up as you reached the bottom of the pit.

“Bryaxis?” You called out, rubbing your thumb in soothing circles over Cassian’s hand when you felt him tense up beside you.

There was movement to your left and then the lamp you had brought down with you flickered out. You could feel something curling around you, flicking your hair in a playful manner, causing you to smile. This was going to be fine.

You turned to Cassian to tell him as such, but the chilling voice that you had since grown accustomed to spoke up in a rasp.

“I didn’t think I would be seeing you again. Not after last time, Lord of Bloodshed.”

You sensed, more than saw, your friend move around your mate and that seemed to be too much for Cassian.

“No. No, Y/N, we’re done here.” And then he was holding onto your hand as though his life depended on it and bolted back towards the stairs.

Your confused laugh sounded out and was met by the amused laugh of Bryaxis swirling through the darkness.

“I’ll see you soon, friend.” His voice followed after you, all traces of the harrowing rasp he had used on Cassian was replaced by a genuine fondness.

“I won’t bring him next time,” You replied in farewell, gesturing towards your mate who was frantically trying to drag you away.

Cassian let out a groan. He knew there was nothing he could do to convince you to never come back down here. You gave his hand a reassuring pat, sending a wave of gratitude and love down the bond. You didn’t know what had happened between Cassian and Bryaxis during their last encounter, but at least your mate had tried to face him for you.

[drak3n]

THE LOST LOVE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: two lovers who went seperate ways years ago… one of the cases we love most!

ꨄ. CONTENT WARNINGS: exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap (reader was in college & toji in his thirties when they met), dad!toji, breakup, implied divorce, insecurities, smut, unprotected sex

bold italic quotes = letter excerpts

PROLOGUE. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i like to think that meeting each other was like a breath of fresh air. for both of us. wouldn’t you agree?”

wake up. go to work. get home. eat. sleep. repeat.

toji’s life was a vicious cycle, one of a middle age man with no goals in life. it was funny to him how people would actually call that a life.

the only times he truly felt like he was alive was when he was seated on the bleachers watching a good old horse race. or a boat race. or whatever it was that he had bet money on.

no one understood him.

toji knew that life rarely gifted him anything. he was no lucky man. in the many years of betting and gambling, he seldomly won. and the money he had won those few times was enough to cover the ticket and perhaps a nice dinner.

and although knowing he was probably going to leave empty-handed, he did it for the thrill. it made him feel youthful again. like he hadn’t wasted his years on useless things that aged him faster than he had hoped to. like he was still the same old teenager he had been years ago.

it wasn’t until one fated day that he found out that there were other things that could bring him back to his youth, other than doing useless crap that only burned a hole in his pocket.

said thing being you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“the way we met wasn’t really romantic. it wasn’t like a scene out of a movie or a novel. looking back, it was quite comedic, even. i’m sure you felt the same way.”

there were a lot of terrible things that came with being a busy person, one of which you were facing right now. standing in front of a ridiculously long line at the grocery store.

you ran out of basic ingredients for cooking, it was a saturday evening, and you really did not want to order takeout again for a third time this week.

standing in front of you was a group of drunken kids — by kids you meant they were around your age, maybe in college like you — but they were different. they seemed carefree. they used their time to have fun and laugh instead of constantly grumping and punishing you with more work than you had.

you wished you could be like them, too. at least sometimes.

what made you get out of your train of thoughts was the sound of an item being placed on the conveyor belt, the rattling sounding too familiar for your liking. another person who hated cooking, so it seemed. and another person who barely had enough change to get a cup of instant noodles.

it was a man — you heard from the occasional sighs and grunts leaving his lips, and the way his cologne wafted over to invade your senses.

why did you suddenly have the urge to turn around and bond with this random stranger? perhaps hit him up with something like ‘heck, youngsters these days, right?’

absolutely not. that would be goofy as hell. and judging by how slowly the like progressed, you were likely going to stand here for at least ten more minutes. you would rather die than make a fool of yourself and then proceed to stand here for even longer afterwards.

oddly enough, the huffing stranger beat you to it. your breath hitched in your throat at the gruff voice sounding.

“s’cuse me, little lady.”

a bulky arm shot forward from behind you, making you step aside to grant him access to the side of the conveyor. you cleared your throat, turning around with an apologetic smile— and damn was he hot.

he looked quite a bit older than you, and he looked quite… distraught. sleepless, deep green eyes, unruly jet black hair that looked like he hadn’t gotten cut in a while, and a stubble gracing his jaw and chin.

you hated romanticizing people who weren’t feeling their best. so, you quickly snapped out of it.

“sorry for hogging the conveyor.” you chuckled, trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere as everyone else in the line was quite angry. the man gave you a halfhearted smile, scar on the right side of his mouth stretching. you wondered how he’d gotten that scar.

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he waved your apology off, slightly motioning at the impatient woman huffing and puffing behind him. “someone’s just very fuckin’ annoying.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. then, your eyes wandered to the conveyor, staring up to meet his again. “you can get in front of me, sir.” you offered kindly, already moving to make some space in front of you, “don’t have to wait even longer for a single item.”

the surprise in his eyes was a dead giveaway that no one had been polite or nice to him in a long time. before he could make it obvious, he shook his head, uttering, “s’fine. thanks.”

but you insisted, for some reason. it wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, cup of ramen placed in front of your groceries, and the seething woman now standing right behind you, that you were happily smiling.

the man walked off after paying for his noodles when the line finally progressed what felt like years later, not even sparing you a glance. you were barely able to contain your disappointment as you bagged your groceries and shuffled outside of the store, ready to take the train back home with full hands.

just to see the man from the line in the grocery store thumbing at the instant noodle cup’s lid, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

his hands wordlessly approached yours to take your bags of groceries, not even frowning at the heaviness of them, as he let out a puff of cigarette smoke.

“i’ll drop ya off, little lady.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“our love was fierce. characterized by sleepless nights, stolen breaths and undying passion.”

ragged breaths filled the air of your small bedroom. it was dark, perhaps around nighttime, and the air was thick with sweat, arousals and the sinful smell of sex.

a lazy kiss was exchanged between you two with swollen, trembling lips as you settled down in each other’s arms. your eyes were shut as toji moved a little to light a cigarette.

your fingertips traced over his bare, built chest, post-orgasmic glow making his handsome face look even prettier. you were convinced he was the prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life.

“are you staying for dinner?” you asked, voice hoarse and quiet from how he had formerly railed you into your mattress. toji wasn’t a gentle lover. the word soft was very foreign to him. but you didn’t mind that. you didn’t mind him squeezing your hand too tightly whenever he held it. he didn’t know any better.

he exhaled the cigarette smoke away from you, large palm settling on the tender, bruised flesh on your hips. his thick, rough fingers traced over the softness of your skin that he had grabbed and kneaded mere minutes ago while manhandling you.

“sorry, baby,” he mumbled into your hair as you already knew what was coming, “gotta go. i’ll stay over next time, promise.”

you wanted him to stay, you really did, but with a sigh, you watched as he got dressed and left — not without pulling you into another kiss. missing the way his eyes twisted with a hint of guilt as he shut the door to your apartment behind himself.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you weren’t a man of many words. you didn’t like talking too much about yourself. but you’d always listen to whatever i’d say. and whenever i wasn’t up to talk, we’d relish in each other’s silence. it was calming.”

“how many girlfriends have you had before me?”

the silence surrounding the air on your balcony after your question made you reconsider if it was a smart thing to ask.

it wasn’t. since when was it okay to talk about exes? you remembered it as one of the most off-putting conversation topics to ever come up with.

toji’s bare arms were propped up against the metal railing, gaze wandering from the unspectacular sight below him that consisted of old, run down buildings and sketchy streets, to you.

he knew it was too late to tell you the truth. he pressed his scarred lips together in regret, before opening his mouth to respond to your question.

“many.”

he saw the way your nose scrunched up at the ugly word — he wished it had been the truth. much better than hurting you with a fucking lie. made him wonder how you’d react to the truth.

“c’mere.” when you didn’t make a move to approach toji, he pulled you into him, dwarfing your body in his form. “you’re not mad, are you?”

“how could i ever be mad at you?”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“there was just one thing i wish you had just told me from the beginning. you know, i actually knew the entire time. i was just waiting for you to tell me.”

“dad, the show’s about to start.”

toji was now a couple of years older, about to celebrate his fourth decade of living in a few weeks. he wouldn’t admit that he was getting older. he had just plucked another gray hair from his scalp this morning, but no one had to know that.

sock-clad feet padded from the kitchen to the living room, bowl of salted popcorn in his hand as he placed it in front of his college-aged kid. toji was in awe at how the brat was becoming more of a carbon copy of himself the more years passed.

the only difference being his spiky, wild hair and blue eyes he had gotten from his mother.

“we’re not watching a match today?” toji sounded rather bored as he leaned back on the couch with a can of soda in his hand, legs finding the surface of the living room table as the younger man munched on sweets.

megumi shook his head, eyes focused on the screen that was still playing some shampoo commercial. “have you ever heard of TATMYLB?” the green-eyed man beside him narrowed his eyes at the obnoxiously long abbreviation, .

“kid. i don’t understand your language,” he grunted, “i’m headin’ out if it’s another high school rom com.” said boy only snorted as he pointed at the tv that happened to be playing a trailer of what was going to be playing next.

“reading today… TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE’s 26th letter!” toji kissed his teeth. of course it was going to be some sappy ass show. why was it so popular anyway?

he raised from the couch, scratching his belly lazily under his sweater as he pointed to the door with his thumb. “gonna check the mail,” he uttered, “we haven’t emptied our mailbox in days.”

megumi hummed, too immersed in what today’s live episode was going to be about. just as toji approached the door, curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself listening.

“unfortunately, she won’t be joining us today, but we have received a beautifully written letter by her! what a lucky man to have been loved like this.” the host spoke gleefully as the audience erupted into cheers and applause.

“our writer is a 29 year old lady from tokyo, a journalist for a very popular newspaper, which explains her splendid writing,” the co-host added, “she has met a man she refers to as her LOST LOVE nine whole years ago.”

toji set his keys down on the shoerack and walked back to the living room. megumi took notice of his dad walking back and smirked. “caught your attention, old man?” he only scowled at his son and placed his hands on the back of the couch.

the stage was beautifully built, and one could tell how much budged was spent on it all. it was a hell lot of pink, too much for toji’s liking — then again, any amount of pink was too much for his liking. the hosts were dolled up to the max, host dressed in a baby pink, frilly dress with her hair done up while the co-host was dressed in a pink suit.

“adding on to that… we have not received an answer or a reaction from the recipient.” a glum round of oh’s echoed across the studio, which made toji snort. “which doesn’t have to mean anything, of course! perhaps he’s just terrible at checking his mail.”

megumi stopped mid-chew as he side-eyed his father, who shot him a look. “old man, you don’t think—” megumi might have been young, but he had a very good memory of his father’s past lovers. especially that one woman who had changed him forever. you.

although he had never met you, he could tell it was you who had a huge impact on his father. and he figured that toji never opened up about having had a son.

“don’t be silly, bud,” toji laughed, reaching over to steal a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his son’s lap. he didn’t even like popcorn, why the hell was he eating it? it had to be the most annoying snack in the world with how the shell of the kernels always got stuck in one’s gums or throat.

you must have moved on years ago. it’s been almost a decade, for fuck’s sake. perhaps you were married already. had kids. he hated how the thought made his jaw clench. it was none of his business anymore, after all.

“mistakes. we all make them. so far, we have had a lot of letters speaking about wrongdoings,” the host clapped her hands together, “but how about keeping secrets? crucial ones?”

of course they were going to drag it on. what a bunch of clowns the audience was for eating it up. he totally wasn’t, not with the way he was clutching the couch cushions in anticipation.

he just wanted to know it wasn’t you, so he could move on in peace. because if you have moved on, then he shall do the same.

the audience was then asked to talk about their experiences with secrets in a relationship, before they started guessing what the person might have done.

eventually, an elderly woman received the mic and laughed. “it wasn’t another woman, so,” she paused, “i’d say hiding a child.”

the two hosts opened their mouths before knowingly looking at the audience, and toji cleared his throat. by now, megumi was fully facing his father, a look of disbelief on his face. before he could speak, toji raised a palm.

“i said don’t be silly,” he warned megumi, “it’s not me. jesus.” megumi shook his head before raising his palm to invite his father to a handshake, challenging him to a bet, “fifty bucks if it’s you, then.”

toji could never say no to bets. maybe he should have checked his mailbox first, though.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

the show was halfway through, currently on a commercial break as you found yourself in the kitchen to prepare yourself a cup of instant noodles. the sight of the cup still brought you back to day you had met toji.

before you could open the lid of the cup, you were halted by the sound of your doorbell ringing. leaving behind the sounds of your kettle whistling, you approached tye door to look through the—

your hand immediately flew to the handle to fling the door open. to stare right at the man you hadn’t seen in over seven years.

there was a lot both of you wanted to say. he wanted to apologize for having disappeared out of nowhere, for having abandoned you when things had been going so well between both of you; while you wanted to slap him, cuss him out and scream at him.

alas, all that came out was a choked sob on your behalf. a sound forced out of your throat, displaying the despair you had felt out of the lack of closure.

toji watched with wide eyes as you broke down in front of him. he wanted to make you happy. or get yelled at. anything but you crying. fuck, he was terrible at this.

toji was only ever good at leaving. that’s what he had done back then when his family no longer served him; that’s what megumi’s mother had spat at him before she left.

screw the past. screw all of his fears. he had waited far too long to come clean. you didn’t deserve this at all.

“i’m sorry.” he breathed, taking a step closer, now partially surrounded by the warmth of your place that hadn’t changed in the slightest. “i hid him from you because—”

you shook your head, trembling hands raising to wipe at your reddened eyes, “i don’t give a damn, toji.” he shut his mouth, because respectfully, you had all the right to be angry.

what he didn’t expect was for you to chuckle through tears. “stop looking at me like that,” you pointed at his lips, “that stupid pout of yours…” he had a habit of pursing his lips whenever he was distressed. you hadn’t forgotten about it.

when you stepped aside to welcome toji inside, he was baffled. “‘course you didn’t read the letter,” you sneered, which made him look down grimly, “if you had, you’d know that i could never be mad at you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

you didn’t ask toji to, but he told you everything. how he had just gotten divorced when he met you, and who had fought for split custody the entire time. who couldn’t have you over at his place because of the child’s room he had.

it wasn’t like he was ashamed to have had megumi. he considered him one of the very few good things in his life. but, he couldn’t risk scaring you off. not when he had found someone as perfect for him as you.

and when things got serious, he did what he knew best. which was to bolt.

it wasn’t a surprise to him that you already knew. he had the wrong idea of you by thinking you’d push him away just because he had a son. now he knew that you could have been the best stepmother megumi could have asked for.

if he hadn’t blown it all.

“so he’s in college now?” you were smiling as you were both situated on your couch. toji feld oddly calm looking at you. you hadn’t changed much.

“this was us at his high school graduation,” he couldn’t help but smile too as he showed you his phone wallpaper. the thought that you could have been on that picture too made your smile fade for a second before you found yourself melting at how proudly he glanced down at his son in his crinkled button-down shirt, one arm lazily slung over the boy who looked at the camera with an irritated, forced smile.

you wondered if megumi would have liked you and already accepted you as his stepmother if toji hadn’t left. wondered if you two would have been married by now—

thoughts like those were useless now.

it happened so fast. like the force of two magnets attracting each other, it felt like you were pulled towards each other. a mumbled ‘i missed you’ left your lips before they planted themselves on his, both of you getting lost in the sensation of the other’s lips.

toji’s lips tasted like salt and popcorn, whereas yours tasted of the peace of candy you had popped into your mouth while waiting for the water to boil.

ah… right. the water. the kettle had stopped whistling a while ago. but both of you were busy sucking each other’s faces to notice that.

you were sat prettily on toji’s lap, hands running across his muscles hidden by his clothes. the only sign of him having aged were the tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. other than that, he still looked like the 31 year-old toji you had met in the line of the grocery store.

he was the same man you had given your heart to. and you were eager to do it all again.

your clothing was shedded in a matter of minutes, hastily and in a rush. it felt like you were being intimate with each other for the first time all over again with wide eyes and shaky hands.

toji pressed you into his chest as he slid inside of you, and it seemed like the world stopped for a while. toji didn’t do soft, he wasn’t gentle. but you could swear you saw nothing but softness and adoration in his eyes in this very moment.

once he started thrusting up into you, your hands straddled his face, fingers digging into his skin as if afraid to let go. toji saw and felt the fear in your eyes, and he took both of your hands to place soft kisses on them.

“‘m not leaving again,” he grunted, relishing in the tightness and warmth he was buried inside of, “promise.”

you whimpered, nodding as you pulled him into yet another sensual, messy kiss while you worked each other through your releases. out of all the times you and toji had sex, this had to be the rawest, most intimate time.

it wasn’t fucking. it was love-making. the kind you’d never expect from a man like toji.

he stayed inside of you after both of you came, buff arms trapping you as you listened to his slowing heartbeat as both of you trembled. neither of you wanted to move, if you could, you’d stay like this forever.

toji’s lips against your temple pulled you back from your daze, and you reached for your underwear to avoid a mess, sighing softly when he pulled out of you. “shower?” he asked, to which you nodded lazily.

before he could lift and throw you over his shoulder, you placed a kiss on his collarbone.

“let’s eat instant noodles and rewatch the episode after that. since you haven’t read the letter—”

oh, toji was never going to hear the end of this.

but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[xxmrs-waynexx]

Young Again

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x wife!reader (batmom)

Warnings: Fluff, comfort, Bruce is slightly OOC but it's for the plot.

Ever since Bruce came back from his latest mission, you tried your best to help him relax. He was always on edge and very clearly tense. This man was not doing okay this time around and it was stressing you out too. No matter how hard you tried, all the noises, movement, and whatever else happening in the manor was just too much for him. You assumed that whatever had happened with Scarecrow must’ve had something to do with fear toxin. 

So, you confided in Alfred. Who else would know your husband better than yourself? The two of you sat outside drinking tea and chatting.

“I just don’t know what else to do. He can’t stay in the cave all day planning and checking every news source for trouble, but he also isn’t able to help with the chaos of all the kids,” you explained.

Alfred thought for a moment before sighing, “Why don’t you two stay home tomorrow? I will go out with the young ones and be back by dinner time.” The older man gave you a kind and reassuring smile. “He will be back to himself before we know it. I have learned that sometimes the best way to make any progress is to take a break. Especially for master Bruce.”

And so you did. The next morning, you were sure to let Bruce sleep in. You didn’t mind being held for a bit longer than usual. By lunchtime, you two had finally pulled yourselves out of bed. It had been months since you’d last cooked. Usually, you helped Alfred but being on the PTA for your kids’ school was getting very busy as it neared winter break.

Cooking was something you used to do with Bruce in college. It used to be a fun bonding activity for you two in the communal kitchen in your dorm building. You’d avoided asking him if he wanted to since you knew he had a lifetime ban, courtesy of Alfred.

As you looked in the pantry, Bruce came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I just had the greatest idea on earth,” he mumbled in his deep, sleepy voice.

“Listen, if this is about your plan for Penguin, I already told you that it was good and that-”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I think we should cook dinner for the family. They’ve probably had a long day and it’s the least we can do.”

His smile is what made you agree. You knew the reasoning was far beyond what he said. He wanted to relive the ‘good old days.’ And if Alfred wasn’t home to tell him no?

____

The kitchen was an absolute disaster. Dishes and ingredients were scattered all over the countertops. You did your best to help keep things in order, but you did have a little enjoyment for the chaos. Your combined laughter filled the kitchen and it was like you two were young and new to each other again.

“Okay, Bruce, now the flour. Not too much. Just use what’s left of the bag in there,” you said, back turned to his figure looking into the pantry.

“There’s just the unopened sack,” he said gruffly, pulling it out of the pantry and slamming it on the counter.

“...Alfred would buy the biggest bag known to man,” you let out a soft chuckle. However, upon turning around, you saw that perhaps slamming a bag of flour onto the counter was not quite the best idea. “Bruce!” Your eyes were wide with both amusement and shock.

Bruce stood in front of you, eyes squeezed shut, covered in flour. “I didn’t think-”

“No, you didn’t,” you laughed. You grabbed a wet cloth and began wiping off his face.

He wrapped his arms around you and you screamed, “NO! Bruce!” 

He chased you around the kitchen with flour in his hands, ready to throw when close enough. “Why do you get to stay clean and I don’t?” He asked, grinning like a madman. This was done with the same amount of energy as your yearly snowball fights- though usually you were on his side.

Once you realized the kitchen was too small to stay away from him, you bolted to the family room. “Bruce! Stop!” your laughs clouded your shouts. “You’re crazy!”

“Yeah?” he stalked you through the living room, the flour in his hands getting everywhere.

“Alfred is going to kill us- No, you,” you laughed.

“Who cares? It was fun. I feel young again,” he told you finally reaching you. He had you cornered between a bust of who-knows-who-that-guy-was and the wall.

Dinner was going to be fun.

[lovelybucky1]

Better Than Revenge

Kinktober Day 7- Fear Play

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT- noncon, kidnapping, violence, drugging, mentions of sexual assault, revenge porn, non-consensual picture taking, stalking, forced breeding, blackmail, AFAB!reader, bondage, humiliation, pain play, degradation, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, 18+ minors DNI

kinktober masterlist

main masterlist

You enjoyed your time at college. You made many new friends, partied, joined clubs, and learned a little along the way. It was fun for a freshly eighteen-year-old, but by the time the end of your senior year came, you were ready to move on to adult life. Since then, you don’t think about college much in your daily life. Your college friends are now just your friends, and your better days are still to come, not behind you.

That’s not to say you never think fondly back on a memory or two here and there, but you’re so busy with your job at the DA’s office that you don’t have time to be hung up on the past. Others, you’ve found, do still live in the past.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, the chief psychiatrist at Arkham took notice of you when you first started working for the DA. Crane was not well-liked by your boss, seeing as he always managed a way to get the criminals you were trying to put behind bars an insanity plea. While he was a frustrating legal enemy, you never had anything to do with the man outside of the courtroom, or so you thought.

After a long day of court and debating with Crane, you were walking home from the office late when a metal pipe cracked over your head and you fell to the wet pavement, out cold. When you woke, you found yourself in a damp, cold warehouse with Dr. Crane looking on from a chair, dressed in a lab coat. Fear spikes in your stomach when you see the man in front of you. Being in your position, there’s only one explanation for why he would be here as well, though you can’t imagine why.

You are bound and gagged; your arms are wrenched in an uncomfortable position above your head and your wrists are tied to a chain from the ceiling. Your mouth is covered with duct tape, effectively suppressing any screams. Your toes just barely touch the floor, which puts a horrible strain on your arms, but there is no use fighting against the bonds.

When Crane notices you regain consciousness, he stands from his chair and approaches you. He gets close to your face and looks into your slightly hazy and unfocused eyes, his own piercing ones making you tremble under his gaze.

“Don’t struggle, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says, voice eerily soothing for a kidnapper. “You know, it’s dangerous for a girl like you to walk alone at night. This city’s a dangerous place, you never know what kind of creeps could be lurking in the shadows.”

He grins a sick, vile grin that makes your skin crawl. Crane reaches out and tips your chin up with his cold pointer finger. He moves your face from side to side, examining you, checking for any damage he might have done. His thumb traces the duct tape over your mouth, finding the seam of your lips and touching you like a doll.

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your looks with how you used to party,” he says casually. You furrow your brows in confusion but you’re unable to question him. “Though I’m sure your liver isn’t what it used to be.”

Before you can ponder his words, Crane walks behind you and you can hear the sound of metal tools clattering together. When he reappears, he is holding a pair of sheers and wears a sadistic smirk. He roughly grabs the hem of your blouse and cuts it up the middle, exposing your bra. He then cuts the fabric of the sleeves so the garment falls to the floor, leaving you topless.

You want to fight back to get this sick creep off of you, but you figure it’s best not to provoke the man with scissors against your skin. Instead, you’re subjected to his eyes ogling you.

“What a thing to wear to work,” he says, amused. “I’m sure this can’t be comfortable. Were you wearing it for an occasion?” he asks, fingers tracing the delicate lace of the band. “Surely not a date. I know you don’t have a boyfriend, and I don’t think you’re the type of girl to put out on the first date.”

You wonder how he could know you don’t have a boyfriend when the realization hits you. He knew what path you took on your way home, he knew what time you’d be leaving the office, and he knew details of your private life that you haven’t shared with anyone but your friends. He’s been stalking you.

“Maybe you had other plans for lunch with your boss this afternoon. Dent is quite the looker, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. What his poor wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” he asks with a smirk. “You really haven't changed.” You’re not sure what he means by that, but you’re not sure what any of this means.

Crane then moves the sheers to the hem of your skirt and makes a small cut. Instead of cutting all the way up like he did with your blouse, he drops the scissors, grasps the skirt, and starts to slowly tear it. The sound of the fabric ripping is deafening in the near-silent warehouse, and fear threatens to rise in your throat as he creeps up your thigh. His eyes watch the exposed skin intently as he undresses you, clearly gaining some kind of pleasure from this. When he reaches the top, he lets the skirt fall at your feet and now has an unobstructed view of your matching underwear set.

“Oh,” he chuckles, “what a surprise. I guess you did have big plans.”

He slips his finger underneath the elastic band of your panties and snaps them back against your hip, making you jump. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the cold air and you squirm as you try in vain to hide yourself.

“You don’t mind if I look under these, do you?” he asks, tugging on your panties again.

Up to this point, you haven’t protested, figuring it was better to cooperate, but you can’t let him violate you like this. You let out a muffled “no” and violently shake your head as you try to move away from his touch. Crane only laughs and moves closer to you. You kick him in the knee and he curses, but it doesn’t do much to deter him.

“You can’t fight me off. All you’re doing is making this worse for yourself,” he hisses. You try to scream, but with the duct tape sealing your lips, it’s no use. “Do you have something to say?”

You plead with your eyes and he reaches up to grasp the edge of the duct tape, but he takes it as an opportunity to be more cruel. He rips the tape from your lips, surely taking skin with it.

“Help!” you scream, “Somebody help me!”

Instead of ordering you to be quiet or suppressing your screams, Crane just laughs.

“Scream all you want, no one’s going to hear you. Not like anyone would care if the world was down one useless bimbo anyway.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?” you shout, your throat feeling raw from the strain.

Anger flashes in Crane’s eyes and his jaw clenches. You continue to thrash and scream, and despite what he said about no one caring, he tightly grabs your waist and steps on your foot to keep you from moving. His face is now only inches from yours and you get the idea to spit into his face. It won’t do much, but it’s the only thing you can do to deter him.

Crane hisses and lets go of your waist to wipe the spit out of his eyes, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are glassy and his dark eyelashes are clumped together.

“You fucking bitch,” he bites. “You’re lucky I haven’t hurt you yet.”

The vague threat does frighten you, but you have many questions that you demand answers to.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Crane?” you ask again.

He laughs bitterly. “Of course you don’t know. You probably have no clue what you’ve done to me. The hell you put me through.”

He leans his weight on the foot crushing yours and when you wince, he grabs your jaw tightly, squishing your cheeks together and forcing your mouth open.

“I don’t know,” you say as best you can.

“You don’t remember college?” he asks. “Your sorority sisters and their fucking jock boyfriends tormenting me. How for years you made my life a living hell just for existing outside of your perfect little bubble.”

His face is twisted into a snarl now as he recounts the memories that drove him to his actions tonight. “I thought the bullying would be over when I got to college but it was so much worse. My door would get vandalized every fucking day with insults and crude images. You and your group of whores spread all kinds of rumors that I was crazy. You said I was a psychopath, a pervert, a sadistic killer who got off on seeing women in fear. Everyone believed it. Everyone.”

As he explained his story, your memory was jogged. You remember a short, skinny guy from college who wore thick-framed glasses and carried a satchel to class. He was awkward, made uncomfortable eye contact, and often made himself the target of ridicule. He had a vast knowledge of science and medicine and was very interested in the mind’s reaction to fear. You never knew his name, only ever referring to him as “Peeping Tom”, which was kind in comparison to some of your friends’ nicknames for him.

“I was an outcast for four fucking years. I couldn’t transfer, I couldn’t afford any other school. Not like you could ever understand that. I accepted that I was a social pariah, but then you went and ruined my fucking life even more,” he hisses.

You didn’t notice the knife in his hand until the point was against your chest, too lost in his rage-filled eyes. You now remember more of what he’s saying and you want to apologize and assure him that you’ve changed, but he seems past the point of reason.

“October 2nd, 1997. I was in my room studying for an exam when you showed up at my door. You were clearly drunk and you came onto me. You promised me all kinds of things and pushed me onto my bed and sat on my lap. You kissed me and took off my shirt, then put your hand down my pants and took my dick out. That’s when your hoard of sluts and every guy you’ve ever fucked barged into my room and took pictures. They spread them to everyone, and it was all because of you.” he hissed. “I was labeled the creep, the predator, the pathetic virgin who thought he could make it with a sorority girl and it was all your fault.”

The man in front of you was shaking with anger, his voice trembling slightly as he recounted the memory. The blade trembled in his hand and dug slightly into your skin, but the pain from the knife was overpowered by the icy feeling of fear.

“Jonathan,” you say meekly, “That was almost a decade ago. I-I’m so sorry I did that to you, I don’t even remember it. I promise I’ve changed.”

“You don’t remember it, that’s exactly why I have to do this. You’re never going to forget again.”

You whimper in fear as he brings the knife up to your neck. The blade bites at your skin, catching when you take a breath.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper with your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you. That’d be such a waste of a warm hole.”

His words are disgusting and degrading. They make you want to shiver out of your own skin and run as far away from him as possible. Luckily, he removes the knife from your neck and takes a small step back.

Crane reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a small digital camera. Your eyes widen when you see it, immediately catching on to what he plans to do to you. He powers the camera on and points it at you, smiling when he sees your pixilated form on the display. He clicks the shutter and a light flashes.

He lowers the camera from his face to reveal a wicked smirk. "It doesn't feel too good, does it?" he asks. "Well it's about to get a lot worse for you."

He kicks your bare ankle with his foot, making you wince as your legs spread. He laughs cruelly and does the same to the other foot. Your legs are open uncomfortably, giving him easy access to what you're desperate to hide from him.

His fingers, long and cold, push through your folds and into your cunt without warning or preparation. He fingers you despite being dry to start, but you slowly get wetter in response to the intrusion.

"Still such a slut even after all this time," he says. "I'm not surprised you're so loose."

He fingers you roughly, seemingly unsure of how to do it, or maybe he just cares that little for your comfort. His nails catch on the ridges inside of you and the poking of his fingers scissoring make you wince. Thankfully he got his fill of that quickly, and pulled out his wet fingers.

He brings them to his nose to sniff, then wipes your wetness off on his pants. "Smells like whore," he says.

Without any further words, Crane reaches down and grabs you by your ankle and pulls it off the floor. You yelp as you lose your balance and your bonds tug on your shoulders. Crane then hooks your foot on a strap that also comes from the ceiling. He then does the same to your other leg.

Now you're suspended in the air, cunt on display for him and helpless. Crane takes out the camera again and takes more pictures of you spread out.

"I have waited so long for this."

Crane wears a sick, wicked grin that does not falter as stands between your spread legs. His hands work his fly open and quickly he frees his cock. It's already hard and the flushed tip is leaking, just from the torture he's inflicting onto you.

"I knew after that night that you would be my first," he says as he rubs his head through your folds. "Weather you wanted to be or not."

Your breath catches in your throat when he pushes into you bare. He goes slow, likely for his own sake so he doesn’t cum too soon, but whatever mercy he shows you doesn’t provide any comfort.

Once he’s fully seated inside of you, he begins to rut. Erratic, inexperienced thrusts to chase his own pleasure inside of being conscientious of yours. His eyes are half lidded and laser-focused on your breasts.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

With each thrust, the makeshift sex swing he has you in rocks, making the chains that hold you creak. You worry that you’re going to fall, but you suppose that would be better than a knife in your gut.

Crane’s cock bumps against your cervix which makes you whimper from the discomfort, but he thinks it’s out of pleasure.

“You like that? You like taking my cock like a fucking fleshlight? Didn’t think you’d be so easy, but I guess all it took back then was a spot on the football team to get into your pants.”

Crane is indeed using you like a fleshlight. He alternates between thrusting into you and holding onto the chains to move you over his cock. It’s humiliating, painful, awful, but he’s no longer threatening you with a knife.

He pulls out the camera again and points the lens at your pussy where it’s stretched around him. Then he backs up the camera a bit to capture your full form, contorted by the chains.

“W-what are you gonna do with those?” you ask with your broken voice.

“Exactly what you did to me,” he growls.

“No! No, please, you can’t do that.”

He grabs the chains and slams you down onto him, sending him impossibly deeper.

“You ruined my life. Now it’s your turn.”

“My career will be over! Please, I’ll do anything, just don’t send those to anyone!”

You’re begging shamelessly, sobbing and snotty, but none of this seems to turn him off. In fact, he seems to enjoy it more.

“I’m sure Dent would be interested to see what you get up to after hours. Of course, your reputation would be ruined once the rest of the city sees your messy cunt.”

All you can do is cry and shake your head.

“I know you’re good friends with Bruce Wayne. Maybe I’ll tell everyone that he did this to you and ruin you both. Wouldn’t that be sweet,” he says.

His voice is raspy and low; he’s clearly very affected by the pleasure of using you and you doubt he can hold on for much longer.

“I-I’ll do anything, Dr. Crane. Please,” you say between sobs.

“Hmm,” he hums.

Crane grabs your breast roughly and squeezes, digging his nails into your soft skin. You hiss and your face screws up with pain. He then slaps it repeatedly until you show signs of more discomfort.

“Please,” you beg again.

“It might be nice to have a friend at the DA’s office,” he says with a smirk. “Especially one that would bid in my favor, lest some dirty pictures get out.”

Blackmail? Jesus, he’s fucking sick. Though you suppose the threat of releasing them is better than him actually doing it.

“Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I’ll help you out, just please don’t send them,” you say frantically.

He fucks you even more erratically now, like he can’t decide if he should edge or finish himself off.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice frighteningly low. You nod in response. “You’re scared of me, the loser you tormented in college? Don’t you regret that?”

He’s speaking so quiet and slowly like he’s trying to hypnotize you. You nod along with what he’s saying, figuring it’s better just to agree.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Every time you look at our bastard child, you’ll see my face and regret what you did to me.”

That catches your attention. Our child?

“W-what?”

“You thought I kidnapped you just to cum in my hand? I’m gonna fill you up until you’re leaking with my fucking cum. Oh, and you know that little pill you take every day? I switched that out weeks ago. This little womb is as fertile as ever, and you’re going to give me a baby.”

Your stomach flips and you immediately feel nauseous. He tampered with your birth control? That means he was in your house. He could have put cameras up, bugged the place. You have no idea what he’s truly capable of.

Tears being to stream down your cheeks again. You feel so violated, so helpless. He doesn’t wipe away your tears or even tell you to stop crying. He just watches as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna cum,” he growls. “And you’re gonna take it all.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to yours, forcing you to look deep into his eyes as he fills you with his cum. The wet, hot feeling of it flooding your insides makes you feel sick, and he continues to fuck himself through his orgasm which makes the cum froth and leak down your holes.

He stays seated inside you, keeping you plugged so the sperm has time to take. Crane is breathing heavily but he doesn’t once look away from you.

"Good girl," he mutters. "Good pussy."

You sag in relief when he finally pulls out. Your cunt aches from his rough treatment, and not in the fun way. Your arms and legs hurt from the bonds, but that appears to be a pain you won't soon be free from.

Crane walks back over to the chair he was sitting in when you first woke up and takes a seat. "I'll keep you here for a couple days so you can't go off and take one of those pesky morning after pills," he says casually.

"Y-you can't. They'll notice when I don't show up for work," you try to reason with him.

"Oh, don't worry about that. I called on your behalf and told them you had a family emergency. Something about grandma and her heart," he says. "I've taken care of everything."

You don't doubt that he has, and that scares you. He rests his ankle on the opposite knee and looks at the pictures he took on the camera.

"Now all you have to do is stay out of my way in court, and no one will ever see these," he grins, letting the camera dangle from his wrist by the strap.

You nod in understanding. "Good girl."

[weemssapphic]

hii :) how are you? I hope well <3 I love the way you write so much :)

so, I had this idea in mind for a while, reader is a teacher and she and Larissa have been flirting for months, like there were times when they both wanted to confess their feelings but for fear of the other's rejection no one has ever taken the first move.

the Rave'n arrives and at a certain point the song "i wanna ruin our friendship" starts and reader and Larissa stare at each other from afar

larissa runs away to her office trying to figure out what to do and when she decides to go confess her feelings to reader, she opens the door and reader is standing in front of her

after that you can add whatever you want, possibly smut and fluff

thank you if you will write my request <3

Hello! thank you so much for your request, I truly adored writing it and thought it was an amazing idea - excellent song choice hehe <3 I hope you enjoy it!

Ruin Our Friendship

Larissa Weems x f!reader

words: ~4.4k | ao3 link in title

content/warnings: pining, flirting, fluff, nsfw (smut) - marking, cunnilingus (reader giving)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A crisp fall breeze blew your hair off your shoulders as you walked up to the doors of the Weathervane during your lunch break, excited to treat yourself to a coffee before the afternoon staff meeting.

As you entered the little café, you spied Larissa standing in line waiting to place her order. Your heart fluttered at the sight of her - you’d had a crush on your boss since starting at Nevermore the previous year (you couldn’t fathom how anyone couldn’t have a crush on the statuesque blonde), and you’d even managed to form a friendship with her, bonding over your shared love of music, old films and literary classics. As of late, though, you felt the lines of your friendship blurring more and more as the two of you had developed a teasing, flirty undertone to your conversations.

That fact thrilled you - flirting with Larissa was fun, exhilarating - as much as it terrified you. You were almost certain it was nothing more than a passing game for her; after all, she seemed to have a rather flirtatious nature in general. To you, though, it was much more. With doubts about her intentions at the back of your mind, you were hesitant to share your feelings with the blonde - surely being rejected by your boss wouldn't exactly be an ideal move for your career (or for your heart, for that matter).

You began to cross the café and make your way to the line to order, intent on engaging in conversation with Larissa, when a man who seemed to have similar intentions tapped Larissa on the shoulder.

Not recognizing him, you slowed your gait, curiosity getting the better of you. When the man placed his hand on Larissa’s arm, she pulled away instantly, looking visibly uncomfortable.

“Hey, baby, haven’t seen you around these parts.” His voice was so sleazy and, as his gaze traveled Larissa’s body, it lingered far too long on her long legs, then on her breasts, which he was almost face to face with at his height.

Without thinking, you sidled up to the taller woman and wrapped an arm possessively around her waist, ignoring the small squeak she let out and gazing up at her with the most lovey-dovey eyes you could muster (as if that were even hard). 

“Hi, baby,” you purred, smiling coyly up at her. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” 

You rose up on your toes a bit so you could reach her cheek, pressing your lips gently to her cheekbone, then turning your head away from the man’s view and whispering in her ear, “Follow my lead.” 

You glanced over at the man who was watching you, his face slowly turning scarlet.

“And who might this be? Have we met before?” You offered him a sickly-sweet smile, waiting for a reply as his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Uh, sorry,” a voice interrupted timidly from behind the counter, and you turned to see Tyler’s eyes darting between the three of you. “Did you want to order something?”

With a final look of disdain towards the stranger, you turned your attention fully to Tyler, unaware of how your hand was gently stroking across the fabric of Larissa’s dress in a soothing pattern, even more unaware of how Larissa was desperately trying (and failing) to ignore the way this made heat pool in her core.

“Could I please get a latte to go? Honey, what would you like?” Larissa looked down at you with wide eyes, still processing her current situation. After what felt like an eternity she replied, “I’ll have the same,” her eyes still trained on you.

You briefly let go of Larissa in order to search your bag for your credit card to pay, then took her hand in your own and all but pulled her to the other end of the long counter to wait for your drinks. Her hand was warm and soft and your skin tingled where it met hers. 

“Y/N?” Larissa whispered when you didn’t let go of her hand. 

“He’s still watching,” you whispered back, all too aware of the man’s eyes boring a hole in the back of your skull.

And maybe you weren’t ready to let go, not yet - not now, when you knew how it felt to hold her hand.

~~~

The staff meeting that afternoon was, admittedly, a bit boring. But boring was just what Larissa needed to ground herself after your little stunt at the Weathervane had left her dazed and, if she was honest with herself, extremely aroused.

She found herself unable to focus on Coach Vlad’s proposal for a higher fencing budget and, instead, found her eyes drifting over to you. With each glance at you the heat in her core spread further, until it felt as though her entire body was ablaze. Her cheek still tingled from where you’d kissed her, her waist felt like you’d branded it with your hand.

You’d only been doing her a favor, she reminded herself. It didn’t mean anything - it was simply girl code. No one had ever done something like that for her, and she supposed she should be grateful - after all, you had saved her from having to have one of the worst possible conversations of her life. 

When the meeting was over and the staff stood and began shuffling out, Larissa called your name and asked you to stay behind. She would simply thank you, that’s all.

“Yes, Larissa?” You smiled brightly at her and she felt her cheeks warm under your gaze as she struggled to find the right words.

“Thank you,” she said finally. “For what you did for me at the Weathervane - you saved me from an absolute headache of a conversation.” She paused. “And thank you for the coffee, I can pay you back,” she added, reaching for her purse.

“No, it’s fine,” you insisted. “You don’t have to pay me back, it’s just a coffee. And of course, what are friends for? I couldn’t just stand there and watch that slimy man throw himself at you.”

Friends. The word made Larissa’s stomach churn uncomfortably. If that’s all you saw her as…

“Yes, well, I appreciate it, nonetheless.” Larissa forced a smile to her lips.

A charged silence filled the air, both of you still thinking about the kiss you’d pressed to Larissa’s cheek, both of you too nervous to address it.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask - will you be at the Rave’N?” Larissa asked, as nonchalantly as possible, subconsciously fidgeting with the sleeve of her blazer.

“Are you asking me as a girlfriend?” You giggled as you said it - Larissa could feel it was a joke but her entire body tensed up anyway.

“I-I was just finishing up the chaperone list, actually,” she stuttered out, not quite able to fully meet your gaze as she unconsciously straightened her posture.

“It was just a joke,” you said softly, offering the blonde a warm smile which she hesitantly returned. “In that case though, yeah, sign me up.”

Larissa nodded numbly.

“I should go though, my class is starting soon and I would hate for my boss to find out I was late.” You tossed Larissa a wink and left her in the staff room.

Larissa stood rooted to the spot, stunned and even more confused than before.

~~~

Stationing yourself on the end of the dance floor farthest from Larissa was for the best, really. At least that’s what you told yourself. From all the way across the room, you wouldn’t be tempted to shower her with compliments. You wouldn’t be tempted to wrap your arms around her waist. You wouldn’t be tempted to drag her onto the dance floor, or pull her close, or rise onto your toes to press your lips to hers. You wouldn’t be tempted to do something you’d surely regret, something that would ruin the beautiful friendship you’d developed over the past months.

The song changed and you tried to focus on the music to distract your wandering thoughts.

Jenny, darling, you're my best friend But there's a few things that you don't know of Why I borrow your lipstick so often I'm using your shirt as a pillow case

You recognized the song immediately. It always reminded you of a certain blonde principal who had caught your eye, though you would certainly never admit it. You took a sip of your Yeti-tini and allowed your eyes to wander the room, taking in the dancing students. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, even Wednesday Addams, and it made you smile into your drink.

Your gaze wandered further until you locked eyes with the one person you’d been mercilessly avoiding since your arrival. Larissa’s shining sapphires bore into your own, her expression wistful - God she looked so beautiful. Elegant, poised - the picture of grace. Then a blush colored her cheeks, embarrassment making itself known on her face as the two of you simultaneously registered the lyrics thumping out of the speaker.

I wanna ruin our friendship We should be lovers instead I don't know how to say this 'Cause you're really my dearest friend

It was as if everything around you was slowing down. You barely registered the thumping of the bass, the bodies of students swirling around you as you stood rooted to the spot, dumbstruck. The only thing you could focus on was the way Larissa’s eyes widened, the way her lips parted, the feeling of your own body coming to life as a buzzing spread throughout your limbs.

You took a step forward, your concentration momentarily broken when a student bumped into you, and you looked down to apologize profusely. When you looked up again, Larissa was gone. 

~~~

It was only after she’d shut herself in her office that Larissa finally felt like she could breathe again. She leaned with her back against the door, tipping her head backwards and shutting her eyes, taking a moment to breathe deeply and to get her racing pulse under control.

Larissa was normally an expert at keeping her desires under wraps. She was nothing if not in control - when it came to everything except for you, apparently. You looked so enticing tonight, Larissa had noticed it the second you’d walked in. She hadn’t allowed her eyes to roam over your figure until you’d turned away, of course, but the second you had she’d traced your curves, the way your suit clung to your body and emphasized your figure in a way that left her mouth dry.

She’d wanted nothing more in that moment than to steal you away, to leave lingering kisses all over your body until you were whimpering with anticipation, until you were begging her to take you - and then she would. She would push you up against a wall and mark you hers, make you scream her name until the whole school could hear who you belonged to.

Did you feel the same way? she wondered, her heart racing as she considered your encounters over the past months. The sexual charge in the air when you were around was undeniable. Could you feel it, too? You’d seemed open to her advances, to her flirting, but she’d been too afraid to make a move - the last thing she’d wanted was to come on too strong if her feelings were not reciprocated.

The heavy throb between her legs was becoming too much to bear, and Larissa decided she needed to try. She would hate herself if she didn’t. With a steadying breath, she turned and opened the door - in an instant, she felt the air leave her lungs, frozen at the sight of you standing there, eyes wide. 

~~~

It took you a few seconds to register that Larissa had left. You stood at the center of the dance floor, clutching your empty cup to your chest. Should you go after her? Would she want that? There had to have been a reason she’d left during that song, after seeing you. Surely it wasn’t a coincidence. Surely you weren’t delusional. 

You didn’t realize you’d set into motion until you were halfway to Larissa’s office. You slowed as the door came into sight, a door that you’d knocked on and entered through a hundred times before but that suddenly seemed imposing - a door that taunted you. 

Would Larissa even be in her office? What if she’d left because you’d made her uncomfortable, and she simply wanted to get away from you? What if-

Your ruminating was cut short by a loud creak as the very door you were staring at opened, revealing a shocked Larissa.

“Larissa,” you breathed out, suddenly feeling your heartbeat in your throat.

The blonde was seemingly frozen as she stared at you, mouth agape, until finally she croaked out, “I was just coming to find you.”

“Oh,” was all you could say in response.

“Would you like to come in?” She sounded almost timid, and that filled you with hope. You nodded and she stepped aside, allowing you to enter her office before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you stood in her office, a tense silence blanketing the room. There had to be a reason she was coming to find you, didn’t there? Your mind raced as you tried to come up with something, anything to say to stave off the awkwardness that surrounded you both.

“Larissa-”

“Y/N-”

You both spoke at the same time, and Larissa chuckled nervously while you felt a heat rise in your cheeks. 

“Please,” she said, gesturing for you to speak.

“Larissa, I…” You searched her eyes, those icy blue irises that you would happily drown in. They stared back at you with an intensity that set you ablaze - you were suddenly warm, everything was warm as a heat radiated from your core. “Oh, for fucks sake.” You surged forward, bringing a hand to the back of Larissa’s head to pull her towards you as you captured her lips with your own.

You half expected the kiss to be hesitant, for Larissa to push you away - what you didn’t expect was the ferocity with which Larissa kissed you back. Her hands gripped at your waist, pulling you closer until you were flush against her as her tongue swiped at the seam of your lips.

Larissa licked into your mouth, letting out a soft whimper as your tongue slid against hers. Her lips felt heavenly against your own, warm and pillow-soft - eager. You slid one hand into her updo, tugging at the silky strands while your other hand cupped her cheek.

“Darling,” she whispered, pulling back ever so slightly. Her gaze lingered for a moment on your lips before flicking up to meet your eyes. “Why did you come to my office?”

There was uncertainty in her tone, but also hope, and your breath stuttered in your chest.

“I-” you struggled to get the words - any words - out. “I’m nervous,” you whispered hoarsely, searching Larissa’s face.

Her previously intense gaze softened slightly and she smiled timidly. “So am I,” she whispered back, her grip tightening imperceptibly on your waist.

“I kissed you on the cheek at the Weathervane.” You were still whispering, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “I couldn’t stop thinking about that.”

“Neither could I.” Larissa’s voice was low and breathy.

“I’m very attracted to you.” God, was that an understatement.

“I’m very attracted to you, too.” You could feel Larissa’s hot breath on your face as she spoke - it sent a shiver down your spine.

You leaned in slightly, your lips brushing faintly against hers - a question. Larissa responded by closing the remainder of the gap, pressing her lips firmly to yours. 

“I would very much like to show you how beautiful you are,” you murmured between kisses.

“Far be it from me to stop you.” You could feel Larissa’s smirk against your lips and you dropped your hands to her hips, fisting at the fabric of her dress.

Larissa’s lips barely left your own as she guided you to her adjacent quarters, maneuvering around the small apartment until you reached the bedroom, the backs of your knees bumping into the edge of the bed.

The taller woman gently pushed your shoulders, causing you to fall back onto the bed. She stared hungrily down at you for a moment, cheeks flushed, pupils blown.

“Are you sure about this?” She sounded breathless.

You nodded fervently, earning you a raised eyebrow. “Words, darling,” Larissa all but pleaded.

“Yes, I’m sure.” That you were, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

A smile graced Larissa’s features, which quickly turned into a smirk as she towered over you. She set her hands on the bed, on either side of your hips, hovering over you. When she leaned in, you thought she might kiss you again, but she bypassed your lips and went straight for your throat, finding your pulse point within seconds and beginning to nibble and suck at the sensitive flesh. 

“Larissa,” you moaned, heat pooling between your legs as you felt her warm, wet tongue soothe over the side of your neck, over the marks that would surely turn purple come morning. 

You reached around her back, finding the zipper of her dress. “May I?”

Larissa hummed her consent and you dragged the zipper down as far as it would go, then helped Larissa push the sleeves of the dress down her arms. She stood again, a vision before you - her skin was milky white and dotted in tiny, pale freckles, breasts cupped by lacy white fabric, her dress pooling at her hips, the slight swell of her lower belly on display. You could feel your mouth go dry.

“You’re staring.” Larissa’s breathy voice forced your gaze upwards - her cheeks were pink, her eyes half-lidded as she looked down at you.

“You’re gorgeous.” You couldn’t help the emotional sincerity that laced your tone, and Larissa’s face flushed further.

You placed your hands on Larissa’s hips, holding her gaze as you leaned in slowly. You pressed your lips to her belly, the skin soft and warm against your mouth. A plethora of kisses was littered across the expanse of her stomach as you used your hands to push the dress over her hips and allow it to pool at her feet.

Then your hands came to the waistband of her panties, pulling them down slightly, revealing her mound, covered in a patch of neatly trimmed blonde curls. You allowed the panties to drop the rest of the way down Larissa’s legs as you focused your attention between her thighs, pressing a kiss to her mound then looking up in question.

“Would it be alright if I taste you?” you whispered, watching a visible shiver travel up Larissa’s spine. 

“Yes,” came her soft reply.

You took her hands in your own, guiding her onto the bed. She leaned back against the pillows and spread her legs, watching you with parted lips as you shrugged off your suit jacket and slowly unbuttoned your shirt, tossing the clothes into a heap at the foot of the bed. Your pants came next, until you were left in only your bra and panties.

Settling between her legs, you began to cover every inch of her inner thighs with soft, barely there kisses, until Larissa’s hips were bucking towards your mouth.

The scent of her arousal hung heavy in the air already, her cunt glistening enticingly. The moment your tongue made contact with her slit, a loud moan tore from Larissa’s throat, the sound so erotic that you were certain your own panties were now drenched.

You dragged your tongue slowly through Larissa’s folds, letting out a moan of your own at the heavenly taste. Your tongue reached her swollen bundle of nerves and her hips twitched beneath you. Circling the sensitive bud with your tongue, you wrapped your arms around Larissa’s creamy thighs to steady yourself.

There was a flurry of movement and you looked up through your lashes, groaning as you saw that Larissa had removed her bra and was palming her breasts, rolling her own pert, pink nipples into hard peaks. Your groan seemed to send a shockwave of pleasure through the blonde as she let out a whimper and bucked her hips upwards.

Larissa rolled her hips against your face, finding a steady pace to match the ministrations of your tongue as you alternated between laving her folds and sucking her clit.

“You’re doing so well for me,” you murmured between licks, eyes trained on Larissa as she writhed against the sheets. She looked down at you, her gaze meeting yours, and a knot began to form in your belly. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, her chest flushed and heaving, her cheeks pink, her hair spilling out of its updo in messy waves.

Her lips parted and she looked like she was about to say something, but then you latched onto her clit and her head fell back onto the bed as she let out a guttural moan.

“Please, can you- inside,” Larissa panted, and you quickly obliged, pushing a finger into her dripping hole. 

“So beautiful,” you said, breathless and in awe, before returning your mouth to her clit as you began to pump your finger in and out of her in a steady rhythm. Larissa matched the thrusts of your fingers, and as she seemed to get more comfortable, you pushed in a second finger. She groaned as her walls clenched slightly at the intrusion.

“Does this feel good?” You curled your fingers inside of her, finding her sweet spot, and Larissa let out a breathy, “Yes, God, yes.”

A few more thrusts of your fingers had Larissa arching her back off the mattress, her bucking hips struggling to keep your steady rhythm as you began to pump your fingers even faster.

You could feel her thighs begin to close around your head, trembling slightly, and you blindly reached out a hand, feeling the mattress next to her for her own hand. She grabbed it, intertwining your fingers with a firm grip while her other hand came to rest in your hair, gently but firmly tugging you closer.

“Good girl,” you said tenderly and Larissa whimpered, squeezing the life out of your hand as she teetered over the edge. You caught the arousal leaking from her core with your tongue, lapping happily away at her essence and allowing her to ride out her high on your fingers.

Once her breathing had slowed and her thighs had loosened their grip on your head, you pulled out of her and crawled up to hover over her, holding out your wet fingers for her to taste herself. Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut and she sucked the digits into her mouth, rosy cheeks hollowing out, moaning as she swirled her tongue around them.

She released your fingers with a pop, opening her eyes to meet your own. Her gaze was all-consuming - hunger and desire were reflected clearly in inky black pupils, but there was something else there, too, something that had your heart doing somersaults within your ribcage.

“Larissa?” you said softly, your voice cracking on the last syllable.

Larissa looked up at you, eyes wide and expectant.

“At the risk of-” your breath caught in your throat, your voice barely above a whisper. “At the risk of ruining everything-”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you searched Larissa’s face for any hint of emotion, but she had schooled her face into an impassive mask.

“I don’t just want this to be about sex…”

There was no going back now.

“I- I really like you, Larissa.”

You swallowed hard against the lump forming in your throat as Larissa’s eyes flicked between your own, the seconds ticking by.

“I really like you, too, Y/N,” she whispered finally, cupping your cheek with one hand as the other found the nape of your neck, pulling you slowly towards her until your lips met. The kiss was soft and emotional - it left you breathless.

“Larissa?”

“Yes?”

“Would you… would you like to go on a date with me?”

A soft smile broke out across Larissa’s face, her cheeks dusted pink. “I would love to, darling.”

Your stomach filled with warmth as you leaned in to press a bruising kiss to Larissa’s lips, which she quickly deepened with a soft moan. You could scarcely have imagined, even just last week, that your flirtations with the woman beneath you could lead to anything. Finally feeling her strong arms encircle your waist, feeling her tongue against yours, hearing confirmation that your feelings were returned, was more than you could have ever wished for.

~~~

Larissa stood in front of your fellow teachers at the staff meeting the following Thursday. Her gaze flicked over to you and you nodded encouragingly. She cleared her throat.

“Before we end the meeting, I have something I’d like to speak on. It appears a rumor has begun to spread around Nevermore that Ms. Y/L/N and I are dating. I wanted to address this rumor before it gets out of hand.” Larissa paused, taking a glance at you to ground herself. 

“We have, in fact, begun seeing each other this past week. I want to make it perfectly clear, however, that this will not affect our professional relationship, nor will it affect my relationship with any member of our staff. I will not favor Ms. Y/L/N, and I would like to continue to foster an open, honest environment among our staff. If anyone has any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to come to me.”

Marilyn cleared her throat and raised her hand from the table to draw attention to herself. “I have a question.”

“Yes, Ms. Thornhill?” Larissa said with a hesitant smile.

“Were you guys seeing each other before the Rave’N, too?”

Larissa’s gaze flicked over to you, brow furrowing slightly. You shrugged and nodded your head once, gesturing for Larissa to answer the question how she saw fit.

“No, Ms. Thornhill. We began seeing each other after the Rave’N.”

A deafening silence filled the room. And then-

“Alright, pay up,” Marilyn said triumphantly, her lips forming into a smirk as she held her hand out on the table and wiggled her fingers. Several other teachers grumbled and dug around in their bags and pockets, tossing folded up bills in Marilyn’s direction - most notably Coach Vlad, who handed her a crumpled hundred-dollar bill with a huff and muttered “you sure you’re not a psychic, normie?”

Larissa looked at you with wide eyes, but from your puzzled expression, you seemed to be just as in the dark as she was.

“Ms. Thornhill, what is the meaning of this?”

“We made a bet on whether or not you two were already together. My colleagues seemed to think you’ve been together for quite some time now and have chosen to hide it from the rest of us.” Marilyn stated matter-of-factly.

“And you?”

Marilyn’s smirk grew. “I knew you didn’t have the guts to ask each other out.”

x

tags: @oceansblooming @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @larissaoftarthweems let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future work or removed from the taglist <3

[lowkeyrobin]

Platonic Ghostbusters x social media manager! Reader?

oooo hell yeah!! ; thanks for requesting and I hope u enjoy :)

GHOSTBUSTERS ; social media manager

summary ; you run the official ghostbusters social media platforms

warnings ; language

word count ; 746

masterlist

Podcast wanted to run the official Ghostbuster social media's but was quickly turned down at that. They needed someone who could actually be on top of that kind of stuff and whatnot. So, Stanz made a deal with Podcast that they'd get a social media manager, and he could act as their teammate with that, basically. Giving them ideas, giving them video clips and extra details, etcetera.

Most of the others didn't see a real reason for a social media manager, but as long as it wasn't their money.

Trevor offered to just do everything himself, but that was obviously turned down as well. The teens all agreed not to let the adults run the account either. They didn't need millennial - Gen X / Boomer humor flooding the whole account and making them look bad.

And that's where you came in.

surprisingly, Pheobe was the one to find you. she's seriously the most chronically offline person ever so the fact she ever opened Instagram was a miracle in itself

lots of talking back and forth and meeting the original four three ghostbusters to get input, then meeting callie & garry and the teenagers

you actually figured out that you used to be friends with Lucky as well, damn

you had managed social media accounts before, but you'd recently quit a few of those because of labor laws being broken so, yknow

you quickly formed a bond with Lucky, Trevor, and Podcast. you were kind of close in age to all three of them and they were all invested in the public image for the brand

setting the Instagram up was genuinely the funnest thing ever

the four of you were chilling in the living room in the firehouse (since sleepover stuff, pheobe was in her room reading) and you had your laptop in your lap and the three of them over your shoulders

the amount of laughing and cackling got some scolding from callie upstairs

it took everything out of you to not make the first post a video of trevor being soaked in Slimer's slime (which had been recorded by Lucky just by coincidence as they were investigating the attic again)

the first three posts, which were pinned, all lined up to be like a banner kind of logo with the theme song in the back, and they all played the same video, clips of the og ghostbusters and how they grew and then the new ghostbusters

the tiktok is its own thing, you allowed trev, lucky, podcast (and pheobe) to run it, but everything had to be ran by you first because pr shit

but thankfully no boomer humor or slang is ever being put on those accounts

most of those people don't even know wtf the internet is anyways lol

stanz has a personal vendetta against you /hj after you posted a .5 of him for relatable promo. he had no idea what you were doing but it was criminal that you made his forehead look so much more bigger than it already was

Winston gives you a bunch of old pics to post to trending angst sounds as well LOL

let's not talk about that tiktok where you, lucky, and trevor dance to/remake submissive and breedable by smosh ft bbno$, okay?

^podcast and pheobe were behind the camera cackling the whole time

lots of random pic posts on the insta as well because why not (most of them are the teens looking awkward, callie, gary & lars trying to look like cool scientists, or venkman, stanz, zeddemore & melnitz being classic, sassy old people)

the socials are never professional whatsoever, it's fun but it's not heavily controversial or obvious that you're there as a pr manager basically or just to manage the socials

like man they don't have the time to look at all the comments, take all the advice, reply to fans, etc

I mean that wage ain't that bad either LMAO

trevor is always bitching about how you make more money than he does /lh

you're not just a representative to them, you're actually family. you're just cool like that

"bro y/n is such a mc I hate them" and you'll reply on your personal w a "says you, reality shifter" or smthn LMAO idfk

always reposting ghostbuster edits / fanart etc because fandom culture 🙏

also I can't get over the fact the ghostbuster theme song is canon now either. yk damn well that shit is plastered everywhere thanks to you 💀

"do the ghostbusters respond??" "stanz said he loves your dog" "HELP HSEIJDLAKE"

10/10 experience

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Best Friends on paper 📮

Summary: You've been matched up with a pen pal through a website, but what is merely an outlet for you and a confidant to tell your secrets to, is something completely different for him.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader (hinted at short!Reader too)

(No use of descriptive words for Reader's appearance. If you do stumble across one, please let me know and I'll immediately find a more inclusive alternative)

Warnings: 18+, non-con (touching, fingering), kidnapping of sorts, deranged Steve Rogers, manipulation, forced relationship, obsession and obsessive baheviour

Word count: 2k

Author's note: My second entry for @the-slumberparty's BINGO challenge! The squares I filled this time are "Pen pals", "Campfire", "Beach day" and "Brainwashing"

We love us some deranged, obsessed Steve Rogers and when I read the Pen Pal square, I knew we needed Mister Old-fashioned to make an appearance! Have fun reading this one ;D

...

“You said you loved me. You did. Stop struggling,” Steve grunts into you ear, his hand firmly planted over your mouth as he drags your flailing form further away from your group of friends.

Your kicking and muffled protests don't deter him, his hulking frame dwarfing yours easily, allowing him to effortlessly man-handle you as he pleases.

“Shhh, sweetheart. It's just me, just Steve. I'm your friend, remember?” the man husks, his hot breath dampening the back of your neck.

Your shake your head as best as you can, your mind spinning with the disorientating events crashing down on your.

“You're not my friend,” you try to say, but it only comes out as stifled mumbling from behind the gigantic paw covering up half your face to keep you quiet.

This isn't Steve, it can't be. Steve is nice, sweet. He'd been matched to you on a random pen pal website you signed up on out of boredom, the two of you hitting it off quickly and building a nice bond through the letters you sent each other regularly.

It's a little old-timey, but you enjoyed writing Steve letters. He even included a picture of himself in one of them and you did the same in return.

But this brute behind you, that is not the man from the picture.

Steve is short, a little skinny, and his hair has a pretty shade of blond and his smile is infectious.

The man stealing you away from the roaring fire burning by the shore, your friends still scattered around it in small groups, is not short or skinny.

He is dragging your jerking body through the sand, your feet uselessly slipping on the little grains of sand while you watch the camp fire grow smaller, the flickering flames no longer illuminating the ground around you, its warmth too far to comfort you.

Before you know what is happening, you're hauled up a slippery dune, now finally out of sight for all your friends or any by-passers as you're shoved down the other side.

There, in between dunes and bushes, sits a picnic blanket, small lanterns standing on two corners of it that light up the space.

“It's me, Steve. I did all this for you. You always said you wanted to have a picnic by the beach and spend the night outside looking at the stars. I remember it. You said it in one of your first letters you sent to me,” the man babbles, his tone so urgent he sounds almost possessed.

His words are what concerns you though, not how he says them. Because it's the truth. You'd told your pen pal Steve about wanting to spend a night at the beach to watch the stars, had laid out the whole romantic fantasy you dreamed of on lonely nights.

You reach the blanket and the hand on your face loosens. You're spun around to face your kidnapper and when you instinctively lift your head to stare up at the man's face, your heart sinks.

“Hi, sweetheart. I knew you'd recognise me,” Steve says with a wide smile, his white teeth glinting in the low light of the lanterns around you.

You're petrified. This man does look like Steve. But he's bigger, stronger. And this big, scary man knows all your deepest secrets and desires.

You've told Steve everything, because what could be the harm in it? He's always been states away, just a picture you keep in your desk drawer and ink-soaked pieces of paper. You never thought there would be any harm in confiding in him.

Well, you were wrong.

“You- You..” stammer and stare up at him. “You look different.”

Steve grins and shrugs as if he didn't look like he could easily break you in half as opposed to the skinny boy he's sent you a picture of.

“You too. Better, so much better in person. God, you're beautiful. Come here,” he says and without warning moves his hands from your arms where he was holding you still to your face and swoops in for a forceful kiss.

You let out a startled sound and jerk your hands up to push at him, but he doesn't budge, hips lips firmly pressed to yours, tongue poking at them as he tries to gain entrance.

Your muffled protests make him stop eventually, his face pulled into a frown as he pulls his head away to peer down at you.

“What is wrong? You said you loved me, sweetheart. I came all the way to surprise you, I prepared this night. It needs to be perfect, so play along! It's your fantasy after all,” he says, an edge to his voice as he scowls down at you.

“I- I... Steve, I don't love you, I don't even know you, I-”

“Stop! You know me, we've been writing letters for months. I know what you like and what you dream of for your future. I know your favourite food and colour. I said I love you and you said it back! You wrote it in our letters, you did!” Steve shouts, his face reddening with agitation.

You take a step back, now positively terrified of the deranged man before you. How could he be the same person who's been writing you fro almost a year now?

“Sit down, come on, sit. We're going to enjoy this night, I made it perfect for you,” he says, quieter now, but still obviously displeased by your resistance.

Not daring to disobey and upset this crazy man, you let Steve push you down on the blanket. He sits down next to you and then forces you to recline into a laying position. He lies down as well and then grabs your hand, his fingers forcing your clenched ones apart to hold them.

You lie there, heart beating wildly and wide eyes staring at the night sky, the stars twinkling back at you as they watch the situation unfold.

“Isn't this nice? Good thing the sky is clear. I've been waiting for the weather to clear up and tonight is just perfect for our first night together. The first of many,” Steve swoons beside you, his deep voice floating around you.

Your hand hangs limply in his as you try to get a grip on your situation.

All you wanted was to spend a day at the beach with your friends. You had brought food and snacks for the whole day and enough wood to keep your camp fire going through the night.

But that is forgotten now, your friends too far away to help or hear you and this psycho beside you instead of someone else, someone you knew.

“You're so beautiful, baby. I looked at your picture every day, wondering how soft your skin would be under my fingertips, what you would smell like, taste like...” Steve rumbles beside you, his head turned to look at you, warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

You swallow, stiff as a board and terrified of the meaning of his words.

“Will you let me find out, sweetheart? You will, won't you? I know you want to,” he says, his hand letting go of yours as he shifts up onto his elbow to stare down at you.

When you don't answer, too scared to say no and not wanting to say yes, he lets out a huff.

“Playing hard to get? Let me convince you...”

You don't have time to react, Steve's frame moving with a speed that should be impossible for someone so big, slotting between your legs with a shove of his hips.

He widens his thighs as he kneels between yours, pushing them further apart when you jerk away and try to close them.

“No! Steve, stop. No, no, no-” You start to chant, hands slapping at every bit of him that you can reach as some sort of survival instinct kicks in.

“Stop pretending you don't want this! I know everything about you, you told me. I know you want this, I know, I know, I know,” he barks, repeating himself over and over as if he's trying to convince you.

Grabbing your flailing hands in one of his, he gets to work on ripping off your swim clothes, the thin fabric stretching and ripping underneath his violent hand until it's gone and your body is bared to his eyes.

“Pleeease, no,” you sob out, legs kicking on either side of his, hands fighting in his grip to cover yourself, but he doesn't budge.

“Shhhh, you'll like it, sweetheart. I'm good at this, I promise,” he shushes you, his words of affirmation doing nothing to quell the horror and shame of being naked and at the mercy of this lunatic.

You squeak when he reaches down and easily finds your clit, spit-wet finger getting to work and drawing tight circles around the little nub while you squirm and whine beneath him.

But there's no getting away and you have no choice but to endure his patient rubbing and circling, forced to witness your body's surrender that comes in the form of thick slick collecting at your entrance.

Shame boils hot in your gut and when Steve lets go of your hands in favour of kneading your breasts, you hide behind your sweaty palms. You can't look at him, you won't.

“There we go, your body knows what you need, baby. Look at that pretty little pussy getting nice and wet for me,” Steve mumbles appraisingly, finger abandoning your clit in favour of exploring further down.

He pushes one thick finger inside your pussy, the digit easily slipping in. It's quickly followed by another and he twists his hand to rest the heel of it on your clit.

“So tight, hmm. Made for me,” Steve mumbles to himself, eyes fixated on where he's sinking his digits into you.

He starts fingering you, fingers pushing in and out of you, his hand grinding into your clit harder and harder the faster he goes.

You can't hide the noises he pulls from you, wet squelching and helpless moans alike ringing out around you.

The familiar hot tension in your gut rises and your hands slap down on the blanket beside you, fingers fisting the fabric when Steve angles his fingers just so, rubbing that spot inside you that sends tingles of pleasure shooting down your legs and up your back.

“Come on, come for me. I know you need it, your little pussy is clenching down on my big fingers. Feels good, doesn't it?” he eggs you on, hand speeding up and finally tipping you over that edge.

“There we go, yes! Good girl,” Steve exclaims triumphantly as he works you through your orgasm, watching your trembling limbs with a deranged kind of satisfaction.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound and lifts them to his mouth. You watch through half-lidded eyes how he opens his mouth and sucks your slick from his fingers with a pleasured moan, his own eyes falling shut.

“Knew you'd taste good, baby. So good. I need more, baby. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I just need more,” he rambles, hastily shifting between your limp legs until his face is level with your sensitive pussy, slick still leaking from the twitching opening.

“Just a taste...” he grunts before sticking out his tongue and dragging it across the length of your cunt with an obscene moan.

You jerk away when he touches your clit, but his hands swiftly wrap around your thighs, keeping your core anchored to his face.

Whines and breathless gasps escape you as you writhe in his hold, your head growing foggy with the pleasure forced on you.

When your second orgasm rushes through you in a shuddering wave and Steve keeps going on, you limply resign yourself to a long night of forced pleasure. With him, there's no getting away.

Never.

After all, he knows everything about you.

...

There we go, he's got her in his clutches now-

Here's my updated Bingo card!

[reallyromealone]

five with child male reader who he takes care of like his own sun but the kid is slightly older or taller which makes people think their older brother when really Five is the one driving them to fucking soccer practice in a van

imagine the rest of the umbrella academy finding out and seeing how fond Five looks at male reader when he makes him something

Oh this was fun to write

Male reader - child male reader - fluff

🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷

"(name)! Hurry your ass up or I'm leaving you" five said to the nine year old who was already taller than the old man in a tweens body "sorry! Forgot my guards" (name) said with his duffle bag over his shoulder in his uniform.

They found (name) when he was only six, the boy abandoned and give took him as his own.

Klaus found it hilarious.

"He's taller than you!" The clairvoyant man cackled during dinner, five throwing a fork at him.

Five drove them to the kids game, a cup of coffee and a sugary drink for the exhausted dad and his son "god it's so sweet seeing a dad and his son bond, it's beautiful" Klaus spoke up from the back seat and five glared "Of course you're sleeping behind there" the single dad grumbled "and miss my beloved nephews big game? Never"

"Thanks uncle Klaus" (name) said taking a sip of his drink and Klaus eyed it curiously as a tattooed band went to reach for his nephews drink "don't touch it" Ben said to klaus, the blonde ignoring his dead brother but five slapped his hand away, the blond groaning.

When they got there five told his son "beat their asses" and watched him run to his team "oh you're such a good older brother, are you old enough to be driving though?" A woman said patronizing and the brunette glared "Don't fucking talk to me, I'm his dad" the other moms snickered, many of which already know the snappy brunette and fell for the technical lie of he looks extremely young like Thomas Brodie-Sangster.

It helped that Five stopped dressing in his uniform and in more "casual" clothes, the man preferring to dress in suits.

(Name) was a beast in soccer, the tallest in his team gave him an advantage with speed as he decimated the other team.

Klaus saw how fond he looked at his son and snapped a picture, sending it to the other siblings who genuinely didn't think five could have this side to him, but apparently murderous old men in a teens body could be fatherly as well.

[luvvvivii]

tour guide — c.bc

pairing - bangchan x mom!reader

genre - fluff, imagine

wc - 1.3k (1,357)

warnings - not proofread (are we surprised), no pronouns used but reader has a kid and is called mommy/mom, mentions reader's ex-husband leaving her/cheating, lmk if more

a/n - late bday post for chan! hope you enjoy

synopsis - taking your five year old out to a museum was supposed to be educational, so why is the tour guide stealing your heart?

it was saturday, and you were out with your son visiting the museum for the latest dinosaur exhibition. he had always been fascinated by the extinct creatures, and had grown a keen liking to them. that was the reason why almost all his possessions were dinosaur-themed.

"mommy, mommy, look! that man has a dinosaur on his hand!" your 5 year old, hajoon, broke you from your daydream with a tug on your fingers, pointing towards a figure in front of you. the man, indeed, had a dinosaur puppet propped on his hand, playing with the kids that gathered around him. with urgent pulls from your little boy, you were suddenly standing in front of said man, with your hajoon looking up at him in awe.

"hi kids! and guardians," the man started, acknowledging all the adults with a smile. "my name is chan, and I'll be your museum guide for today. if all the little ones could go over there for a second whilst I talk to the adults, and then we can get started shortly!" chan pointed towards the large play area behind him, adorned with bright walls, plenty of equipment and, of course, dinosaur figures everywhere. you urged hajoon to go play, and even make some new friends, whilst you listened to what the tour guide — who you noticed was also quite good looking — had to say.

"so, as I mentioned, my name is chan. I've been working here a while, so trust me, I've got experience. and, I promise to make this a fun and educational experience for your little ones. you guys won't have to do much, basically just follow us around and take care of your kid while I do all the work. pretty laid-back for you guys." chan explained. you tried your hardest listening to what he was saying, but now that you were much closer, you were forced to take in all of his features. they were so defined, and beautiful, you couldn't help but stare. all of a sudden, he turned and made eye contact with you. it stayed like that for a bit, until you realised he was saying something directed towards you.

"erm, I think your kid's calling you?" he pointed to something behind you, and when you turned around you were met with hajoon's impatient whines. it was safe to say, you were completely embarrassed. "r-right…sorry!" you rushed over to your child, and looked after his needs straight away, before immediately entering a mode of shame. you hadn't seen it, but chan chuckled in seeing your embarrassment. "cute." he mumbled to himself impulsively.

soon enough, the museum tour was starting, and the kids were already riled up. they were running around, admiring all the exhibits, chatting amongst each other softly ; it was pretty obvious that they'd finally gotten to know one another. you glanced over at hajoon, and smiled to yourself at seeing him growing a close bond with one other girl, whose name you'd learn later on to be sumin. you had a feeling of guilt over taking you, however. despite coming here to have a great time with your little boy, all you could focus on was chan. your eyes always lingered on him a second longer than they should, and you felt your heart fluttering when your eyes met. despite all the promises you made to yourself when hajoon was born, you couldn't help but slightly fall for the cute tour guide in front of you.

when you were pregnant with your boy, a month before you'd gone into labour, your (ex-)husband had announced that he'd found another woman he was interested in, and therefore no longer wanted to stay with you. it broke your heart into too many pieces to count, but you knew you had to stay strong for hajoon. even if his biological father wouldn't be there to see it, you would look after hajoon as if you had no other care in the world, and you would execute it beautifully. you had also promised yourself that, unless you were 100% sure you were ready, you wouldn't get with another man. the obvious part was that you still felt the struggles of your ex-husband leaving you, and it tore your heart out every single day. the only problem was, were you sure you weren't ready to try to find someone new? someone who could love hajoon as much — if not, more — than you?

it took a while, but you had finally reached halfway through the exhibition. in all honesty, you had no idea what was going on half the time. but seeing hajoon's overjoyed face almost broke you to tears of happiness. you turned from hajoon's direction to behind you, where you were met with soft, loving eyes. chan's glance towards you felt…odd. not in a bad way, but it was still quite odd. it made you feel things you didn't think you'd ever feel in a while, but you weren't complaining anymore. this could be like your own little adventure, just like hajoon's.

but what if you were getting ahead of yourself? what if he always looked so caring to everyone? you were just getting tied up in something which wasn't even true.

"okay everyone! it's time to continue, up on your feet now." his sweet voice rung across the museum. you wondered, should I just give it a chance?

eventually, the museum tour eventually all came to an end. your five year old was dejected to have to leave, but immediately changed his mind when he saw they were giving out free dinosaur related toys. he rushed over, dismissing you with a quick "you can wait with the car mom!" with this, you took it as an opportunity to make small talk with the tour guide. eventually even lead it to a bigger picture.

"hi there, I'm not sure if you noticed, but I was the mom of one of the kids from the tour? hajoon?" you were fidgeting a bit, rethinking the choices that you made.

"yes! I've definitely noticed you, don't worry! is there anything you need?" chan's face contorted into one of concern.

"no no! I'm okay! I just…" you were doing it. you were actually doing it. you would be asking for the cute tour guide's number, but would he actually give it to you? that was when you looked up to finally meet chan's eyes. they were still wearing a hint of concern behind them, and his head was cocked slightly to the side.

"I just wanted to say thank you for making all the children so happy." you sighed, slightly annoyed at yourself for chickening out, although you did really mean what you said.

"of course! this is my job of course~ but in all seriousness, I really try to make them as happy as possible, how else would they enjoy it?" you giggled slightly at his response, before bidding him farewell and turning around to get hajoon.

"wait!" you paused and whipped your head back towards chan. "erm, don't take this in the wrong way but, are you a single mother? I mean, all the other kids had both their parents come, but with hajoon it was just you?" you nodded, to which he responded with a small "ah." and looked down.

"also, if you were cool with it — which if you're not, it's totally fine! I understand — but could I maybe get your number? just to keep in touch sometimes! because I think you're pretty cool, and hajoon's pretty cool! argh, this is totally not right, I'm so sorry. but—" you cut his trail of thought as you pulled out your phone and showed him your number. he looked relieved, running his hands through his dark brown locks. he typed in your number and saved it, sending you a small text so that you could do the same. you said your final goodbyes and promised to stay in contact with one another.

you never thought you'd be able to love another as much as you loved your ex-husband, but maybe when chan came along, fate decided to change that.

©@luvvvivii all rights reserved | do not repost or translate

[captain-mj]

I definitely need the shadows making fun of Graves' crush on Price 💀

Oh I can definitely do that! The return of my oc Jason!! Also, Mila and Oz are here!!

Price was currently just standing there, but he was wearing one of his tight shirts that showed off his back muscles and how big his arms. He looked gorgeous.

Graves was staring quietly, admiring how he twisted and told his recruits what to do. Such confidence.

"Commander. Permission to stare with you, sir?" Mila asked, leaning in.

Graves groaned. "Please, fuck off."

"Oh come on. You're the one staring at the old man."

"We're only three years apart."

"Yeah, you're old too." Mila smiled at him. "A whole 35. Practically ancient."

"You won't be in your twenties forever. You know that right? One day you'll be just as old. Your back will hurt. Knees will ache when it's going to rain."

Mila hummed. "You think Price's knees ache? Maybe you can ask him and you two can bond over it."

Graves huffed and crossed his arms. "Let me please just stare at the man in peace."

"I mean. He is a fine man. Maybe he's into women."

Graves slowly turned to him and watched Mila bit her lip to bite back her laughter. "Get lost, soldier. That's an order."

Mila left, still laughing to herself. She must've informed Jason and Oz because they were watching Graves like a hawk. The moment he started to talk to Price, they were behind him, making kisses at each other in a way that made Graves blush.

Price tilted his head, getting Graves's attention. "You okay, darling? You're flushed."

Graves flushed more. "I... Um..."

Price's hand darted out, touching his face. "You don't feel feverish. Is everything okay?"

Before Graves could blame the heat or that it had been a long day or really anything, Jason butted in. "Nah, he just does that sometimes." Oz dragged Graves away the moment Price pulled his hand away.

"He called you darling."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Of course you'd like a Brit."

Graves groaned. "I know. I am betraying my country but I feel like the founding fathers would understand." He rubbed his face, trying to get rid of his stupid blushing. "But he's a good guy."

"He killed a bunch of Shadows."

"And I killed a bunch of the Vaqueros. We agreed to leave everything in the past." Graves hit his shoulder lightly.

Oz hummed. "I think you're too good for him, but if the weird British Dad makes you happy."

Graves hated it here.

The news spread fast and soon every time he was around Price, one of his Shadows would find some way to joke about what was going on or, debatably worse, try to help. Graves had been pushed into Price's arms at least four times.

Each time Price took it gracefully, arms circling around him until he got his footing. Occasionally, his hand would linger on his back for a moment afterward, just gently touching and it drove Graves mad. Their height difference was more noticeable when Graves's wasn't in uniform. He only came to about 5'9 and a half while Price was an easy 6'2 and he had the hands to match based on the way they pressed against the small of his back.

Gaz started to glare at him every time. It clearly wasn't on purpose, especially since Graves had no qualms about scolding the Shadows in front of everyone for once again doing this. He kept glaring all the same.

Then, Soap dropped a comment. "If Graves is the Shadow's dad, does that make us step siblings with them?"

Graves blinked slowly, his brain cells clinking together before he glanced at Price who had turned bright red. His hand quickly went from behind Graves's back to behind his own in a parade stance.

"MacTavish." He hissed.

Graves saw his opportunity. This was mostly revenge for the darling thing but a little because he also wanted to see Price's reaction. "Oh, Casanova, you turned all red." His hand reached up, feeling Price's flushed face.

"Casanova?"

"It means a man who is a romantic." Graves hummed. "Well, you don't feel feverish, is it the heat?"

Price stumbled over his words before just shrugging. "I guess."

Ghost and Mila exchanged long suffering glances.

Wow they were fucking annoying.

So they planned and then locked Graves and Price in a closet.

They luckily had plenty of wiggle room, but Price's arms still ended up going around Graves to make it a bit more comfortable.

"I'm skinning them alive when I get out of here."

"I don't understand what their issue has been lately."

Graves moved a little and found himself pressed back to chest with Price. He flushed again and tried to just breath.

"Claustrophobic?" Price asked gently, tugging him in a little closer.

"No. I'm fine, don't worry. Can you get to the door?"

Price tried it but grimaced. "Locked. Think they put something in front of it too. I'd have to break it down and that would be a bit hard considering."

Graves sighed and turned around again so they were now chest to chest. "Have anything you want to talk about?"

It was quiet for a minute, just a bit too dim for him to see all of Price's features. The kiss came out of nowhere.

The second one didn't.

[unclewaynemunson]

Wingman Wayne AU pt4 is here! | AO3 link

Eddie comes back home from his not-a-date with Steve much later than planned; the two of them ended up spending the whole afternoon at the cafe together, sharing stories, getting to know each other, laughing at weird passersby... Eddie hadn't even noticed how much time had passed until it was already getting dark outside.

Wayne is about ready to head out for his night shift when Eddie gets to the trailer, and shoots him a way too smug look.

'So your date went well, huh?'

Eddie makes a face at him. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, old man,’ he says. ‘In all honesty, I do have to admit that Steve’s actually a good guy - but that’s the only credit you’ll be gettin’ here. We merely had a fun time bonding over some queer stuff. I can assure you that there was completely no attraction whatsoever.’

Wayne's face drops. 'That's too bad, Ed.'

'No, it's not,' Eddie replies. 'I'm perfectly happy being single, you do know that, right?'

'Yeah, of course.' But it doesn't quite sound like he means it.

'Seriously, don't worry about me. I'm fine,’ Eddie says. He gives Wayne an affectionate pat on his near-bald head. ‘And you should go to work now, before they fire you for being a sentimental old man.'

As soon as Wayne’s truck drives off, Eddie finds himself at the phone, the gross note with Steve's number on it clenched in his hand again.

'Hey, um, just wanted to let you know that uncle was very disappointed there was no spark between us,' Eddie reports when Steve picks up the phone.

'Well, let's hope he finally learned his lesson not to mingle in your love life, then,' Steve answers with a light chuckle.

'He's the worst,' Eddie says, but then immediately feels bad about it, so he adds, 'He actually means well. I think he worries. Not that he needs to, I decided I'm better off single anyway.'

'Really?' Steve sounds surprised.

'Yeah, I guess I'm not exactly a relationship type of guy, you know.'

'You've never been in a relationship?' There's no judgment behind the question, only curiosity.

'Uhh...' Eddie hesitates. But Steve's queer too, he'd understand, right?

'I don't know,' he settles on saying. 'I mean, I've been someone's dirty secret a couple times. Turns out that my definition of a relationship doesn't always align with that of closeted Chads. So that’s why I decided I'm better off alone.'

There's a silence at the other end of the line, and Eddie wonders if he overshared again. He knows he shouldn't do that, but sometimes he just can't help himself. He had been so excited about having met a fellow queer guy, someone who'd understand him... Maybe he misjudged Steve after all.

'You do know there are options out there that aren't closeted Chads, right?' Steve finally says. It sounds genuinely empathetic, putting a halt to Eddie's spiraling thoughts and reminding him that he doesn't need to worry, that Steve's a good guy, that he indeed understands.

Eddie laughs. 'Sorry, Stevie, you're still not my type.'

'I'm not – that's wasn't – I didn't mean it like that,' Steve splutters at the other end of the line. 'I just meant, you know, it’s not completely impossible that there could be someone out there for you. Someone who won't treat you like some dirty secret, who will love you as much as you deserve, you know?'

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up at those words. He clears his throat, suddenly feeling nervous but not exactly knowing why. 'You're starting to sound like my uncle,' he tries to joke.

Steve chuckles. 'Maybe your uncle is wiser than you give him credit for.'

'Are you calling yourself wise, Steve?'

'No, I'm calling your uncle wise. You should probably listen to him more.'

'If I listened to him more, we'd be going on another date tomorrow and get married this summer. Is that what you want, Stevie?'

'Well, the getting married this summer sounds a bit rushed,' Steve says, 'but I wouldn't mind seeing you again.'

Eddie's heart drops to his stomach. 'Steve...' he starts, all the jokey undertones having disappeared from his voice. 'I told you that it's not like that, for me.' He thought he had been more than clear about that right from the start, in fact.

'No! Oh, God, no, I didn't mean it like that,' Steve immediately says. 'I just meant, like, if you ever wanna hang out or something... As friends, you know. It's um – it'd be nice to have a – another queer friend.'

Eddie releases a relieved breath. 'Okay, got it,' he says. 'Good. Perfect. Yeah, we should definitely hang out another time. As friends.'

Pt5

Jesus H Christ I’m honestly blown away by the response to this silly au, it means so much to me <333 I’m reading all your lovely comments and hilarious tags with the biggest smile on my face, makes me sooo happy!!

(Update: apparently there was something wrong with the taglist but I think I fixed it, sorry!! Please lemme know if the tags are still not coming through)

Taglist: @phantypurple @love-kurdt @eddiemunsonswife @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @swimmingbirdrunningrock @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @yourebuckingkiddingme @th3-r4t-k1ng @messrs-weasley @moonshadows-13 @im-sam-fucking-winchester @xjessicafaithx @yournowheregirl @henderdads @lwhoscribbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @rainydays35  @cassaloopa @skeliiix @thesuninyaface @silversnaffles @jestyzesty @4nemo1egend @ace-of-foxes @harringtonsgother @thegingervulcan @snapshotmaestro @thereindeerlady @jillfriend @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @gamerdano @spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @00biscuit @mixsethaddams @steve-the-hairrington @episcogoth @caligularib @gaydrieeen @winterbuckwild @bookbinderbitch @daysarestranger @nonbinary-eddie-munson @fangirltofangod @solalasoforth @obsessivlyme @slit-wrist @fxndom-hoe @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @joruni @roastingdragon @lenore1232 @princessstevemunson @cuips-not-cute @munsonsuccubus @justalittlefungi @cherrycolas-things @nitrilexam @thepainisspicy @hopefulslothcollecter @whatisreggieshortfor @doctorqueensanatomy @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sadcanadianwinter @iamsotiredman @orangeandthefairroadkill @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @b-icetea @freddykicksasses @faery-god @poleaxed-aloe @mamaclownhunter @paperbackribs @blvckwidow @mightbeasleep @butuglypeoplefucktoo @lolawon @angryavocadofrog @iwouldsail @livelaughlexa @magpiemuseum @shushuac  @ravnlinn @homohomohoe @kissaphobic-kas @cmackz93 @your-greatest-queen @alltheweirdkidsinoneplace @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @ceaselessly-watching @anaibis @enchantedlandcoffee @fluffy-alpaca-of-darkness @nelotegreitic @mollymawkwrites @evix-syne666 @redfreckledwolf @ajamlessbaby @connected-dots @nothisisntmyname @steddieassheg0es @anxiouseds

[blues824]

Hello may I request twisted wonderland 1st years reacting to ciel! g/n reader calling Sebastian to fight overblots?

Yes you can! Btw, Ciel is 13 I believe, so reader will be 13 and all of this will be platonic.

Ace Trappola

You were always very rude to him, especially when he ran his mouth longer than he should have. Plus, you never covered for him. How could you have this much audacity? To be fair, you were 13. Ouch, you just slapped him for making that comment.

You eventually get closer through the unbirthday parties and bond over some tea. He always pours it for you and makes sure you get some sweets. However, he likes to act as your older brother and doesn’t allow you to have too many sweets. You act like you’re constantly annoyed by him, but you actually are fond of the idea of having a ‘normal’ sibling for once.

When Riddle overblots, his first instinct is to protect you. You, however, had a smirk on your face. It made Ace think that you had seen this coming and were prepared for it. You whispered, “Sebastian, I am here.” The first year was about to ask what you said when a demon appeared out of nowhere and started fighting Riddle.

You sat on a chair, crossing one leg over the other while propping your head up with your arm on the chair’s arm. You had a devious smile on your face, and in the matter of a few seconds the demon was right by your side again and Riddle was on the ground. Ace, trembling, asked the question, “who are you and how did you do that?” to the demon.

You and the demon had similar expressions. He responded with, “I am the butler of the Phantomhive household. These types of things are within my repertoire. I am one hell of a butler after all.” Welp, Ace is now out cold on the ground. Congratulations.

Deuce Spade

Mans would probably ask you for help on his homework. You’ve been in Twisted Wonderland for a very short time and you still knew more about the material than he did. He was struggling for real. You didn’t have a problem with it, as long as he didn’t belittle you for being so young like Tweedle-Dumb (Ace) did often.

You actually become close very quickly. Again, he acts as a very protective older brother. He will make sure that you know your way around, that you have an inhaler on your person, and that you always have your cane to help you around. If anyone makes fun of you for it, he will gladly give them a knuckle sandwich.

When Riddle overblots, he goes to pull you behind him. What he doesn’t notice is that you go back even further, grab a chair, and sit down gracefully as you watch the chaos unfold. If Deuce had looked back, he would have been reminded of a king on his throne by the way you were sitting.

You had a confident smirk as you whispered Sebastian’s name. Said demon emerged out of thin air and greeted you calmly. The entire battle was paused out of pure shock. After serving you a cup of tea, your butler grabbed a few silver utensils off the tables and threw them at the overblotted victim.

Within a few seconds, Riddle was defeated. Sebastian had to introduce himself to everyone, and Deuce was just shocked. Since when have you made a deal with a demon?? You explained that you had made a deal with your current butler so that he would help you find whoever killed your parents in exchange for your soul. A 13 year old had to go through so much? 

Jack Howl

You both didn’t get to really know each other until you figured out that Leona and Ruggie were the ones sabotaging the other teams and getting their star players injured. You brought your suspicions to Jack, and he confirmed them.

Alongside each other, you both worked to spoil the lion and hyena’s plans. However, everything went downhill. Diasomnia was in the lead by a multitude of points, and Savanaclaw was in second place. That pissed Leona off, to say the least.

When Leona overblots, Jack’s first response is to jump in front of you since you had no magic. However, you shook your head in pure amusement and whispered something to yourself. He was about to ask you to repeat yourself when he saw a silhouette in the sky, going straight for his Housewarden.

Once the lion was defeated, Sebastian (the silhouette) introduced himself properly after making a small scene about forgetting his manners. The expression on your face made it seem like this was normal to you, and that was very concerning to Jack. This guy even smelled shady, but you made a deal with him anyway?

From then on, the three of you got closer as a ‘friend’ group. You didn’t really put a label on your unexpected friendship, you were more acquaintances that would call upon each other for help. Plus, you both are the only ones at NRC with common sense, so have fun!

Epel Felmier

You didn’t get the chance to become close, but you both related to each other. You both were constantly called ‘adorable’ and it pissed the both of you off. However, you had a more sophisticated approach, while Epel always solved the problem with his fists.

You are invited to Pomefiore from time to time, so that is how you grew closer to Epel. You were a positive influence on him, deemed so by Vil himself. You knew how to act elegantly and like a person of status, so the Housewarden was glad to have you around. 

When Vil overblots, Epel is scared. He has never witnessed this and had to face it in person. However, you seemed to be confident. In fact, you sat yourself in Vil’s throne and whispered the name Sebastian Michaelis while reaching up and taking off your eye patch. The purple-haired first year is very confused until he sees a figure packing Vil up like he was taking him on vacation.

Within a few moments, Vil was on the ground and the figure was making sure you were alright and unscathed. Epel came over and asked who the heck he was, at which you rolled your eyes and Sebastian ‘smiled’ and gave his classic and iconic introduction. 

You made a deal with a demon?? Oh, hell no. He has seen too many horror movies for this. You, however, being as smart as you are, assured Epel that it was a very fair deal. You only wanted to catch your parents’ killers and Sebastian would get your soul. Like Ace, he faints out of shock.

Sebek Zigvolt

How did Crowley think letting in a literal child was a good idea? Let’s not forget about the fact that you don’t have magic either. You were also sickly. It’s literally the worst case scenario for you. The amount of times you have had shouting matches with each other is unfathomable.

He is that annoying older sibling who leaves the door open, and you can’t tell me any differently. He acts like he’s the boss simply because he’s older, until he realizes that your wit rivals even Malleus’s. Even Lilia has a hard time competing against you. That’s when it clicks: maybe you weren’t totally horrible…

When Leona overblotted, he was there on the field with everyone else. He spotted you standing still in the midst of people much bigger than you running past you. You took a seat on a nearby bench that was on the field and whispered something. The half-fae was too far away to hear what you had said, but he can see the smirk you had.

Within a few moments, Leona was brought to his knees and a man dressed in a suit was standing above the overblot victim. Sebek was just shocked. Then, you called out to the man (who he now learned is Sebastian) and you talked to him as though he were an employee.

Sebek walked over and asked who or what the guy standing next to you was. After Sebastian’s magnificent introduction, you explained that he was a demon that you had employed under a Faustian contract. You even removed your eye patch to show the mark. The poor crocodile was on the verge of fainting.

[kleewie]

i knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed

summary: drunk nights like these always end with your mind in a drowsy numbness. but why does your heart pound like a drum in your chest—fast and hot in anticipation of something more than just friends? (in other words, a modern au about drunk nights, hand holding, and unsaid feelings).

→ pairings: childe, zhongli, & alhaitham

→ warnings: fluff, light cursing, not proofread, mentions of drinking and alcohol, gender neutral reader

→ author’s note: i had a dream about my old crushes. as much as i want to say “yikes!! stop that cringe,” i got to admit it made my heart go doki-doki! plus binge listening to taylor’s reputation + midnights albums made the idea pop into my head. slight present tense issues are present (probably) ‘cause it hasn’t been proof read ;-; anyhow, i hope you enjoy it!

credits to @a-cure-for-writers-block on tumblr for the prompts!

beware, slight lengthy post ahead!

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful! i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing (*´∀｀*)

childe: the sponsor-and-instigator

seemingly, the reason why you’re almost half-dead on the floor.

childe decides it’s a great idea to sponsor a fifth round of drinks when (a majority of) the group threaten to leave.

you and the bunch don’t though,

the shiny allure of brand new drinks put up a convincing fight.

so when you’re cursing his name, slamming imaginary daggers at his back,

the actual demon stands over your tired body, as if summoned. obviously delighted by your drunken state, he sends you a cheeky grin.

you, annoyed at his antics, return his smile with one of your own.

one screaming dare me, i'll leave you to vomit your guts out.

honestly, you never know what he's thinking.

your relationship with the ginger is, in short, awkward. both of you are in the same friend group.

yet, you seem to be closer to actual strangers than with him.

a chance to bond never presented itself. hence, you're stuck in a state of wariness and longing— slightly afraid to offend the man you're trying to be friends with.

so when the opportunity arises (a night out to drink for fun's sake), you immediately agree.

now, you're stuck in this predicament.

a hand behind his back, his arm around your shoulder, your whole body carrying the weight of his, stumbling around.

figures. the reason why he'd approach your tipsy condition is that you're the only one willing to carry (drag his ass) to the sofa.

bad call.

previously, you lounged half-dead on the second floor. which means, you'll have to haul him safely down the stairs.

him climbing the stairs, instead of crawling himself into the couch, baffles you. i mean, the last time you see him is downstairs.

anyway, certain someone (a drunk kaeya, “oops!”) forgets to wipe the pool of water he spilled on the lower steps.

causing you to slip first. as you're the one pulling his body, he soon follows.

the first thing you hear is a loud smack.

and the first thing you think is: you killed him.

“oh god!” you blurt.

you're almost disappointed to hear his sudden laughter. almost.

“i fell for you,” he mumbles.

crouching over him, you furrow your brows. “don't tell me…” you hesitate. “…do you have a concussion?”

childe promptly sits up, gripping your wrist. his sober blue eyes meet yours in a silent plea, as if begging you to grasp the message he's trying to convey.

to realize he's not fooling around.

to understand he’s serious.

maybe that's why it’s so difficult, so embarrassing, so upsetting for you to begin a friendship with the man.

you never want to be friends.

you desire something else, something different, something more.

his fingers, gripping your wrist, slide up in a gentle caress, “why would i try so hard to make you stay?” you feel his thumb brush your shoulder. “why would i try so hard to catch your eye?” his hand skims your cheek. “all the jokes, the teasing, the lingering gazes— all of it.”

childe slides his hand, softly resting his thumb on your lips.

and you swallow a lump in your throat.

“don't look at me like that and then feign innocence,” he whispers. “you keep saying we're friends, but you look at me for a moment too long for that to be true.”

more under the cut!

zhongli: the low-tolerance drunk

at any given occasion (involving drinking), there are ten kinds of drunks.

apparently, zhongli’s the type to look like he can hold his liquor.

but looks can be deceiving, as he’s the first one to drop his glass and sprint to the bathroom.

why he’d rush off after one more cup? who knows.

you feel guilty though. i mean, you’re the one pestering him to chug a glass down.

your pouty lips, twinkling eyes, and soft convincing voice entice him to drink against his one-bottle agenda.

you're that persuasive.

but when he leaves, you feel the loneliness hit. ironic as you cause him to depart in the first place.

hu tao glances at your sullen form, slightly snickering.

it's obvious. extremely obvious how captivated you are by the dark haired man.

a small crush develops into something more intense. you could bask in all his greatness, yet, still be wanting more.

you sigh and wish he'd come back from his break sooner.

since it's mandatory to order additional drinks for sulking individuals. being the best companion (wingwoman) she is, hu tao drags you towards the bartender.

as she orders more glasses, a couple of intoxicated men approach you.

looking at how unsteady they are on their feet and how they stink like alcohol, you assume one had too many to drink.

“hey, cutie.” one slurs. “begging for some lovin'?”

you say, “no, thanks.” and step away. adding, “i'm with a friend.” when you see them follow you.

your eyes search for hu tao, but the amount of people piling around the bar obscure your vision of her.

the other man smirks, “playing hard to get?”

you roll your eyes.

stupid how these men don't take no as an answer. how they presume standing here is an invitation for something else.

before he's able to grab your wrist, a palm swats his hand away.

“excuse me,” zhongli drawls. “you're getting a little too comfortable.”

he wraps a protective arm around your shoulders, against your collar bone. igniting a red blush on your cheeks.

of course he's here to save you.

though, you still want to beat the douchebags up for continuing to hit on you after refusing them.

the man hisses in response, “ouch! shit hurt!”

scowling, zhongli shoots a hostile glare. “my apologies. foolish men daring to touch them puts me in a sour mood.” he gently pulls you, before adding. “be careful. try not to upset me.”

if you know what's good for you, he thinks.

and the irritated man whisks you off somewhere else. gone from the crowded room and away from the vulgar folks you go.

you sense his displeasure, as it radiates his whole body. but you're half-worried, half-giddy.

yes, he's mad. but he’s mad because of you.

“...you're upset.” you hint.

zhongli hums in agreement.

tugging his hand loosely in yours, you ask, “...so what's wrong?”

his thumb brushes your palm in soothing circles before pulling your hand to his lips for a soft kiss.

“darling,” he mumurs. “you don’t know half of the things you do to me.”

alhaitham: the designated-chauffeur

amongst a group of drunkards, there always has to be one sober person who picks up everyone else’s shit.

and unwillingly, alhaitham becomes the appointed chauffeur.

a funny circumstance really.

because: one, he never came to the party in the first place; and two, he meets up with your plastered crowd by pure chance.

and he's certainly surprised to see you.

since you told him the night before that you weren't going, at all.

your heartbeat quickens in anticipation.

i mean, why wouldn't your heart beat like it's running seventy miles an hour? your long-time crush from college (you both take the same classes) suddenly appears out of nowhere to save the group from certain despair (passing out on the sidewalk).

and upon considering he now knows you lied, your heart beats even faster.

“alhaitham, i can explain!” you sputter. “i thought i wasn't going either but—”

tighnari decides it's a great idea to intrude on your speech by gagging his life out on the pavement.

but you totally understand.

cyno succeeded at creating the nastiest concoction of juices and alcohol you've ever tasted— you heave just thinking about it.

“—but first... i think we (you, cyno, and the almost-hurling man),” you continue “need a ride home.”

as he cares about your welfare, and is the most responsible person in the group, he agrees.

but before you can get into the back of his four-seater car, he pulls front-seat car door open. “after you,” he says.

you gulp.

he's mad, alright.

after he drops off the two other intoxicated people in the car, he drives towards your apartment.

your eyes glance at his figure, trying to perceive his mood.

is he still mad? did he feel left out?

is it because you lied?

you couldn't tell.

the deafening silence is killing you. so you put on a brave face and apologize.

“i'm sorry, okay?” you mumble. “i wasn't planning to go but tighnari—don't look at me like that— you, of all people, know he can't hold his liquor.”

“oh? that's it?” he prods, steering the wheel to the right of an intersection.

you huff. “yes, that's it.”

a pause.

“you're a terrible liar.”

you grumble in frustration.

yes, he can see right through your lies. the point is, you've never been a good deceiver. so you curse the alcohol for making your inability to lie more obvious than usual.

thus, you explain the reason why you came to the party: a secret surprise planning session for alhaitham's birthday.

not so surprising now, is it? you remark. his fault for persuading you to spill the beans.

now, you feel guilty. and because you’re guilty, you get grumpy.

and because you’re grumpy, your eyes tear up in frustration.

alhaitham hears your sniffling and sends quick side-glances at you. “are you crying?” he asks.

“no,” you lie.

you blame your weakened emotional state on your weak alcohol tolerance. if you would’ve known he’d show up, you’d be as sober as a judge.

god, you’re absolutely going to embarrassed in the morning.

yet, something pulls on the breaks in your mind.

alhaitham parks the car in front of your garage, and you see the colors of your apartment through glossy eyes.

“please don't lie,” he reaches for your face and places his thumbs below your eyes. sighing, he wipes the fallen tears from your cheeks. “forgive me. i'm not mad, and i didn't mean to ruin the surprise.”

you choke a sob in response.

but, you're too busy tearing up to see how tenderly he looks at you.

with eyes full of longing, eagerness, and want.

“i hate seeing you so upset,” alhaitham cooes. “take a deep breath, sweetheart. you'll be okay.”

thank you so much for reading! ♡

feedback, comments, and reblogs are extremely meaningful!

i’d love to hear your thoughts on my writing ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

🧡 The Past and Pending 🐎

jo & young claire fic - 4.7k - rating: G - canon compliant - read on ao3

Jo watches the family hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen. Jo supposes she once looked like that, too.

16th May, 2004. Nine years to the day since Jo's father's death, she is nineteen and working her usual shift in the Roadhouse bar. The Novak family stop by during a summer storm as they travel through the state, and Jo has the chance to bond with a seven year old Claire over horses, their love for their fathers, and leather jackets.

written for my 2024 jo's joyous birthday celebrations!! prompts were orange, horse girl, and leather jacket, which were fun to weave in. enjoy <3

read below the cut!

16th May 2004.

It’s been a slow day at the Roadhouse, the tepid May heat turning beers warm but the bouts of summer rain keeping Jo from her usual restless walks outside. The bar is gloomy and a little stifling and it’s nine years to the day since the death of her father. 

By the evening Jo is working the bar, in view of the entrance. Every time the door scrapes open and the creaky floorboard goes, she is hit with one of two alternating images. The first is her father, home from his hunt, leather jacket fitted on his solid body with a smile on his face. His arms are spread wide waiting for her hug. Each time it is not him, she is forced to remember how his leather jacket is hanging emptily from a hook behind the bar and that every time she pictures his face she gets it a little more wrong.

The second image is of Uncle Bobby, hunched and sad, his grief silhouetted in the doorway light as he brings the sorry news. Her dad’s leather jacket in his hands, all that was left of him. What news does he bring this time? How many dead? The first image fills her with sorrow, the second with fear, both memories rising to the surface on the anniversary like crumbs in beer.

Jo mindlessly wipes down the bar, any tears that land on the countertop instantly disappearing beneath the cloth. It’s just one of those days. Ellen is in the back, unpacking the delivery that came in the morning, also quieter than usual. At least they’re not screaming at each other. That’s something. 

The front door scrapes the floor as it swings open and Jo is called back to the present. She brushes her eyes once with the back of her hand, the one holding the rag, as if she’s only wiping sweat from her forehead. When she turns to face the new customers Jo knows no one will be able to tell she was crying. She’s good at things like that. 

“Heya, what can I get for you?” she calls over the bar, and then instantly sighs as she sees the newcomers. Neither of the images in her head have materialized, but a third, more frustrating one has: civilians. 

A man and a woman, married, but still fairly young, hover uncertainly in the doorway. The wife’s hair is that uninteresting midway between blonde and brunette, cut sensibly to her shoulders but clearly styled. The husband’s hair is much darker and would probably curl if not for his serious and slick side parting. The first thing Jo notices about them is their hair because this is the most immediately interesting thing about them; other than that, they look incredibly boring. Normal. 

Then, from behind the man’s legs, peers a young girl. A child with a sweet tangerine gingham dress and curious eyes, maybe seven or so. Jo watches the girl take in the Roadhouse, with its burly, surly hunters hunched uninvitingly over tables marked with the questionable stains from fights and alcohol which make every surface slightly sticky. 

The husband is shaking his head, gesturing round at the bar with a displeased hand. “We should go,” Jo catches him saying, “this isn’t our kind of establishment.”

Jo is too used to this happening to be offended. Besides, she always thinks why cater to civilians anyway, when they’re a hunter bar first and foremost?

But the wife stands her ground. “She needs to eat, Jimmy. We all need a break, we’ve been driving for so long. And the sooner we get home, the sooner we outrun that storm.” 

Jimmy sighs, then nods. The trio shuffle awkwardly towards the bar, the child nervous at her father’s heels. She’s very blonde, as blonde as Jo. 

“I know we look like it, but we don’t bite,” Jo says, mainly to the girl. She earns the trace of a smile for her troubles.

Jimmy has the decency to look a little regretful. “I’m sorry, it’s been a… long drive. We haven’t had to travel quite this far before.”

“Well, that’s what the Roadhouse is here for. What can I get you?”

The options are limited, so it doesn’t take long for the family to decide on burgers, fries, and juices all round. Jo manages to keep her face straight at the drinks order. Most of the Roadhouse clientele would drink the rainwater outside rather than order fruit juice. If it wasn’t obvious enough already, the glimmer of evening light making its way through the window catches on the cross pendant visible through the open top button of Jimmy’s collar, and confirms the family’s faith. 

They go and find a table, choosing one by the window, to sit and drink their juices at. Jo sets about sorting the rest of their order, pottering about between the kitchen and the bar to serve it all up. 

She’s halfway through plating the fries when movement catches the corner of her eye and she spins to see the young girl clambering up one of the high stools at the bar, the seat teetering a little under her weight.

“Hey,” Jo says, maybe a little meanly. Mostly caught by surprise. “What are you doing?”

The girl’s face falls into a round, guilty oh as she finally settles, kneeling, on the seat. “I just wanted to see what was behind.”

Jo nods, calming now that her initial panic at the girl’s movement has subsided. “That’s fine, just make sure you’re careful up there, alright? It’s a tall seat and you’re a—a small little body.”

“One day I’m going to be bigger and every seat in my house is going to be a tall seat,” the girl decides with a jut of her chin. 

The comment hits Jo at such an angle it cracks her, and she barks out a laugh. “Sounds like a plan, kiddo. What’s your name?”

“Claire,” she answers. Then, with the precision of a child who has had politeness strongly instilled in her, asks, “and what’s yours?”

“Jo.”

“I thought that was a boy’s name.”

“It is,” Jo says. She gets a familiar burst of pride with it, but it feels awkwardly shallow with Claire looking up at her, so she follows with, “but it’s a girl’s name too. My full name is Joanna-Beth.”

Claire breathes a little woah . “That’s such a pretty name.”

“Huh. Um, thanks,” Jo manages. She’s never liked it, the way her mom only uses it in anger, the way her dad never used it. Joanna-Beth is someone else. Joanna-Beth is a bad daughter. Claire, though, doesn’t know any of that. 

As Jo’s cheeks tinge pink, Claire’s mom comes hastening over, ready to lift Claire down from the bar stool and back to the table. 

“Is she distracting you? I’m so sorry. Claire, love, come on—”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Jo placates earnestly. “I really don’t mind it. I was enjoying our chat.”

Claire beams at her. “So was I, mommy.”

Claire’s mom looks between the two of them—Jo wonders what goes on in her head as she does, two such naive-looking girls set against the backdrop of the Roadhouse—and then nods. “Well, you just give me or Jimmy a shout if you need a hand.”

“Thanks. I’m not great with kids, so I might need to,” Jo answers with a smile. It’s the truth; she’s never had much practice.

The woman raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Well, you seem to be doing a good job so far.”

Jo nods, unsure what to do with the praise. 

“I’m Amelia, if you need me,” supplies Amelia instead.

“I’m Jo.”

“It’s short for Joanna-Beth,” Claire pipes up, the awe still palpable in her voice. 

Amelia laughs, nodding, and runs a hand through Claire’s sleek pigtails. “Pretty name,” she tells Jo, before heading back to her husband at the table. 

It’s the complement of the hour, it seems. Jo nods again, head bobbing unassuredly like one of the lame figures in Ash’s room, as she gets back to plating up the meals under Claire’s careful surveillance. 

“You’ve got horses on your butt,” Claire says after ten full seconds of silence. 

“What? Oh,” Jo laughs, turning in vain to glance at the horses embroidered over the back pockets of her jeans. She found them in the thrift store in town. They weren’t cheap, the horses stitched in mid-gallop over the pockets boosting the price considerably. But it’d felt wrong to leave the horses trapped in the sterile light of the thrift store. They deserve some warm lighting, Jo’d thought, where they can complete their run for freedom when no one is looking. The jeans are just a tad too small, so the plushy middle of her stomach bulges over them slightly, but she tries not to mind it. Anything for the horses.

“Do you like them?” she asks, wiggling her butt a little, much to Claire’s delight. 

Jo normally keeps her movements minimal, behind the bar, knowing how hunters’ eyes glue grossly to all the places she’d least like them look. She often feels like somewhat of a dancing monkey because of it, but here it’s an innocent movement with no repercussions other than Claire’s laughter.

“They’re so fun. I wish my dress had horses on like yours,” Claire says with a plaintive sigh which sounds amusingly beyond her years. 

“You like horses?” 

Claire nods eagerly. “For my next birthday mommy says I can have a riding lesson.”

“Woah! That’s so cool!” Jo says, and she’s genuinely quite excited at the idea. “I’m jealous, I wish I could ride. Then I could saddle up and go wherever I wanted all by myself.” California, she’d decided sometime long ago. Or maybe Arizona. Just somewhere west of this wasteland.

“I’ll come back and teach you once I know,” Claire answers, so earnestly Jo knows she fully believes it. 

Somehow, she can see it: Claire with her little arms crossed staring up at Jo perched precariously on a horse, calling instructions up to her. “I’d like that,” she says with a grin. “Where will you ride to, once you can ride absolutely anywhere?”

Claire considers the question deeply, the cogs whirring away visibly behind her eyes. “Well, I’d have to teach daddy and mommy how to ride too. I don’t want to go anywhere without them. But then I don’t mind.”

Jo hums. It’s a cute image, the three of them as one family riding off into the sunset. Not lost, because they’re together. It feels distant, familiar in the way the memories of a dream are; foreign. Whenever she has those fantasies of riding away now, she’s alone. She supposes that wasn’t always the case.  

“That sounds real lovely,” she finally gets out, staring down at the burger she has started stacking. She hadn’t really realized she was doing it, just running on automatic. Thinking of her father and running on automatic, the story of her life since she lost what Claire still has. 

But Claire’s concentration has dwindled and she wriggles in her seat. “Are you going to be done soon? I’m starving .” 

“Hey, you’re the one distracting me!” Jo rebuts, shaking her head clear with an exaggerated sigh for Claire’s benefit. “But tell you what, I have an idea to help you grow bigger so you can always sit on the tall seats.”

“What?” Claire asks, perking back up with excitement. 

Jo hunkers down to Claire’s level on the bar, resting her chin on her arms so they’re completely eye to eye. “If you help me carry the food to your table it’ll be like lifting weights and then you’ll get big and strong,” she says, voice low like she’s letting Claire in on a secret.

“You mean it’s ready?”

Jo pulls away with a roll of her eyes and fishes the basket of burger and fries from the countertop to present them on the bar. Impatiently, Claire reaches out to grab one, but Jo bats gently her hands away. 

“Hey, kiddo, gotta get down from the seat first.”

“I can do it myself!” Claire protests. 

But still, she doesn’t struggle as Jo comes around from behind the bar and helps lift her to the floor, Claire steadying herself against Jo’s arms. Once her feet have touched the floor, she prods at Jo’s toned tricep again with a podgy finger. 

“Your arm isn’t soft,” she points out, rather frankly. 

Jo gives her arm a squeeze in the same place Claire just did, to feel for herself. She always thinks she is too soft, too willowy; china doll in a bull farm. So although she trains as much as she can, shooting with her bow and arrow in the yard and sparring with the other hunters when they pass through, it never feels like enough. At least Claire thinks differently. 

“It’s because it’s all muscles,” she explains. She give the smooth, plushy skin of Claire’s arm a gentle poke in return. “See, you just haven’t got any yet.”

Claire frowns as she squints down at the difference between them. “I didn’t think girls could have muscles.”

Sometimes Jo looks at herself in the mirror and wishes she’d never trained at all. That she looked like all the other girls her age. Even like Claire. Here she is, jealous of a seven year old, yet knowing that this world of comparison is what Claire will inevitably grow into. Distantly and regrettably, she reminds herself of her mother.

“All girls can have muscle if they want to, and train enough,” she says, trying to keep her words on an even keel. It feels important. But she attempts to imagine little Claire in her gingham dress with muscly arms and fails. 

Claire giggles, gorgeously oblivious as she jabs at Jo’s arm again. “None of the girls at school or Sunday school are like you, Jo.”

Her throat gets a little dry. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Just a thing,” Claire notes absently, before taking the basket of greasy food from Jo’s distracted hand and sauntering over to her family with it clutched tightly in her fists. She hands it straight to her dad, who runs an affectionate hand over his daughter’s head.

“Thank you, sweetheart, this looks very lovely,” he says patiently, as she scrambles over him and onto her own seat. “Have you been kind to the nice lady?”

Jo doesn’t like that word but doesn’t have time to deal with that, recovering as she is from Claire’s rapid-fire insights. She follows the kid to the table and slides Amelia and Claire their portions, receiving grateful smiles from both Amelia and Jimmy. 

“Thank you,” the family chorus, their voices naturally falling in a pleasant harmony. 

Jo’s voice is lonely in comparison as she asks if she can get them more drinks. They turn down the offer and thank her again, Claire’s eyes glued to her food now that it’s properly in front of her. Slowly, Jo returns to her spot behind the bar, unabashedly gazing at the family from across the room.

She watches them hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry, when Claire has confessed dramatically to starvation, they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Jo doesn’t think any food prepared by her hands is really worth it, but the prayer comes out in a low and sincere murmur from Jimmy’s mouth. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen . Jo supposes she once looked like that, too. 

**

The next half hour passes with little incident, aside from a repeat round of whiskey for Shawn, Jake and Caleb in the far corner. Jo mainly watches Claire and her family eat their blessed dinner and chat, the flow easy between them. They don’t talk like most people in the Roadhouse do. They sound posher, somehow, their sentences free from apostrophes and curses. Jimmy eats his burger with a knife and fork. 

Another shower of summer rain falls, the noise heavy on the Roadhouse roof. Jo expects it to pass, but instead the weather settles like that, a consistent rumble over the bar. The storm she heard Amelia mention earlier must have caught up with them, despite their desire to outrun it. 

Jimmy and Amela must notice this too. They peer out of the window by their table into the ever-murkier evening, resignation growing on their faces.

“We need to make a move,” Jimmy says. “Get ahead of this before we get stuck.”

As if to emphasize the point, a crack of thunder echoes out around the Roadhouse. The sound travels potently over the flat Nebraska plains and the din of the first clap gives even the hunters in the corner a start. Claire lets out a small yelp and buries herself into her father’s side. 

“It’s just thunder, sweetie,” Jimmy pacifies.

Claire mumbles something into his middle in return, but Jo can’t make it out. 

“You guys finishing up?” she asks, walking over and clearing the baskets. “I’d head out before it gets worse.”

“Yes, we’d like to,” Amelia agrees, “but someone here is a little bit scared of the thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” Claire grouches, lifting a protesting head from her dad’s chest. Jo knows a liar when she sees one, knows it as she knows herself. “I just don’t want to get wet.”

Jo choses bravado and Claire choses nonchalance, but it looks like they both bury their fear. She remembers the performances she used to put on for her father to show she was capable enough to keep up with him, how loved it made her feel when he believed in her. An idea, easily shattered, starts growing in her mind, and she surges forward with it before it can break. 

“So we gotta get you out to the car without getting wet, hmm?” Jo poses quizzically. Claire looks at her suspiciously, but nods along. “I have an idea,” Jo draws out, hands on hips. “We’ll have to go behind the bar to make it work…”

Claire leaps up from her seat, curiosity winning out over anything else. Jo hasn’t even got to ask Amelia and Jimmy’s permission, their looks of gratitude are already enough. They start gathering their jackets as Jo leads Claire around, to the tantalizing world behind the bar.

“Cool,” Claire whispers. It’s the closest thing to slang she’s said all day.

Jo smiles despite herself, then readies to go through with her idea. She’s sharing the one thing of her father’s which is truly hers. If it were anyone but Claire, she wouldn’t be doing it, but something about Claire makes it feel different—makes sharing feel more like a gift which grows rather than diminishes. 

“This,” Jo says, gently lifting the supple material from where it hangs dutifully on its hook, “is my daddy’s leather jacket.”

She takes a deep breath and kneels beside Claire, offering the leather up to her for her little hands to touch. Despite the warmth of the day, the leather is still cool, and Claire’s smile grows as she slides her chestnut-sized palms along the smooth material. 

The leather is brown and worn, but still in pretty pristine condition for a jacket now going on thirty years old. Jo doubts Claire even notices the small set of hand stitches around the collar from when she stupidly tore it and needed to fix it up. It had taken her a whole afternoon tucked away in her bedroom to stitch it back together, but she’d played her dad’s vinyls the whole while and the time had spun away quickly. Even her mom was impressed by Jo’s handiwork, in the end. This jacket is the one thing of her dad that Ellen lets Jo keep, and Jo keeps it well. 

Claire’s blue eyes are wide and wondrous in her head. “It’s very nice,” she says shyly.

Jo smiles. “I know. And it’s really special to me, because my daddy isn’t around any more, so we’re going to take good care of it together.”

“Why isn’t your daddy around?” Claire asks, her forehead wrinkling with the question. She’s a kid clearly trained in courtesy, but the constant frankness to her questions give her a harder edge. If the questions didn’t sting so much, Jo would love it about her. Claire continues, “my daddy loves me so much I think he’ll be around forever.”

“Well,” Jo says carefully, slowly, stringing her words along the tightrope of her taut throat. “Sometimes it’s not a choice. My daddy died nine years ago.” She swallows the ‘today’ she could add onto the end of that sentence, feeling that detail might be a little too much for both of them in this conversation. “Here’s something I find very important to remember: just because someone leaves, doesn’t mean they stop loving you. And it doesn’t mean you stop loving them.”

Claire looks as if she might start chuckling, but then catches onto the sincerity in Jo’s tone. Her mouth falls open slightly and her plump fingers squeeze tighter at the leather jacket. “I don’t want my daddy to leave me.”

“I bet he won’t,” Jo says, placing her hands over Claire’s. They’re so small beneath her own. Warm too, like holding a little heart between her hands. 

Jo looks up at Claire, at her sandy blonde hair tied neatly into pigtails and the pretty orange gingham of her summer dress. Seven years old and so sure her daddy will never leave her. It is only the crystal blue of Claire’s irises that differ from the umber of her own, but even then, Jo supposes that they both have their father’s eyes. 

“I think we’ve got the best daddys in the world,” Jo whispers. “They love us all the time. When they’re out at the shops, when they’re away with work, when they’re up in heaven. They love us right now.” 

She swallows, hard, blinking away the tears that are refracting rainbows in her eyes. There’s a burning in her throat but she’s glad she managed to say those words, to finally get them out into the precious ears of a young girl. She smiles. Her vision is still slightly watery but clearing when she realizes Claire is giggling, a sweet blush on her cheeks. Her laughter is light and bubbly, like a stream tumbling over rocks in the sun. Like if Jo bathed in it, she would feel clean.

“Come on, we can use my daddy’s leather jacket as an umbrella to run out to the car,” she says, the idea finally coming to fruition as she stands back up again and dusts the Roadhouse floor muck from her knees. “I’ll hold it over your head so you don’t get wet.”

Claire rolls her eyes, something Jo wasn’t sure seven year olds knew enough to do, but apparently so. “But then you’re going to get wet!”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m big and strong! I can take some rain.” Jo makes a performance of flexing her arms, the odd proportions of her wide-muscled shoulders and lean frame suddenly a cause for celebration rather than insecurity when looked at through Claire’s eyes. 

“Hmm.” Claire ponders hard at Jo’s words, those cogs visibly turning again in her brain. “Okay. But you’ll have to be fast to keep up with me!” 

The kid makes a dash for the door and is surprisingly speedy on her little legs, her gingham dress swishing behind her. Jo starts after her, pitching both arms upwards so the jacket hangs from them like a tent over Claire’s head. They dash out the front door and into the delicious rain, giggling all the way until it turns into full belly laughter. The lights of the car flash when Jimmy unlocks it, and Claire kicks up water as she runs to fling open the backseat door. Jo’s jeans are splattered with it, but the rain is coming down in sheets so her whole body is soon soaked through anyway. 

Another roar of thunder booms across the open space but Claire doesn’t even notice, too busy sheltering under Jo’s jacket as she scrambles up into the car. Jo slides the leather jacket on to free up her hands and help Claire wriggle into the backseat. The girl is a step ahead of her, and clicks her seatbelt into place with a smug little grin at Jo.

“See, I am faster than you!” 

Jo laughs, feeling rainwater pool in the corners of her mouth as she does so. “Okay, you win. But I did help keep you safe from all the horrible rain and thunder.”

“Yes, you did,” Claire concedes graciously. She clearly has a self-righteous streak. Smiling, she opens her arms wide for Jo to hug her, but Jo backs away.

“I’m very wet still, I don’t want to make you damp after all this.”

“Oh, okay,” Claire says, looking crestfallen. “But I want to hug you anyway.”

Jo pauses. “You sure?”

“Of course!” Claire says, the words come on, silly, evident in her tone. 

Jo grins, and wraps her drenched, leathery arms around Claire. Squeezes her tight. With her face buried in Claire’s hair, she inhales the strong and familiar scent of strawberry shampoo, the kind she used to use when she was small. She’s got a young girl’s warm body in her arms, and the scent of her dad’s leather and her childhood shampoo mix in the May evening air. 

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” Claire’s voice whispers in her ear. 

Jo wants to sob, but doesn’t. She instead gives Claire one last, big, humongous squeeze and untangles herself, her arms leaving damp patches across Claire’s dress. Claire doesn’t seem to mind, she’s only seven. 

“I was just like you when I was small,” Jo manages to reply. She doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing anymore, or if it’s just—as Claire said—a thing. Some small part of her feels like she’s damning Claire as she says this, to a life like her’s. But then again—maybe it’s just a thing, and her life is neutral. There does not have to be a curse to pass on. She smiles. “It’s been really nice to meet you, Claire.”

“And it was nice to meet you too, Jo!”

They do a final high-five (Claire’s hands only spanning Jo’s palm) before Jo steps back into the rain proper, closing the car door in front of her with a wet thunk. 

The driver’s door opens and shuts beside her, Jimmy having climbed behind the wheel. Amelia’s footsteps splash around to the far side of the concrete and then the whole family is sheltered in the car, safely stowed together behind the windows.

In the low lighting of the Roadhouse sign, for a moment Jo looks into Claire’s window and only sees herself, rain pouring down her face and shoulders wide enough to fill her father’s jacket. Then the driver’s window rolls down and Jo steps to meet it. 

“Thank you,” Jimmy says. He has dark hair and a face she will meet again. “You were very good with her. Your parents should be proud.”

Jo goes to shake her head but then allows herself the nod, to tentatively agree. Her wet hair is plastered to her scalp, but the rain isn’t cold; it’s just right. 

“Have a safe journey,” she calls. Then repeats herself as the man revs the engine so Claire, winding the window down too, can still hear her. “Have a safe journey!” 

To where, Jo realizes she isn’t quite sure. 

Both her and Claire wave like wild things as the car turns back out onto the road, Jo chasing the car for a few meters, to Claire’s growing grin. As the car pulls away Claire’s blonde pigtails are the last thing Jo can make out of her.

She stands there, in the parking lot outside the Roadhouse where the dust is being beaten into the road by the summer rain. The taillights of the car rumble out of view and Jo still stands, waving, unsure if she’s just met the past or future, until her mother comes and beckons her inside. 

[boonesfarmsangria]

Mike Farrell Reflects on Captain B.J. Hunnicutt’s Ahead of ‘M*A*S*H’ TV Special

Scott Fishman, TV Insider Dec 21, 2023 Updated Dec 22, 2023 0

Mike Farrell knew he had a lot to live up to when he joined the 4077th Medical Corps and cast of M*A*S*H as Captain B.J. Hunnicutt. The well-versed actor already had an impressive career including a stint on Days of Our Lives. However, this was a completely different kind of pressure coming into season 4 of a highly successful series after the exit of Wayne Rogers, who played Captain “Trapper” John McIntyre.

He was up to the challenge with viewers connecting with the devoted family man and what would be a long-time bond with Alan Alda’s Captain Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce. Viewers will ever forget the shot during the historic series finale where B.J. yells out that he left a note for Hawkeye. As he flies away in the helicopter, he soon notices that his good friend spelled out the word “Goodbye” with rocks on the ground.

It’s these types of iconic moments and characters that are celebrated during FOX’s upcoming M*A*S*H: The Comedy That Changed Television. Executive-produced by John Scheinfeld and Andy Kaplan, this two-special delves into the Emmy-winning run over 11 seasons through the perspective of the cast and visionaries behind the scenes.

Joining Farrell and Alda on the doc is Gary Burghoff (Cpl. Walter “Radar” O’Reilly), and Loretta Swit (Maj. Margaret “Hot Lips” Houlihan) to name a few, as well as series executive producers Gene Reynolds and Burt Metcalfe. Those who have since passed, including show creator Larry Gelbart, Rogers, Larry Linville (Maj. Frank Burns), Harry Morgan (Col. Sherman T. Potter), and McLean Stevenson (Lt. Col. Henry Blake) are spotlighted through archival photos and footage.

Here Farrell opens up about his emotional reaction to the special. The 84-year-old also describes what it’s like to see the beloved sitcom still resonate more than 40 years after it ended.

Michael Farrell

How often do you go back and watch the episodes back?

Mike Farrell: The popularity of the show continues to astonish me and thrill me, frankly. I get constant emails, and mail, calls to keep it fresh in my mind, and its extraordinary impact. I don’t make a point of looking for it on television, but sometimes it’s there. And when it’s there, I can’t stop looking at it and watching those people I love so much and care about. To see and remember who they were and what we did together. It’s something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I’m so thrilled to be a part of it that it’s hard to put into words.

I remember seeing Alan Alda share a photo of you two toasting to the 50th anniversary of the show’s premiere. How is it for you to still have these close connections after all these years?

For us, it’s a family situation. We enjoyed working together and having this kind of bond that continues to this day. We talk about how much we love each other and stay in touch regularly. It has been something that brings an ongoing extraordinary rush of gratitude and appreciation for all of us here…Then you see David Ogden Stiers, Harry Morgan, Larry Linville, and others on the special. There is that sense of longing for somebody who you knew, loved, and enjoyed working with. It’s piercing at the heart when you see that sometimes. For me, I’m overwhelmed with the warmth that comes back from seeing Harry, remembering the relationship we had not only during the show but afterward. Watching Alan and his incredible wit and hijinks. Some of those things stay with me today. When I tell stories, I can’t help but get misty about those memories. It’s an everlasting love affair for me.

It’s fun to think about what would have happened if social media had been around during M*A*S*H’s original run. For example, B.J.’s mustache would be a hot topic of conversation.

People often ask me, “What do you think of the mustache?” I will say my mother hated the mustache. The mustache was a fun thing. Alan called me at the beginning of one season and said, “They think we are too much alike. What do you think about growing a mustache?” I thought it was a great idea. We made a lot out of it, which was fun to do. I wore what started as a red long shirt. Through many washes, it came out pink. I thought it was hilarious to be wearing a pink shirt in the middle of all that. I get many comments from people in the gay community who tell me they loved my pink shirt and ask if that was a signal. I tell them no, but that I’m glad they noticed it.

One of the topics that gets tackled in the special is B.J.’s character and moment of infidelity with a nurse divorcee. After all this time, I even saw a Reddit thread asking if B.J. cheated on his wife Peg.

I remember when I first met with the guys and they were talking about the possibility of Wayne leaving. I told them the one thing I didn’t want to do as an actor was come in and step in the boots of “Trapper.” They understood. They had in mind a fellow who was married, not a womanizer like “Hawkeye” or “Trapper,” who had a child at home. And he is going to be true to his wife and family. You’re talking about modeling fidelity on television, I didn’t mind that at all. We laughed. It stayed that way. One year we did a show where Blythe Danner played the guest star. She and “Hawkeye had been having a love affair in medical school, and she was temporarily assigned to our station. She was married, but the affair popped up again.

There is a scene where “Hawkeye” asks B.J. if he has ever been unfaithful. I said never. He said, “You ever tempted?” I said, “Tempted is a different question.” He said, “So, you have been tempted?” I said, “No, it was a different question.” It was a good gag. Larry Gelbart, who wrote the scene was ont eh stage when we finished that shot. I said, “Larry, that was wonderful, but let me suggest the idea. The fact B.J. is a faithful husband is great by me, but to suggest a man was not tempted goes too far. I don’t think we need to paint in that pristine manner.” He said that was a good thought. A year later Gene remembers that conversation with Larry. He asked, “What do you feel about B.J. falling off the fidelity wagon?” I said, “It depends on how you resolve it.”

How do you feel it came out?

I loved the whole process that they cared enough to hear me out, and decided it was worth dealing with that question. I thought they resolved it in a classy way. B.J. was upset about what he had done. It was brief and a misstep. He was miserable about it. “Hawkeye” gave him hell because he was going to write home and tell Peg. He said, “Don’t do that to her. If you must confess for whatever the transgression, wait until you get home where you can be with her and talk to her. I thought it was great that they were willing to explore the kind of experience people are put through in these circumstances.

It was almost like it didn’t matter how far they went, but didn’t matter. He would feel the same way.

Exactly. But the idea of them spending the night together in a bed, under those circumstances, and didn’t go far sounds a little stretch to me.

When was the moment you felt how big a show M*A*S*H was?

I was in Southeast Asia during one of our breaks. After my second or third year there on the show when I went around, I was astonished at the no matter what part of the world, the show meant something to the.m. This one man said, “Your show constantly underscores for me the meaning of peace and the need for peace in this world.” I came back to set and Alan and I were sitting together during the first day of the season back. I said, “Are you hearing what I’m hearing out there?” He said, “Yeah, we need to be aware of the way the show is affecting people.

We decided on a regular meeting as a cast and talked through the issues of the day. Alan and I both made it a point that this show is having an impact that is beyond just being a popular television show. We need to be seriously committed to making sure we do the best work we can do. Everyone got it and agreed and rededicated ourselves to commit to doing meaningful work because of the audience’s respect and appreciation for the show.

What are your overall thoughts on the FOX special while screening it? 

I watched it with tears streaming down my face while laughter burst from my mouth. It was an extraordinary tribute. Not only to the show and people involved but the people involved behind the scenes. I’m glad they included the clip of Gene, Larry, and in particular Burt Metcalfe, the casting genius who brought many of the characters to the show; me included. He was a powerful force in maintaining the integrity of the show. It was deeply touching and I think the audience will love it. It shows the significance and the work of the characters and the way the show was built and what it became. I was thrilled when I saw it. 

How do you think the show would do in today’s TV landscape? 

I think it would remain a touchstone for people I can’t tell you how many veterans have contacted me. Even children of veterans. They would say. “My dad would never talk about his experience in the war until he saw your show. Then he would say, ‘That’s the way it was.”…That it has stayed relevant and meaningful to people for generations speaks volumes about the show. 

M*A*S*H: The Comedy That Changed Television premiere, January 1, 8/7c, FOX

@stroyent 🤝