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monzamash · 8 months

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off the record — lando norris

"the line between personal and professional was already so blurred; so incomprehensibly faint that anyone looking in would have to squint to see it." lando norris x you (femreader) | 2.1k rating – 18+ (sex, coarse language, drug references) masterlist

The media pen was mayhem after what had been an eventful morning on track. Cameras hoisted every which way, journalists vying for their chance to get front row. And then there was you; little old you trying your best to muscle into every nook and cranny available, wrestling with the big boys and girls. You were a bit of a hot shot now, rising through the ranks online as a media personality and bringing it to the stalwarts of mainstream media.

And you were good – really good. An exceptional storyteller and an extractor of sorts when it came to getting the scoop, something you had honed in on during your days working freelance before eventually realising your potential. Somehow, you’d made it here. Reporting for Sky Sports. Coming to you live from Monaco. Dream shit.

“Lando Norris…” You started, microphone locked and loaded in front of the sweaty, nonchalant McLaren driver.

“Felt like you left a little bit out on track in practice this morning. P10 – where do you think you can get the car in qualifying this afternoon?”

“P1 obviously,” Lando quipped, chewing through his comically large drinking straw in an attempt to hide his smirk. Mocking.

“Yeah?”

“What do you reckon?” He asked, leaning forward ever so slightly with a mischievous glint in his eye that had you rolling yours.

You shrugged, “Wouldn’t count the McLaren car out, that’s for sure.”

“The car and…” Lando smirk widened, lips still pursed and baiting.

“The driver too? Maybe?” Dickhead.

“Maybe that too…” You gave in with a sigh, eliciting a wide smile from the man standing in front of a gaggle of reporters, waiting for your next question with snickering expressions.

“So high expectations going into quali then?”

It had always been like this with Lando from the moment you stuck your little hand held recorder in his face at Bahrain last year to now. He knew he could wind you up and find levity in whatever situation he found himself in at the end of a session – good or bad. It was always a friendly back and forth between journalist and driver. Harmless banter to make the monotony of the media pen just that little bit more bearable. Professional, until it wasn’t.

“The flirting is getting out of hand,” You whispered into his kiss, teeth clashing, hands fumbling as you fell back on your hotel bed with a huff.

“But you look so fucking cute asking me questions like that,” He growled in retort, hands making quick work of the jeans clinging to your hips – the ones that had been taunting him all day.

Everywhere he turned he saw you swaying from side to side, aching to have this moment with you now.

“Well duh,” You quipped confidently, eyes fluttering shut as his feverish lips ghosted above the damp patch of excitement between your thighs. Focus.

“But it has to stop.”

“Oh you want me to stop right now?”

“I’m not talking about…” You stopped mid-sentence when you caught the mischievous glimmer in Lando’s eyes, lips pulled into a smirk, “Okay, fuck you.”

“You love it,” He breathed out in barely a whisper, leaving a trail of marks down the inside of your thigh before finally giving you what you were waiting for.

“And don’t pretend like the thought of me going down on you when you’re asking me those silly little questions doesn’t turn you on.”

Well he fucking had you there.

Lando punctuated his point with a long, teasing stripe to your cunt before burying himself between your thighs, only coming up for air when you tugged on his curls and demanded a kiss. He knew how you were, how needy and insatiable you could be. This was a thing now; a god forsaken mistake in Australia that had turned into a runaway train. Neither of you could stop it.

“I can’t live without this.”

The desperation spilled from your mouth in a guttural moan as you titled you hips upwards and let the twisted knots in the depths of your stomach unravel. The sight of you thrashing in pleasure below knocked the wind out of Lando, eyes and mind focused solely on fucking you through your high so perfectly, fingers bruising the buttery flesh of your thighs.

“God – fuck…” He could barely breathe, “Don’t – you don’t have to.”

And with one last pump, he was coming into the condom he’d slipped on without you even knowing. It was second-hand now, muscle memory and so fucking good. But it didn’t start that way – no, it was awkward goodbyes and a cold ‘thanks for that’ which made you regret ever answering your hotel door. The situation had changed in the blink of an eye – now he was lingering, kissing you in places that had you melting into the mussed sheets and begging him to stay a little bit longer.

It was pathetic how reliant you’d become and how distant you could be when he had to leave. The leaving part was the thing that changed and had you questioning all of it. It used to be that you could go shower and come back to an empty bed and not even flinch. Four months of he is just a causal fuck, no hard feelings to now not being so stoic on that sentiment but you wouldn’t admit that. Not to yourself and especially not to the man peering down at you – all lazy smiles and dimples and ocean eyes. You were fucked.

“I gotta go,” Lando whispered, brushing the stray strands of hair from your flushed face, pout present and needy.

“You don’t really though.”

“If I don’t go now I’ll never leave.”

The little voice in your head was monologuing – screaming out all of the reasons why he should stay because maybe deep down that’s what you wanted. But you couldn’t have that. The line between personal and professional was already so blurred; so incomprehensibly faint that anyone looking in would have to squint to see it. It was the devil on your shoulder that tormented you when it came to Lando, pushing the boundaries more and more every time you had him in your clutches. Risking it all.

“Kiss me before you go.”

And he did. Passionately, like a man in love because maybe he was. Maybe he had been for a lot longer than he’d realised – somewhere between Miami and now he let his guard down too far, too soon. You were flawless though, unattainably perfect that he couldn’t be blamed for falling victim to your allure – sharp eyes following you around the paddock, wishing he was the little notebook in your back pocket that garnered all your attention on race weekends.

“See you tomorrow?”

“If you’re lucky,” Lando quipped, knowing he would be the one curled up in his cold, lonely bed for the rest of the night waiting impatiently for tomorrow.

In any other circumstance you would think the two of you were like magnets, drawn together amongst the travelling circus that was your workplace. But you had a job to do and that was to seek out drivers and team principals, digging deep for any story you could find. There was a trust that you’d built with the teams, all of them respected your work and knew that you weren’t malicious; in fact you were the opposite.

“I really appreciate you not writing about my drunkenness last weekend… It wasn’t my finest moment unfortunately.”

Oscar was a rookie driver but also a total sweetheart, who admittedly had found himself in a precarious late night adventure in a Miami nightclub post-grand prix. How he ended up that drunk, you had no idea but you saved him from himself with the help of Lando, who Oscar would’ve thought was suspiciously close by if he wasn’t black out drunk.

“I got you, buddy but I think your Australian citizenship might have to be revoked after an effort like that… Very disappointing,” You teased in jest, both smiling into the blistering Monacan sun as you walked side by side into the paddock.

“I woke up with an L on my forehead which I can only assume Lando put there so I think my ego’s bruised enough thank you very much.”

“Oh yeah,” You cringed, “That might’ve been my eyeliner.”

“Is that right…”

Oscar’s tone was laced with suspicion but before he could quiz you on why you were still there that night and that he had started to notice the budding friendship between you and his teammate, he was being whisked away by one of his McLaren publicists. You were thankful that they'd taken his curious questions away – how the tables had turned.

Lando was watching you wander through the paddock behind his dark sunglasses, as had been the trend all weekend. Every time you glanced around he was there, wondering if he could sneak over and say hello. Sure, you were friends with a few of the drivers outside of work but when you stepped over that white line, the barriers of professionalism came up again. They had to, otherwise you would end up in a situation like this – gawking at someone you shouldn’t be.

But god he looked good.

He wore what he knew was your biggest weakness – a backwards cap and the black denim jacket he slung over your shoulders on that dark, stormy night in London a few weeks ago when Imola was cancelled and you needed a fix. Hotel hook-ups only. And all of this had you asking yourself, how on earth could you deny a good morning from the man who was the subject of your every desire?

“Good morning.”

“Well it’s not a bad one,” You smiled, more energised than Lando who was yawning into the crook of his arm, “Late night?”

He loved it when you did that. Sneaking little inside jokes into seemingly innocent conversation, naughty reminders of the nights you shared together when nobody was watching. The cheeky grin tugging on his lips a definite tell-tale that he enjoyed it – the tells getting easier and easier to spot the more you got to know him. A shiver ran down your spine at the thought that maybe he was into this as much as you. Little did you know.

“Yeah just squeezed in a late cardio sesh – you know how it is…”

A soft ahh slipped from your smirking lips, eyes trained on your path ahead as Lando strolled alongside, “What’s on the agenda today?”

You shrugged, half out of genuine cluelessness and the other half deflecting how nervous you were. Working in the media was your dream but walking through the hallowed halls of a sport you had loved for your entire life and that dream coming true made your stomach churn with every emotion under the sun. Especially in Monaco.

“You nervous?” Lando asked quietly, shaking you from your thoughts and panicked that you were talking out loud.

“Huh? Oh…” You waved him off and chuckled, “No – I mean, yeah but I always feel like this on race morning… But obviously you’re probably a lot more nervous than me so it’s nothing…” You were a stuttering mess and all Lando wanted to do was reach out and give you a hug.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. This was your little secret, a delicious secret that only the two of you knew and he didn’t want to ruin that. Instead, he dug his hands into his jean pockets a little deeper and gave you a reassuring nudge. Shoulder to shoulder, the same way you laid together the night before after what could only be described as the best sex of your life. Lives.

“My mum always said that nerves mean you care,” Lando’s voice was lower than before – a seriousness taking over, “You’ll do great, as always.”

“Thank you,” You matched his tone, “Hopefully I’m interviewing Lando Norris, Monaco Grand Prix winner…”

That’s all you really wanted deep down. Not the breaking story of the weekend or the drama surrounding contract talks at Red Bull. Just for the guy you had grown profoundly fond of to have some semblance of good luck for once. He’d worked hard for it, you’d seen it first hand and you’d seen the heartbreak when things weren’t going his way. Alas, that was what started this whole situation – frustrated post-race sex. Chef’s kiss.

Lando simply rolled his eyes and sighed loudly before leaning in a tiny bit closer than what you considered a safe workplace distance, “Kiss for good luck then?”

“Get the fuck out of here!” You laughed, kicking his calf with your platform boot as his infectious cackle of a laugh echoed through the growing crowd.

You watched him disappear somewhere between the motorhomes, searching for his team. The lingering feeling in your stomach made you slightly nauseous and a little excited for the next run-in with him. It was like a game of cat and mouse and you weren’t sure who was who but you liked it. More than you wanted to admit because he was Lando fucking Norris – f1's most eligible bachelor, the naughty boy from Bristol, all curls and dimples and undeniable charm. You couldn't help but wonder how many others he had wrapped around his finger like you.

He's just a casual fuck, you mumbled under your breath as you flicked open your notebook and got to work.

masterlist | askbox

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #monzamashmasterlist #lando norris x reader #formula 1 imagine #off the record fic #off the record series

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moonstruckme · 5 months

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I would loooove Sirius taking care of reader after a GNO like he’s so supportive of girls night and then reader calls him to pick her up or she gets dropped off at his flat/house and she’s just all snuggly and lovey and Siri is just all 🤭😚 “you’re cute when you’re needy”

Thanks for requesting!

cw: drunkenness

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Sirius!” You tear out of Lily’s grasp as soon as the door is open, pitching forward. Sirius scrambles to catch you, his arms compensating for your jelly legs when your face lands just north of his navel.

“Hi,” he says, surprised but not at all displeased. You’re not typically a very tactile creature. You and Sirius have hugged a handful of times, but only when you were feeling in need of comfort or especially overwhelmed by affection. Or, apparently, squiffed. He tries to pick you up to your full height, but you lock your arms around his waist and don’t let go. He looks at Lily. “Is she alright?”

Lily nods, giggling as Mary mumbles something nonsensical (at least to Sirius) into the skin of her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s okay. I think she’s having a great time, actually.” She grins at the way you’re smiling contentedly into the fabric of Sirius’ shirt. “Could you have her call us in the morning? I’m very curious to see what all she remembers from tonight.”

Sirius raises his eyebrows. “What should she remember?”

“Well, I fucking hope she hasn’t forgotten the part with the bouncer,” Marlene guffaws. “She promised she’d bring him cupcakes, and I think he’s expecting to collect.”

“Just have her call us,” Lily says, dragging the other two girls away. “Thanks, Sirius!”

“I want to be allowed in on the debrief!” he calls after them before shutting the door, careful not to let it hit your ankles.

He looks down at you, still vaguely smiley but otherwise seeming like you might be dozing. Your eyes are closed, one of your cheeks is squished up against his abdomen, and you’ve got your hands bunched in the fabric of Sirius’ shirt at the small of his back. He pets the back of your head, thinking of what to do with you.

“Doing alright, sweet thing?” he asks softly.

You pick your head up, setting your chin against him so that your face is tilted upward at an awkward angle. You look at Sirius, and the sun rises in his chest. Just like always. “Hello,” you say.

Sirius smiles. “Hello, lovely. Did you have fun?”

“Mhm.” You seem to realize that the position you’ve chosen is less than comfortable, slipping down his legs and puddling at his feet. One of his calves still firmly in your grasp. He can feel the cold of your hands through his pajama pants. “Still having fun.” A tiny giggle bubbles out of you, amused with yourself. “The fun never ends.”

“Not with you,” Sirius agrees, deciding to sit on the floor with you. You make it look like the place to be. “Say, doll, Lily’s got me curious. What happened with the bouncer?”

“The bouncer…oh!” Your eyes light up. “He wouldn’t let us into the club, but I got us in.”

“Yeah?” He laughs as you take one of his hands and bring it into your lap as if this is something you do every day, playing with his rings. “How’d you manage that?”

You look at him gravely. “I did what I had to do.”

He blinks, then reminds himself that Marlene had said something about cookies. “And what did you have to do?”

“Nine rounds of rock-paper-scissors.”

Sirius guffaws at the solemnity in your expression, leaning forward to peck you on the cheek when you seem a tad wounded by his levity. “Well, I suppose sacrifices had to be made,” he tells you. “You got your way in the end, hm?”

“I did,” you agree, looking rather pleased with yourself. “Though I did have to promise him baked goods as payment. Bribery, you know.” You lean forward until your forehead lands on his chest, his hand still in yours, and sigh heavily. Sirius brings a hand to your back, rubbing between your shoulder blades.

“Feeling alright, doll?”

“Yeah,” you sigh again, and then you’re shuffling into his lap, setting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m just really happy you’re here.”

“Well,” he jokes, “it is my flat, so.”

“I love you so much.” You sound vaguely teary, and Sirius’ heart contracts painfully.

“I love you too, baby,” he says back, letting the sappiness you both usually tend to shy away from seep into his tone.

“And I love when you call me that.” Your grip tightens around his ribcage. He presses his palm in between your shoulder blades like he can steady you. “You’re so nice to me, Siri.”

Sirius hums noncommittally, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “If I were really that nice,” he says, “I would have been a better boyfriend and gotten some water in you as soon as you got here. C’mon, sweetness.” He hoists you with him as he stands. “Let’s go have a drink.”

He changes his mind when you seem unwilling to walk by yourself, taking you to bed instead so he can bring you water there. He finds your favorite pajamas and helps you change into them, telling you to close your eyes when he uses the emergency makeup wipes you’ve left at his place to fast-track your skincare routine. You laugh and play-fight him as he manhandles you beneath the covers, but he’s only reminded of your true strength when he goes to get your water and you latch onto his arm in protest.

“Don’t leave,” you beg, looking partly like you’re having fun with this game and partly like you might be genuinely upset if he does. “I don’t need water.”

“Course you do,” he says, working a hand behind your ear so he’s holding your face. You lean into the touch fondly. “All flowers need water.”

To his disappointment, you don’t seem to recognize the compliment, pouting at him. “M’not like other flowers,” you argue. “I need you tons more than I need water, Siri.”

He smiles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You’re awfully cute when you need me, you know that?”

You beam in response.

Sirius debates whether he’s going to tell you tomorrow how lovey-dovey you’ve been tonight. On the one hand, it’d be the highlight of his week to watch how flustered you get, but on the other you might very well break up with him out of embarrassment. He’ll have to decide later.

“You’ve still got me,” he reassures you. “I just need you to have some water, too, baby.” He wields his new knowledge of how that particular endearment affects you to his advantage, and it works; you go all soft around the edges. Sirius pushes his advantage. “I won’t be gone more than thirty seconds, promise.”

You seem to deliberate for a few moments before capitulating, giving him your most severe look. It’s adorable. “I’m going to time you,” you threaten.

“Sounds good.” He gives your cheek a little peck and starts for the kitchen, your voice mounting behind him as you count upwards.

He’s back quickly with a tall glass of water and a couple of pain relievers, and you glare at him. “That was more than thirty seconds.”

“Sorry, doll.” He doesn’t mention that you’d skipped the twenties. “Guess I’m not as fast as I thought.”

You make it very clear he’s not yet forgiven, but you still seem to want to hug him. Sirius is delighted, palming the back of your head when you bury it in his shoulder. “Missed you,” you mumble, and he thinks he finally detects some sleepiness in your voice.

“Baby, I was gone for less than a minute.”

You nod as if in agreement. “It was horrible,” you grumble softly, breath warming his skin through his shirt. “Never do that again.”

“Alright.” Sirius lets his palm coast down the line of your spine, back up again. “Alright, I won’t.”

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soulrph · 10 months

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chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

#rp meme #roleplay meme #sentence starters #dialogue prompts #writing prompts

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bunnyreaper · 4 months

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𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), mentions of cheating (not from reader or john), age gap (older male younger female), future daddy kink, mentions of blood

notes - back at it again in dilfville, hopefully, this chapter is worth the wait! ♥ also on ao3! ♥

How easy it is to forget about the outside world with John by your side is startling. Everything other than him melts away into the background, and in the safety and comfort of his home, the two of you exist in your own little peaceful bubble.

In the back of your mind, you know it'll eventually sink to the ground and violently pop, but for now, the two of you float—suspended in tranquility. Your day goes by so easily, as you rest on the couch and watch TV with John—phone forgotten about, troubles set aside.

John makes it easy to forget. He's always had this way about him, like his mere presence lifts a weight off your shoulders while he carries it, carries you, just for a while, and allows your world to be a little lighter.

It's later into the evening when you finally find yourself compelled to get off of the couch and actually do something with your day, when John pulls you out of the reverie you'd settled into together.

"I should get on with dinner." He says, slapping his thighs before he rises from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of being your human footrest.

You're quick to rise too, sitting up straight as you try to recall him to the couch before he can make too much of a fuss. The guilt of taking advantage of his hospitality is already eating at you—regardless of how illogical it may be.

"Let me do it." You plead. "You're kind enough to let me stay here, at least let me repay you."

John pauses, his eyes narrowing at you briefly before one of his thick eyebrows arches. "Darling, aren't you bloody sick of cooking?"

Even when he's giving so much, he's still exceedingly considerate.

"Only when cooking for a man who doesn't appreciate me, otherwise I enjoy it." You climb to your feet with a smile, making your way over to John to gently push him in the direction of the kitchen. Whilst he moves with a stubbornness, you know he's still letting you push him, otherwise you know you wouldn't be able to move him an inch.

A smirk tugs at his lips, hidden behind his thick beard as he finds himself amused by your antics. The levity you bring to his otherwise burden-filled life is not something that goes unrecognised by him—not now, not ever.

Finally, he truly relents, letting you direct you both into the kitchen, moving himself enough to make your job of pushing him easier. "If you want to help, I wouldn't mind your company."

Your hands withdraw from the warm, broad expanse of his back and settle by your sides, as you feel the need to pull away from him the second it's no longer necessary—scared by how good the physicality felt, even if it was entirely playful in nature. It's been so long since you felt so light and got to share it with someone else, an age since you indulged in light-hearted touch.

"What's on the menu?" You ask as you move to the sink and force yourself into doing something to keep you busy—tackling the dishes seems like a good idea for being both helpful and suitably occupied.

John makes his way to the fridge, swinging open the heavy door of the American-style fridge-freezer with ease, and immediately moving to grab fresh ingredients. "Spag Bol."

"Ooh, your signature dish." You coo, recalling fondly the many occasions he has hosted you for dinner in the past.

Dinners had become a regular thing when John and James had been getting to know each other, with you often there as a buffer—not that you did it begrudgingly or ever minded so much. Getting to know John was an unexpected delight, and as the two of you recently agreed, a friendship had formed—regardless of your relationship with his son. You'd spent many nights over at his for dinner or drinks—good food and delightful conversation, memories you treasured.

Even in the beginning, John's protective and caring nature had extended to you almost immediately—a natural extension, you’d presumed, of his growing bond with his biological son. He'd dropped off meals for you when you were sick, memorised your tea and coffee preferences, always took the time to buy you a thoughtful gift for Christmas and birthdays.

John cuts through your trip down memory lane with the thud of him putting a pile of ingredients down on the countertop. "Well, I know you love it so much. Went to the shops last night to get everything."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. For a man so good at taking care of others, there were times when John Price's self-care was severely lacking. As the sink fills with sudsy, hot water, you pin John with your most intimidating glare. "When do you ever even sleep, John?"

He returns your look for the briefest moment, then smirks at your attempt to look authoritative. "I sleep plenty, don't you worry."

A realisation seems to strike him a moment later.

John heads over to the record player in the corner, flipping the switch and setting down the needle.

It's easy for John to succumb to the relaxed atmosphere of his kitchen—music playing and you by his side. His fingers drum against the turntable stand as the opening notes of the rock-reggae fill the room and quiet any further chastisement from you.

"Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy—" John's voice carries louder than the vocals, a smooth tone you've heard so rarely before—John only sings when he feels most at peace.

Whilst his voice is beautiful, the subject matter of the song almost feels inappropriate in the moment, though the way your cheeks flush makes you think it's just you projecting.

"Oh my god, John." You groan playfully, rolling your eyes and watching as he sways his hips ever so slightly as he makes his way back over to you, still softly singing the words.

He stops singing as he steps beside you at the sink, leaning onto the counter slightly with a hint of a smirk on his face and an incredible amount of mirth in his eyes. For once, he seems so light.

"Never had a crush on an older man?" He asks, his tone light and yet still with a hint of teasing. Perhaps he thinks your opposition to the song is your lack of relating to it, rather than the fact you relate a little too much.

You're not sure when it really started, or when it escalated uncontrollably, but lately, you've been looking at John in a different light. It's probably the combination of the heartbreak, the sleep deprivation, and the beard. You were always a sucker for a gruff-looking, unavailable older gent.

And now here one is singing a song about forbidden love, lovers separated by age—like he knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

"Obviously I have." You scoff, almost dismissively, as you turn to slip the first few dishes into the water. John stays silent for a moment, and curiosity gets the better of you. "Ever had a crush on a younger woman?"

He barks out a laugh, pushing himself away from the counter as you see him shake his head and suck in his lips. "No comment."

Your mind starts to wander, as you try to think about what kind of woman catches John Price's eye. His circumstances are difficult and his standards clearly high, as he hasn't been in a relationship in the years you've known. John nudges you with his hip, as he leans over the sink to start washing his hands.

His warmth is overwhelming beside you, and only spreading further. You try to focus on anything but his large hands, as he covers them in the suds he works up from the soap. You try not to stare at the way he grips the bar, and practically chokes the block with his fingers, nor how he works the creamy lather up his hairy forearms.

But you’d be lying if you said the plate in your hands got any cleaner. Of course, you could blame your stillness on courtesy—you're just giving him the space he needs to wash his hands so he can get on with cooking, nothing more.

"Zenyatta Mondatta is a classic." He all but whispers from above you, as if he still feels the need to justify his album choice.

"Best album the year you were born?"

"I was born 81, not 80, bun." He tuts, shaking off the excess wetness from his hand before he reaches around you to grab the hand towel from where it's threaded through the handle of the cupboard beside you.

Your grip on the plate tightens exponentially despite the slippery surface, as a cascade of shivers passes over your body and pools low in your gut.

The tension in your body feels like it's ready to snap at any moment, and yet just before it can, John pulls away, and a cold sweeps back in.

"Don't stand, don't stand so close to me." His singing almost taunts you as he saunters back over to his ingredients and gets to work.

You try to focus again on the dishes in the sink. Yet, you couldn't wipe the wide smile off your face if you tried, exhilarated by life's simple pleasures—by the way, it seems that colour is starting to bleed back into your life in all these little moments. A flurry of feelings you haven't felt in so long floods you, too.

"Forgot how much I love being in the kitchen with other people." You laugh, verbalising your happiness in a fairly throwaway comment.

"Kitchens are the heart of the home, as they say." John replies, and you can tell he's smiling fondly, probably recalling the nights spent at his kitchen island with you, James, and the other people lucky enough to be in his life.

After a moment, he continues on, yet his tone is more somber than before. "You know, sweetheart, I wish I'd have known sooner how he really treated you."

You wonder if it would've made a difference.

"He's just not for me, he's not necessarily bad just... okay, I mean besides the cheating." You say, wrinkling your nose with disgust—still, you find yourself making excuses for him, finding ways to soften the blow.

John sighs. "You give him too much credit, love."

It feels wrong somehow to open up to John about this, despite his soothing on the matter. "It wasn't fair for me to talk to you about that stuff, even if you do give the best advice. Still doesn't feel fair, really." You grumble as you scrub at a bowl, removing the dirt.

"And what about what's fair and best for you, hmm?" John's chopping grows louder, more erratic, as his frustration flows through his arm and his wrath is taken out on the raw onions. "For crying out loud, the lad cheated on you. I have half a mind to go over there myself to finish what we started earlier."

You shrug, entirely uncertain of how to untangle the messy web that is your emotions. Guilt, relief, anger, and peace all swirl together, with no one feeling jumping out clearly and continuously beyond the others.

"Look at me," John calls your attention to him, only speaking again once you do. The look on his face is deeply sincere, his eyes betraying the emotion within. "Once you're on your feet again, if you want nothing to do with me, all you have to do is say. Otherwise, I'll be in your life for as long as you let me."

Fuck.

"That's reassuring." You nod, smiling genuinely, yet you try to restrain it lest you betray how much it really means to you. "Yeah, I guess, as you said earlier, we're friends."

You say it more to convince yourself, as it's a truth that isn't going to change regardless of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Not planning on changing that unless you are, love." John smiles.

See, you say to yourself, he's all but confirmed it too. "I'm glad some things are going to stay the same..." You mutter, though there is some sincerity and reality to your statement. "Especially when everything else is about to get turned upside down."

"I suspect you'll be better off when the dust settles."

"I hope so."

You turn back to the dishes, trying to focus on the music rather than the thoughts that battle against John's soothing words. His quiet company helps stave off some of the discontent, the sound of him cooking and singing quietly providing a safety blanket around you.

"Do have to let you know I got the call, leaving sooner than I would've liked."

"When?" You feel yourself stiffen. Every time John leaves, you're always a little on edge—and yet, with the circumstances, this time just feels worse.

"Tomorrow." He admits softly.

"You've only been back a matter of days." Your heart pangs.

He scoffs. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"It's gonna feel weird getting settled in here, but especially alone." You offer up your honesty, in the hopes it'll alleviate the gentle crushing of your chest, yet you try to remain stony-faced.

"One big change at a time, love." John's voice is soothing, as he attempts to reassure you. "Change of scenery, then change of roommate. It'll give you a chance to just be free of Price men for a moment."

"He's not really a Price..." You sigh, because maybe if he were, things would've been different. If John had raised him... would he be a better man? Not that you believe his mother is to blame for his issues, but you know from James' occasional rants that he didn't have a male figure he respected growing up.

"I suppose not." Behind your back, John shrugs. "Point still stands, though. While I'm not thrilled about the idea of you being all alone, at least it gives you some space to think of what comes next."

"I guess it does." You sigh and try to focus on that thought—time to figure things out and feel the relief of being free. A wry laugh leaves you when you realise John has managed to reframe his departure as a positive thing. "Fuck, I hate how you always make me feel better."

"Hah, add it to my list of crimes."

A beat passes before a stray thought pops into your head. "If you're headed back, does that mean you'll be shaving?"

You crane your head around just in time to see John pause, turn, and stroke at his beard.

"Don't know. What do you think?" He continues to stroke at the grown-out brown hair, as you get lost taking in his features and the way that they seem to look so different with his new, fluffier style.

"Feel like you've been staring at it a lot, not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing." He chuckles, his smile tight-lipped and a touch self-conscious in a way that only you can bring out of him.

"Somehow, it makes you look..." Your brain scrambles for an adjective that isn't 'daddier'. "... younger?"

On anyone else, a full beard would likely age them, but compared to John's usual old-timey war general look, it gives him more of a casual, handsome look. You remind yourself to ask for pictures of what he looked like before he grew facial hair.

"Ageing myself prematurely with the mutton chops, then?" He frowns ever so slightly, though you know his pout is completely playful.

You throw your head back with a laugh. "Thought that's why you did it, to really solidify your authority."

"Don't need any kind of facial hair for that, love." He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

You force your attention back to the dishes and school your expression into something more neutral, dunking in all the cutlery in at once as you desperately begin to clean. It's a clear attempt to make sure John doesn't notice your reaction to his words.

"Whatever you say, John." You mutter, trying to end the conversation before it spirals any further out of control.

He laughs, hums, then casually says something you never expected. "Mmm, now that's what I like to hear."

"Ow, fuck!" You yell as pain sears through your skin, a knife hidden in the soapy water slicing through your skin at the momentary distraction.

John is over in a flash, coming to your aid and pulling your hand into his grasp so he can inspect the wounds. "Christ, love, are you alright?"

"Fine, I mean, it's only small." Each word is through gritted teeth, as you try to tough it out in front of John.

Despite the fact the incisions across your fingers aren't particularly deep, they bead with crimson blood and pulse with stinging pain.

"Right, that's enough. Sit down." One of John's hands remains holding your hand while the other settles on your shoulder, and he manoeuvres you to one of the stools at the kitchen island. He pays no mind to the way your soaked arm drips onto his t-shirt and jeans, too focused on his mission.

"Yes, sir." You say absentmindedly, feeling like one of his men—you don't notice the way he stiffens, his touch getting a fraction tighter, as his body and mind jolt at such simple words.

He doesn't meet your eye, instead inspecting the cuts before turning to grab the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. "Doesn't look like it'll need stitches."

"This isn't a battlefield injury, John, and I'm not a child!" You can't help but pout exaggeratedly, as not only does it convey your meaning, but it helps disguise your wince as John cleans, dries, and dresses your cuts.

"No more washing up. Don't give me that look." He fixes you with a look and a stern point that just dares you to challenge him, and for a moment, you glare right back at him.

In the end, you know you stand no chance of winning against the formidable foe that is protective, Papa Bear John Price. One time you insisted on washing up after he cooked, and he followed you into the kitchen to turn off the water main, just to show you how serious he was that you sit down and fucking relax.

"Fine." You sigh, as John's moment as a nurse comes to a close, with him finishing your dressings and packing away the first aid kit.

"Sit pretty. Food won't be too long." He tells you before he returns to the pans on the hob, checking on the spaghetti and stirring the bolognese.

The fragrance from the stewing sauce surrounds you, making your mouth water in anticipation of John's signature dish. It doesn't distract you from the pain completely, but it at least gives you something to focus on as you try to ignore it.

"Can I... ask something that I've been wondering about for a while?" You ask, propping your head on your non-injured hand as you watch John work.

"Of course." He nods, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

"Have you and James' mum ever talked about... you know, everything?" You resist the urge to pick at the medical tape securing the bandage to your skin, as you know that eventually it's going to come off. "I don't know why I never asked before, guess I felt awkward, and I tried asking James, but he never wanted to talk about it."

John pauses, taking a moment to think. "We met for coffee once, after I first found out. She was very apologetic, explained her side of things."

It's easy for you to tell, having grown accustomed to his expressions, that there's more to the story than he lets on. John always tends to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his inner workings, asking more questions than he ever answers, but you're used to that look in his eyes whenever there's something he's holding back.

At least, you like to think so. If you're good at telling when he's withholding, you're even better at not pressing him, at least under usual circumstances. Today, something compels you to ask more.

"Do you... resent her for what she did?"

"No." He answers, a little too quickly, before rolling his shoulders and straightening his posture. "Maybe I should, maybe I should resent the fact I missed his childhood. I suppose I do, but I would never have had the life I've had otherwise."

"Figured I might still have the chance to be a dad, but would've never had the chances I did had I not joined the army."

The insight into John's mind is fascinating, intoxicating, even. It's hard to imagine him as anything other than a captain, even if father and family man suits him quite well too.

"You wouldn't have joined up if you'd known?" You ask, questions still tumbling out of you as curiosity about John leaks out of every pore.

"No." He pauses, pressing his hands into the counter. Finally, he looks at you with stormy, emotion-filled eyes. "Would've stayed, married her. Done the right thing." It looks like it pains him to admit it, as his brows furrow and his lips tighten.

"Wow. Must be weird seeing her now, knowing she could've been your wife." You probably shouldn't have said it aloud, but the thought of that different reality is so jarring to you that it slips before you can stop it.

"She's a stranger, really." He shrugs.

"A stranger you had sex with... once upon a time." You say, squinting as you try to imagine John and James's mum sharing anything beyond pleasant smiles and polite small talk.

"Barely." A dismissive scoff leaves him, as he picks up the wooden spoon and returns his attention to his cooking.

"Barely? What does that mean?"

"Well, it was only once, and even then... every man has to learn somehow, love." John says the words as if they're so casual, yet they cause heat to rush to your cheeks.

"Your son still hasn't learned at all." You say the words without thinking, a tinge of bitter resentment bursting through. "Sorry, fuck."

"S'fine." John tries his hardest to stifle the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, practically throwing himself into grabbing bowls and cutlery to serve up the meal. "He really didn't know how to handle you, did he, love?"

Your chest seizes once more—guilt, indignation, amusement, confusion. There's a hope within you that when the dust is all settled, you'll end up with someone like John, someone who can treat you better.

"No, he didn't..." You admit weakly, before checking yourself. "Sorry, I think the pain and the blood loss are making me woozy. I'm gonna stop talking now."

John only smiles understandingly, eyes shining with mirth, as he passes you an oversized bowl filled with delicious spaghetti. He takes a seat beside you, knee knocking into yours as he makes himself comfortable— his warmth feeling too close for comfort and yet not close enough at all.

"Eat up, darling girl."

********

You and John finish up your meal in companionable silence, accompanied by the rest of the tracks on the current vinyl. As always, John's cooking leaves you full and satisfied, warm from the inside out.

Once more, you're banned from washing dishes and were only able to get on drying duty after begging John and pulling out your most convincing doe eyes. The night ended with you both turning in sooner than usual, in anticipation of John's departure the next morning.

Usually, you last saw John off when he came to visit you and James, putting on a brave face and wishing him well. You're thankful that with the new proximity, you can at least fret in the privacy of your new bedroom, away from John's worrying eyes—the last thing he needs to see before he leaves is your tear-stained cheeks.

Sleep doesn't come easily, as you toss and turn in bed and try not to think of being alone in the coming days, or the possibility of something happening to John.

When sleep finally does come, you wake in a panic—sweaty and dry-mouthed. The nightmare that plagued you is hard to recall, the only thing burning in your mind is the final scene. You have to flee into the night, and you're desperate to grab something to cover up with so you don't freeze to death—you can't find anything warm anywhere. The image quickly fades away as you blink your eyes open.

You roll over to the side of the bed, clutching your phone and practically burning your eyes when the screen blares into your corneas.

3:59. 16 minutes to your alarm.

With John's departure fast approaching, you throw yourself out of bed, grabbing your cardigan and wrapping it around yourself before you head in the direction of John's room.

The door is closed firmly, likely to quiet any noise he makes from rustling around in preparation. You knock lightly on the wood, waiting for John to call you in.

You step in, taking in John's appearance. It seems he decided to keep the outgrown facial hair after all, the fluffy beard leading down to the chest hair poking out from the top of a soft grey cotton tee.

The dog tags around his neck are the only nod to his upcoming deployment, as he leaves John behind and heads off to become Captain Price.

He smiles as soon as he sees you, though it doesn't escape your notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, can't sleep." You explain, as you make your way further into the room and perch yourself on the end of John's bed gingerly. "Figured I'd make you sick of me, so you're glad to be away."

You peer into the holdall that John's currently packing things into, inspecting his contents and mentally ticking items off a checklist.

"Don't think anything could make me glad of that, love." He frowns, pausing as he expertly folds a t-shirt and places it in his bag. "Especially at a time like this."

"I'll be fine." You say it for his sake, even if you don't entirely believe it. Your number one priority right now is sending him off with a smile.

As you spot one of his signature beanies poking out of a side pocket, you pluck it off the duvet and pull it over your bedhead. "Maybe I'll just run riot while you're gone, throw all your cigars in the bin, and steal every beanie you own."

That brings a smirk out of him, the worry clearing from his eyes. "Evil girl."

"Yeah, I'm a right menace." You confirm, a gleeful smile spreading across your face unrestrained.

Several things stand out to you in the bag or surrounding it—the sunglasses case, a tan-coloured rag, and John's beloved boonie hat. Your quick inspection gives you an insight into where John is headed—flip-flops again, you joke to yourself.

"Guessing you're off to some shitty desert then." You comment, not intending to pry any further.

"Feel like I never leave them." He notes—that wry smile returning to his face as he meets your gaze.

"Have you packed your sun cream?" You ask, half joking and half serious.

"Wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't, hmm?" He chuckles knowingly, likely recalling the last time he came home with a sunburn and was met with your impassioned rant. He'd learned his lesson at least.

"And the moisturiser we got you for Christmas?"

"Already packed." He pats the toiletry bag on the bed, and you rush to pick it up, unzip it, and verify his claim.

"Lip balm?" You ask, peering up at him with a mischievous grin, just waiting for his reaction.

"Now you're just taking the piss."

You pull your beanie down low on your forehead, just as you've seen John wear it, then you cross your arms across your chest and drop your voice. "Sorry lads, cover my six, gotta get my Burts Bees on."

At that, he belly laughs. "I'd never live it down, and you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

You rise from the bed, laughing with him, before you remove the beanie and reach up to place it over his head instead. "No, Captain." You whisper, grin bright.

"You're a handful, love." Despite his words, the fondness in his voice is clear as day.

You tap his cheek playfully before stepping away. "Well, fear not, like I said, you're rid of me for a little while."

"Desert doesn't seem so bad now you mention it." John rolls his eyes playfully, before turning to add the final items and zipping up the bag beside him.

"Have you got everything you need?" You ask, instinct taking over as you begin to fret over ensuring everything is perfect for John's departure.

"I do know how to pack for myself, but if you want me to humour you..." John's hands fall to the zip, ready to tear the bag open if it would rid you of the concerned frown growing on your face.

You back away, hands raised. Point taken, you think to yourself. "I'm used to fussing, okay."

"You and me both." He nods, then shoulders the bag and gestures for you to head out of the room.

You lead the way like heading up a death march, slow gait and head lowered, knowing what's to come. With each step, a sense of dread grows within you. John is leaving, and there's seemingly an unspoken agreement between you both that something about this time feels more severe.

When you both reach the door, John shrugs on his sherpa-lined jacket, ties up his boots, and stands as he summons up the nerve to leave.

Once again, a half-hearted smile graces his face, as he reaches out to rub at your arm. "I'll call you when I'm headed back from base, yeah?"

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to bead in your eyes, once more putting on a brave face. The mention of his call makes your mind flicker to your usual routine.

"Will you be going to see—"

"No love. I'll be coming straight home." He interrupts, squeezing you before withdrawing as if it burns to touch you.

"Stay safe, John." You whisper, the words you say every time coming easily. You swear to yourself that the words act as protection, or at least, you hope they do.

"Always, love." He nods, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. Then, he opens the door and steps over the threshold. "Anything you need, I'll get back to you when I can, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, struggling to get out even a word as your throat tightens.

"See you soon, darling girl." He calls out, and you watch him until his truck pulls out of the street and off toward danger.

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #nobody does it like you do #call of duty fanfiction #spotify

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somerandomdudelmao · 1 year

Note

I don't think we'll be able to handle another death so soon... you already broke rise tumblr multiple times, (like half the time rise is trending its because of you, people only just made the connection now because it was sad, and as such more intense, this time.) We need a break. You wouldn't happen to have and cute or silly sketches or drawings you haven't shared, would you? If you do I am begging to see them before you start the final pre canon part. My heart can't take this much dread without a little levity.

Oh I do:)

#cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #riseofthetmnt #leonardo #future leonardo #casey jones #casey jr

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Homestead.

Continuation of Home Intruder.

Pairing: Yandere!Childe x Reader x Yandere!Diluc (Genshin).

Title: 3.5k.

TW: Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Obsessive Behavior, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Childe's Gone Full 'Fuck 'em Kids, and Continued Involvement Of A Child Of Dubious Origin.

You found Diluc in his chambers, sunken into a velvet-lined armchair, wrapping a length of white gauze around his split knuckles under the soft light of a low-burning candlestick. His shirt (or, rather, the tattered remains of what was once his shirt) had been discarded, along with his coat and his vest, of course, but the exposed skin no longer bothered you the way it once had, even if you still choose not to linger on the field of dark bruises blossoming along his left side.

You perched yourself on the foot of his bed – your bed too, you supposed, considering how often you found yourself sleeping at his side. Even when the threat was distant, when days lapsed between Childe’s ‘visits’, you found yourself gravitating towards him, seeking comfort in his warmth, his presence at your side. There was a reassurance that came with his company – a reassurance that you were reluctant to let go. “Another fruitful night, Master Darknight Hero?”

“Fruitful enough. The Abyss Order’s been minding their distance. The Fatui, as well – they’re stationing their encampments as far from the city’s walls as would be possible without retreating to Liyue.” You smiled, bowing your head, your satisfaction softened but no less apparent. Diluc didn��t overlook your silent mirth. “No sign of Tartaglia either,” he added, his gaze flickering from his tattered hands to you, then back to his idle work. “Not that I’m suggesting you should start taking midnight strolls through the forest. There’s a good chance he’s merely waiting for us to lower our guard.”

You doubted that. Childe was a hyper-violent, murderous bastard of a man, but he wasn’t the type to turn back on his convictions, and since his last attempt, he seemed determined not to take you by force. You couldn’t complain. If his newest delusion was that steadfast tenacity and a few promises of painless forgiveness would be enough to convince you to return to his frozen wasteland of a household, you were more than happy to let him believe it for as long as he cared to. “Maybe he’s decided his time would be better spent stalking another former captive,” you muttered. “I think I might feel a little betrayed if he moved on so easily.”

A raspy chuckle, followed shortly by an airy sigh. He let his eyes close, his head lull back, and with minimal hesitation, you rose from his bedside, fetching a misplaced comb before positioning yourself behind him. He spared you a questioning glance as you undid the already-loosened ribbon struggling to restrain his wild hair, but you only shrugged. “It helps Lina relax,” and then, beginning to pull your comb through the untamed sea of scarlet. “If you’ll pardon the comparison.”

“Pardoned.” The tension seemed to seep out of his rigid form as you pulled the knots out of his long, crimson hair – taking pains not to tug too harshly, not to let the strands you’d already detangled mix with those you had yet to touch. He spoke as you worked, rambling about his day, the state of the wine industry in Mondstadt, matters he was concerned with and matters he wished he didn’t have to be. “I mentioned our engagement at the tavern,” he said, eventually, the comment almost off-handed in its nonchalance. “Only a few drunkards were close enough to overhear it, but you know how they like to talk. It’ll be common knowledge by the time the sun rises.”

You felt something sharp begin to rise into your throat. “…our engagement?”

“That’s usually what comes with having a fiancé, yes.” His tone was not one of levity, but did he sound quite as serious as you felt he should’ve been. As if this was just a part of some scheme the two of you had planned together, in which your compliance was given. “Unless there’s another word you’d like to use? Betrothment, maybe?”

“No, engagement is fine, it’s just—” It was difficult to find the words. You didn’t want to be engaged. You didn’t want a fiancé. You didn’t know how to tell Diluc that you did not want to act as if you did, even if it was just a ploy. “Childe didn’t believe us. Even if he did, it probably wouldn’t do much to stop him.”

“But, it might give his soldiers pause. The other Harbingers, too, if he finds a reason to drag them into this.” You lost focus, catching your comb on a lock of hair still partially braided from the day before, but Diluc didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to notice. “It’d be… convenient to have a more official bond between us, too. A titled relationship can do a great deal.”

It did not escape you that he declined to mention who a titled relationship could do a great deal for.

You forced yourself to smile past your inhibition. “I’ve never really seen myself as the marrying type.”

A slight chuckle, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder. “You’d take advantage of a lovesick fool, then?”

“Without hesitation.” You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss into the top of his head before turning on your heel, starting towards the door. “Take a bath before Adelinde sees what you’re doing to her furniture. I’m going to check on Lina one more time, just to make sure she’s sleeping through the night.”

“Should I warm the bed for you?”

You hummed, nodding as you slipped out of his chambers, but for the first time in many nights, you found yourself colder by his side than you had been apart from him.

You were in the library, pouring over a travel guide concerning the few parts of Teyvat you’d neglected during your previous travels, when you received news that Childe and his legion were returning to his posting in Liyue. The sound you made by way of response – half pitching laughter, half irrational screaming – must’ve scared the poor butler half to death, but you didn’t have time to apologize before your body was moving on its own, rushing past him and deeper into the mansion. By the time you realized what you were doing, you were already in Diluc’s office, already throwing yourself at his desk.

“He’s gone.” You were grinning like a madman. “He’s gone, Diluc! I can— Okay, first, I’m going to go see if my landlord ever repossessed my flat, and then, I’m going to take Lina apple-picking in Springville, but not before I get back to the market and finally pay back the mora I borrowed from—”

“Have you contacted any witnesses in Liyue to confirm his arrival?”

Your smile faltered. “He would’ve only left today. There’s no way he could’ve arrived much of anywhere yet, and even if he had, I… I don’t think I know anyone in Liyue to contact.”

“There’s no proof, then.” Said with a sort of tempered stoicism, as if he were attempting to gently guide a very mislead soul away from a dire mistake without losing his own composure. He put down his quill, and with a heavy sigh, looked up at you, his eyes as soft as his tone. “I wouldn’t put it below him, considering what lengths he’s willing to resort to.”

He spoke as if he knew Childe; as if he shared your vendetta, stroke for stroke. Part of you wanted to allow him to pretend, to let someone beyond you and a child too young to fully understand the horror she was facing share in your misery, if only in kind words and appearances. Part of you wanted to carve his tongue from his mouth and leave him to bleed. “Childe’s not that kind of man. He wouldn’t do something so underhanded.”

“Most people wouldn’t consider kidnapping a reasonable course of action, either, yet he’s already demonstrated his tolerance for that.” A hint of levity, the ghost of a sympathetic smile. “It’d be safer for you to remain in the manor, for the time being.”

Two things to you occurred in very short order.

The first was, of course, how familiar your frustration felt. It was the same little irk that’d coiled in your chest when you were with Childe, when months and months of playing dutiful, docile captive failed to earn you the freedoms he’d promised it would. You knew, rationally, that one circumstance was not like the other, that there was no reason to hold the two so close in your chest, and yet, the feeling remained.

The second was that you didn’t recall telling Diluc that you had been kidnapped. Kept hostage, sure, broken down and forced to build yourself up, but not kidnapped. That - the first days you’d spent in Childe’s damp cellar, confused and terrified and utterly helpless to do anything but bite at his fingertips and fight against your restraints - was not something he was meant to know.

You paused for a long moment, your lips parted but your tongue useless. Diluc let his head lull to the side, bringing up a hand to cup your face. “I promise, it’s for your safety.” The pad of his thumb ran over your cheek. “You know that I’ve grown fond of you, don’t you?”

“As I have, of you.”

“And you know that it would hurt me, to see you walk into a trap when this is so nearly over?”

“I suppose it would.”

“So trust me. This is the last time I’ll ask you to put aside your freedom.” You believed that this was the last time he would ask, surely. “For Lina’s sake, if not your own.”

You forced yourself to swallow. “If I tried to walk through the doors to your manor with Lina in my arms and no intention or returning, would you let me leave?”

His eyes were so terribly soft. “Surely, my fiancé would be smart enough to answer that for themself.”

You grit your teeth, locking your jaw into place. “And you promise that you’ll keep us safe, in exchange for my captivity?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t use that kind of language,” he sighed. “But, yes. As safe as treasured gems and as comfortable as royalty.”

You held out for a moment, and then, allowed your eyes to fall shut, letting out a deep exhale. “That’s all I want. For Lina and I to be safe.” You melted into his warmth, nuzzling into his palm. “Thank you, Master Diluc.”

That may have been the widest you’d ever seen him smile. “The pleasure is mine, dear.”

Your letter contained five words and five words exactly – ‘I want to go home’. You left it unsigned, addressed it to one of the Northern Bank’s secondary locations on the outskirts of Liyue, and passed it off to the messenger who came weekly to collect the Winery’s mail personally. His response came the next day, in the form of a note bound to the leg of a raven, its feathers wet from flying through the storms that claimed Mondstadt’s skies so often in the summer.

‘Finally.’

He arrived two nights later, accompanied by no soldiers or subordinates. You caught him among the rolling hills, his coat blending with the grey sky, but did not dare to leave the manor until nightfall, when you could gather Lina in your arms and take to wandering through the mansion under the guise of soothing her most recent fit. You slipped out of a ground-story window left unlocked with little difficulty, barefoot and with nothing but your Vision at your side. You did not have the luxury of preparation, as you had with Childe. Anything you might’ve taken, you would’ve taken from DIluc, and you couldn’t give him an excuse to hunt you down.

You didn’t have to look for Childe. He was waiting for you on the beach, where the road to Stone Gate first met the bay. You saw his smile, first, brilliant and fanged, then his eyes, catching in the moonlight, fixating on you before falling to Lina, slumped against your chest. Against your better instincts, you set her down, leaning her against an apple tree. You doubted she would wake up, but if she did, the fluttering leaves and fallen fruit would distract her before she could notice the water.

With little delay, you returned to Childe. He waited for you to face him with an uncharacteristic patience. “You’re bringing her along?”

“You may have outgrown Lina, but she’s still my daughter.” You attempted to hold yourself straight and retain as much pride as possible, but you cracked soon enough, bowing your head and shrinking into a meeker, much less resilient creature. “You were right about him. He’s just as bad as you are, and if I am to be at the mercy of a monster, I’d rather it be the monster brave enough to speak its threats aloud.”

He took a step toward you, closing what little distance you’d attempted to maintain. “You’ve chosen such touching words for our reunion.” You had to fight not to tremble as his hand came to rest on your hip, then skating upward, towards the curve of your side. “We’ll have to tame that clever tongue of yours as soon as we get back to Liyue, but the rest might have to wait until Snezhnaya. I've already asked the Tsaritsa for leave. I just know you’re going to need my full attention, sweetheart.”

You could feel the rain picking up again, weighing down your clothes, turning Childe’s coat a shade darker. You pretended not to notice, not to care. “…and Lina will be safe?”

“Safe enough, at whatever boarding school she ends up in.” He spoke casually, as if he didn’t care at all for the girl he’d been willing to kill for only weeks ago. “As long as you stay where you’re supposed to be, no harm will come to her by my hand.”

He made no promises concerning the hands and weapons of those operating under his command.

“That’s all I want,” you sighed, and then, raising your voice to speak above the pounding rain, the thunder rolling in the distance, “I… I just want her to have a home, even if that home must be yours.”

You buried your face in his chest, and he cooed, his free hand slipping underneath you chin, coaxing your head back until you were forced to stare into his eyes, as deep as the abyss, as empty as the starless sky. You balled his drenched coat in your fists as his lips came to rest against yours, the kiss gentle save for the grin that laid beneath it, as sharp as a blade and twice as fatal.

You could only be thankful that this blade’s wielder was such a fool.

It was a flash frost; a single wave of cryo energy strong enough to freeze the raindrops that surrounded him mid-air. In the blink of an eye, his body was encased in ice – the shell fragile, but strong enough to render Childe immobile as you wrenched yourself away from him, your composure faltering into a collection of muffled screams and frantic breaths. You wasted precious seconds wiping the frost from your hands and tearing the heavy coin purse from his belt before adding another layer of ice, binding his feet to the ground and his hands to his chest, ensuring that he would not be able to break free until your handiwork began to melt. You started to turn away, to return to Lina, but hesitated at the last moment. With shaking hands and grit teeth, you unhooked the gem of his Vision from its holder, and with all of your meager strength, threw it into the bay, praying that the current would not be able to carry it back to shore.

With only a deep inhale and another second taken to gather yourself, you gathered Lina in your arms, fled into the wilderness, and didn’t dare to look back until Childe and the Dawn Winery were both out of sight.

Liyue was where it would’ve made the least sense for you to go, so that was where you went. You treated main roads like necessary evils, stopping by the carts of travelling merchants and staying in roadside inns only when the wilderness proved too hostile for Lina. You were frugal with Childe’s mora, but no more so than any weary traveler would’ve been with their limited supplies. Paranoia drew attention, and attention had only ever served to make your life more difficult.

You journeyed to Liyue Harbor, remaining as close to the ports as possible. After securing a board room with an elderly couple content to fawn over Lina, you fell back into your own habits – lingering in the shadowed corners of the darkest taverns, nursing their cheapest liquor while you spoke at length on your plans to venture to Sumeru, then beyond, wherever Teyvat would have you. When you spotted soldiers with grey coats, you spoke a little louder.

You crossed paths with a captain with a missing eye and a white-haired companion, telling tales of all the many storms and sea monsters her crew had bested and brandishing a fearsome claymore. For the first time, you told someone of your true intentions, let your genuine excitement seep through when she mentioned there may be a vacant bunk on her ship when she next left the harbor. When you told her of your young daughter, she laughed and said that a little young blood might help to liven up the voyage. When she asked what you were so eager to get away from, you smiled and told her that you had monsters of your own.

Lina took her first unassisted steps aboard the Crux, spoke her first word; ‘sea’, due to the influence of the sailors who coddled her. You almost mourned having to leave the vessel behind by the time you docked in Inazuma, but you had come too far to let yourself be swayed so easily. You had always been the type to seek shelter, and you would not betray yourself simply because you had been betrayed.

Although you were reluctant to leave Lina in the care of another for any longer than a few hours, you trusted Beidou, and the reassurance that you would not have to leave her side again did much to soothe your nerves. Escaping Ritou without the proper documentation was child’s play, as was making your way to Inazuma City, or more specifically, the Tenshukaku – high and mighty where it sat above the rest of the city, a fortress of stone and steel painted with blushing sakura petals and violet banners. You were no spy, but you did what you could to stow yourself away inside of it, to remain unseen as you slipped into the gaps between the Shogunates’ constantly revolving patrols, as you stowed yourself away in the shadows of the Shogun’s grand hall. You waited until she had seen her guests, her commissioners, her generals, until she had sent her guards away and claimed meditation as her excuse. You waited until she summoned you, as you knew she would. You hadn't grown so bold as to think you could escape an archon's perception, but you did consider yourself fortunate that her first reaction had not been to strike you down.

“Come out, little bird,” she called, once you were the only mortal soul left in her company. You abided, stepping out from your hiding place and into the center of her hall, where she could evaluate you from her dais freely. “What an obedient assassin,” She clicked her tongue, as if just coming out of deep thought. “Tell me, did you plan to end my life from such a distance, or were you simply going to wait for me to die of old age?”

“I’m no assassin, Your Eminence,” you said, with a shallow bow. You must’ve been an unsettling sight – sea-worn and ragged, weak from your exertions but too stiff to tremble under her gaze. “I merely come to offer you my services.” You paused, raising your heel and taping it once against the matted floor. In a matter of seconds, each and every inch had been covered by a solid layer of frost – perfectly reflective and perfectly unmarred until you took a step forward, the ice splintering and creeping to either side underneath the soles of your feet. “I am well-traveled, and have found myself in possession of a great deal of knowledge concerning Snezhnayan politics and Mondstadt’s commercial trade and customs. You’ll find that I’m not lacking for insights into the ongoings of any other nation, either.”

She hummed. “And what do you ask for in return?”

“Only your protection, your trust, and your assurance that my daughter will grow up happy and safe on your islands.” You pressed your tongue into the roof of your mouth, squaring your shoulders. “All things the almighty Raiden Shogun is capable of providing, I’m sure.”

Her answer was delayed, but you caught something in her eyes – a bright flicker of curiosity, of interest. Interest, and nothing else. For that, you would be eternally thankful. You would’ve fled that very moment, if there had been.

You had grown so, so very tired of living on the whims of powerful men, after all.

It was long past time you gave a powerful goddess a try.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere scenarios #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x you #genshin imagines #yandere genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #yandere childe x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #diluc x reader #yandere diluc #yanderecore #yancore

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baeshijima · 9 months

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there’s an undeniable serenity which follows your voice. how it traverses within the room’s dome-like structure, reverberating through the surrounding space before ultimately touching the hearts and souls of those who hear your solo piece. it captivates and impassions, an underlying force woven beneath layers of harmonies forged under years of dedication holding one’s attention as they await in baited breath for the forthcoming emotions which swirl and soar at the mercy of your voice.

having never missed one of your performances to date, neuvillette believes he would know this best.

in his life, he has found there are many difficulties which arise when overseeing trials of various levels of severity — some being a life-defining case whereas others may delve into a more… menial aspect of things.

(“to bring some entertainment for once!” …is what he would usually hear in response to his unvoiced thoughts before having to reprimand a certain archon for levity in the court.)

but in spite of the blurred lines between professionalism and public entertainment, neuvillette finds himself at ease once he steps into the grand hall, finding his seat as stated on his ticket, waiting patiently as the chatters die down the moment the lights dim and the curtains draw, watching in content as vocals and instrumentals resound until the lights dim once more to signify the end of the opera.

amidst his day-to-day life, he has come to anticipate the dates which mark your performances.

ever since he first started attending, he has discovered that when sitting amongst the crowd enjoying your voice and performance, he is neither the iduex nor the chief justice of fontaine; he is simply neuvillette — a man who finds peace and respite in your presence, regardless of how near or far you may be from him.

he claps just as everyone else does, watching as you stoop into a bow on centre stage once the final note dissipates into the air where rounds of applause take over. there’s an ever-present smile stretching your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you wave to the crowd surrounding him.

neuvillette recognises this expression as one you’d wear after a performance you deem satisfactory and finds his heart fluttering at the glow in your expression. (your smile doesn’t reach your eyes if you think it is anything less, despite his internal thoughts believing otherwise.)

he remains seated as the orchestra begins to arise and gather their instruments, as the conductor steps down from their podium, as the singers line up and shuffle off stage, as you turn and take your leave in close pursuit.

he glances at the bouquet settled atop his lap. oddly enough, the colours he chose coordinate with your attire, and he cannot help but to think this is some twist of fate playing with his convictions.

no matter, he thinks to himself as he rises from his seat, the bouquet cradled within his hold. with brisk steps, he makes his way past the crowd. it’s easier once people step away the moment they identify him and opt to gawk at his presence, allowing an easy passage for a quick escape.

it is not much later when he finds himself walking down a familiar hallway, the bright lights illuminating the name plaques hanging on the dressing room doors. his feet naturally come to a stop in front of a dressing room six doors down, the words [name] [last name] neatly engraved into the stainless steel nailed to the door.

his eyes trace over your name a few times, the flowers in his hand seemingly heavier than they were mere moments prior.

perhaps this time…

neuvillette attempts to push back the lump lodged within his throat. there’s a slight trepidation which hangs overhead as he gently raises a fist to your dressing room door, one which is all-too familiar in the way he hesitates and rethinks his actions over and over when in regards to you.

he stops before his knuckles touch the door. before he knows it he falls back into his usual routine: place the bouquet in front of your dressing room door, gently knock three times, turn and walk down the hall, disappearing before you can see him loitering around and make the connection of him being the anonymous bouquet gifter after each performance.

rounding a corner, neuvillette comes to a halt. with a glance over his shoulder he watches you peek your head out the door, looking around the hall in search of who knocked. when you take note of the bouquet he left, he fights back a smile of his own when you beam and thumb at the petals as he wills himself to turn and resume his exit.

perhaps after your next performance he will finally gather the resolve to speak to you.

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rosewaterandivy · 1 month

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summary: as far as dinners go, it could’ve been worse.

pairing: e.m. x eldest harrington!reader

w.c.: 990

warnings: accidental pregnancy, attempted bribery, reader a sophomore at Yale, eddie is 20

“So, Munson,” Mr. Harrington says, voice straining at politeness, “Ever heard of condoms?”

Steve chokes on his water as his eyes cut to you. Rolling your lips between your teeth, you hold your tongue despite wanting to do the exact opposite. Eddie cautions you with a quick glance, oddly reassuring.

“I hardly think that appropriate—“

“If you’re old enough to use them, then you're old enough to discuss the consequences, isn’t that right, dear?”

And for all your mother’s effort, she merely shrugs as if to say what can you do? She takes another sip of her wine.

“Dad, you said you’d be polite.” You remind him, spearing a brussel sprout with a particular fury.

“I’m being perfectly nice,” He says icily, “I haven’t even threatened him yet.”

“C’mon,” Steve says, trying for levity. “We can be civil.”

“Of course,” Your father scoffs. “Civil. It’s civil of me to invite you into my home, to dine with the trailer trash that dared laid hands on my—“

“She’s not yours,” Eddie cuts in, a mirthless laugh propelling the words from his mouth. He’s getting impatient, the pull of his upper lip just enough to give him a slight snarl. “She’s not some pawn for you to maneuver across the board anymore, Harrington.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you, calm and collected. “Hasn’t been for some time now.”

“That is enough!” He seethes, playing right into Eddie’s hands. Smoothing down his tie which had become rumpled in his outburst, Mr. Harrington trains his eyes on Eddie with a steely resolve. “I am only going to say this once.”

Eddie sits up a bit straighter in his chair. He can see you’ve abandoned the pretense of eating, fork laid delicately across the bone china plate. Your knuckles turning white as your clutch the arms of the chair. Steve catches your attention and deploys some sibling shorthand Eddie could never quite decipher, before abandoning his seat to stand at your side.

You bite your cheek, hoping the slight pain would mitigate the tears gathering in your eyes, as your brother lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, and wait for the fallout from this dinner party disaster.

Mr. Harrington points a menacing finger at Eddie, all boardroom bravado, and carefully enunciates his words. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy.”

Harrington’s barely started his tirade and Eddie’s blood is already boiling. He tongues his canines and forces himself to stare the man down.

“From one… father to another,” He spits the word. “I will not have my grandchild to be raised by the likes of you. As a Harrington, that baby will know exactly who they are, and who they are not.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, knows he can’t let himself to get distracted right now. Eddie takes a slow breath as your father continues.

“I will not allow you to ruin everything this family has built. You can rest assured that the child will want for nothing. And if you walk away now,” He pulls a paper from his jacket pocket and slides it deftly across the polished table. “I can make it well worth your while.”

“William, you wouldn’t—“ Your mother gasps, wine glass clinking onto the table.

But oh, he would.

In fact, there was not much Mr. Harrington wouldn’t do to preserve the pristine veneer of his family name. And really, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d paid a Munson off.

It would, however, be the first time he’d attempted to bribe the wrong one.

Apparently, the apple fell farther from the tree than he’d bargained for.

“You done now, Will?” Eddie snarls, voice taunting as he rises to his full height and looms across the table. “Must think you’re real hot shit in that three piece suit to what? Try and intimidate me?” He scoffs, eye flitting to the document laid before him. “Have to say, that’s a pretty nifty sum you’ve had your boys cook up there. Too bad you bet on the wrong horse, huh?”

At this, your father’s once confident smirk slides off his face.

“See, you can raise all the hell you want. Drag me through the mud for all I care. You think I give a fuck about that?” He snorts, flicking the paper back down the table. “I know what people like you think of me, and that’s fine. I know who I am.” He pauses, watching the muscle of your dad’s jaw tighten in fury. “I may just be Al Munson’s screw up son to you, can bribe him just like we did the old man. But I think we both know who raised me.”

Eddie watches as the realization dawns on the man, how fantastically he’d miscalculated. Didn’t even have to mention his name, and already had old Harrington sweating bullets.

“I don’t know about you, but I wager there’ll be hell to pay once he finds out you’ve not only slandered his grandchild but also upset his favorite person in the world.”

His mouth, which had fallen open to launch a rebuttal, falls shut. Mr. Harrington eyes him quizzically.

“Oh, me? Nah man,” Eddie shakes his head and nods toward you, standing at the opposite end of the table. “Her.”

He sets his napkin on the table and pushes in his chair, his mama taught him manners after all. “Well Mrs. H., thanks for the swell dinner.”

Eddie’s body is already buzzing as you stride toward him and slot your fingers through his. Pulling him down the entryway, your heels click against the polished marble floor.

He pauses at the door, your mother and father still seated in the dining room as Steve grabs his keys.

“Y’know, I may not have much,” Eddie says, voice raised for them to hear. “But I’ll do right by them, William. No one can stop me.” An elegant bejeweled hand reaches for the door knob, “Though you’re welcome to keep trying.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #tw: pregnancy #wtf is this #i sure as shit don’t know!

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thedarlingdearestdead · 7 months

Text

Serious:

Summary: Inspired by that line in Ahsoka - "Would you like me to be more serious?"

Warnings: Kissing? Angst? Fighting.

Word count: 1,125

The battle had been long, even now, hours after it ended and the Republic had come out victorious, you could feel the weariness in your bones. Maybe it was because you were still so surrounded by the consequences of the war. Bodies were being transported across the hall, people treated for their injuries, generals shouting over the din trying to issue orders of evacuation.

You just sat there and watched. Sitting on the ramp which led up to your ship that had not been cleared for safe flight. Waiting for a better mechanic than yourself to come fix it. Waiting for someone to help. You would have loved to just leave. Go back to the Jedi temple, back to the gardens, the library, The idea of sleeping and meditating, once so boring to you, seemed like a rescue after such trying days as these.

One of those loud Generals in particular caught your attention. Maybe it was because of his excessive volume or lightness of voice. Either way your eyes met the back of his head in a glare. Anakin Skywalker. He was engrossed in a heated discussion with Captain Rex, the leader of the 501st Legion.

You knew that Anakin had been through a lot during this battle. His skills as a pilot and a warrior were unmatched, but he had a tendency to take risks that left him and those around him in dangerous situations. It was one of the qualities that made him a formidable warrior but also a source of concern for the Jedi Council. His behaviour didn’t make him any less of a liability.

He was laughing. Men were being dragged across the room by their feet for lack of stretchers and he was laughing.

As you watched, Anakin suddenly turned, his eyes locking onto yours like he felt your glare. There was a flicker of recognition in his blue eyes, and he made his way towards you, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous hangar.

“Master L/N”

"Anakin," you responded coolly, not bothering to hide your disapproval at his behaviour.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his tone challenging, eyebrows raised.

You scoffed. “Evidently not, indeed it seems the war has not dimmed your spirit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Levity is one thing, Anakin," you said sharply. "But this is not a time for jokes. Lives have been lost-“

“I know that.” He says sternly.

“Do you? It seems you couldn’t care less.”

“You want me to be more serious?”

“Yes”

"I care about the lives lost, L/N. You know that. But what good does it do to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves? We won this battle, and we need to start planning for the next one. Who are you helping? Sitting there, staring out into space- it’s miserable. It’s pathetic.”

“I’ll take that over callous.”

“Is that what you think of me?”

You sighed, feeling a sense of deep exhaustion wash over you. It was true that you were tired, physically and emotionally, but you refused to let your guard down around Anakin. His impulsiveness and lack of regard for consequences had caused trouble more times than you could count. You were grateful for his skills, but that didn't mean you had to approve of his attitude.

“I don’t know what I think of you.”

Your words hung in the air, the tension rising between the two of you. Anakin's expression was stony, his jaw set in a hard line. For a moment, it seemed like he might lash out at you, but then he sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped.

“Force, Y/N. Sometimes I just want to…”

You watched him for a moment, seeing something in his eyes that you couldn't quite place.

"Want to what, Anakin?" You prompted. He’s silent for a beat too long, studying you unnervingly. "You're not injured, are you?” You ask.

“No. Apologies Master L/N. For everything- my behaviour.”

You regarded Anakin with a mixture of surprise and concern. It wasn't often that you heard him apologise, especially not for something as ingrained in his character as his irreverent sense of humour and his tendency to shrug off any responsibilities.

“Please, allow me to take you to an alternative transport. Yours is… Smoking.”

He had a point and you didn’t really know how to refuse him, or respond in any other way than to follow him out of the hangar. The eyes of all remaining clones and junior Jedi following the two of you out.

The noise and chaos began to fade away until you were quite alone. That’s when he paused.

Anakin turned to face you, his expression unreadable. You couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up your spine. It was rare to see him so serious, so contemplative. You had seen him in battle, watched as he faced down countless enemy soldiers with a fierce determination in his eyes, but this was different. This was something else entirely.

“You know, I can be very serious when I need to be.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unable to decipher the meaning behind his words. Anakin had always been a puzzle to you, his emotions running deep and his thoughts often shrouded in mystery. You had learned to keep your distance, to stay professional and focused in his presence.

“I’m sure you can be, Anakin,” you said, keeping your tone neutral.

He took a step closer to you, his eyes searching your face.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I don't know what to believe," you admitted, feeling a sense of vulnerability that you rarely allowed yourself to feel. Anakin had a way of getting under your skin, of making you feel things that you didn't want to feel.

Anakin stepped closer to you, his face set in a serious expression. “Let me show you what I’m made of.”

Before you could respond, Anakin leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. You were taken aback by the suddenness of the kiss but found yourself unable to pull away. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and you felt a surge of desire rush through you.

As the kiss deepened, you felt yourself succumbing to the heat between you. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him. The smell of smoke and burnt metal filled your nostrils, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the feel of Anakin's body pressed against yours, the taste of his lips on yours.

But just as quickly as the kiss had started, it ended. Anakin pulled away, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, for once you had nothing to say to him. He smirked.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #clone wars #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfiction #star wars prequels #star wars fandom #star wars #darth vader #tcw #ahsoka

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turtleblogatlast · 11 months

Note

Leo: *keeps sacrificing himself and getting hurt*

His family: YOU'RE HURT!!!!!

Leo, seeing they're safe: Tis but a scratch! :)

(I cannot stop thinking of Leo brushing off his injuries like the black knight from Monty Python and the holy grail. He'd do anything for them and anything to assure them that all is fine even though that is not the case. He'll keep doing it, though. Mikey may be many doctors, but Leo is Dr. Hope.)

[ cw: injury mention / self sacrifice mention / ]

I keep missing asks I am so sorry 😭😭

YEAH I imagine Leo as like

The type who is super dramatic over the smallest of injuries, but if he’s actually hurt, it’s all “well what can you do lol” especially after the invasion because he’s already known much worse and barely even made a sound during that.

#non au ask #injury mention /#self sacrifice /#hot take I’m gonna throw into the wind here #but I think each and every iteration of Leo actively tries to be the person they think best fits their team #they each share a pool of traits but lean into different ones more depending on what their respective team needs #most often copying what their idol does as a childish assumption that that’s the best way to go about things #and I love it #so here’s rise leo who portrays the levity and confidence of lou jitsu that he only halfway believes but desperately holds onto #until it crashes down #and so he gets a new idol #his future self - who sacrificed himself to save the past #karai as well #someone he couldn’t save but saved everyone through the loss of her own life #and Leo follows these footsteps eagerly #and it’s only a matter of time before this trait as well is leaned on too hard #and everything burns again #whoops too many tags lol :)#SIDE NOTE BUT TO ADD ON TO THAT DR HOPE STATEMENT #I actually think it’s really cute that Mikey and Leo are the Optimists of the bros #epitome of ‘let’s just vibe’

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sirfrogsworth · 3 months

Text

Today in, "Conservatives keep making me side with Disney"...

So, Gina Carano is suing Disney. And Elon Musk is paying for her lawyers. And they released the complaint document.

It's... a doozy.

I can't decide if her lawyers are not taking this seriously at all or if they are taking it super duper extra seriously.

Like, that's a real thing that a lawyer wrote.

As you know, judges are famous for enjoying levity in official court documents. I think in law school you are encouraged to add comedy bits. True facts.

Gina wants money for emotional damages. But she also wants to be rehired, which sounds like another funny comedy bit. They scrapped an entire show because of her nonsense.

Most are saying this will get thrown out with haste due to the fact that Gina wasn't actually fired. She had already done her contracted work. Disney decided not to hire her for any *new* work. So I guess she wants them to honor an imaginary contract that was in her head.

The entire document is just as ridiculous as the opening crawl. It starts out by listing Gina's show biz bona fides. Her myriad accomplishments in Hollywood were listed one by one in a section titled...

Well, I'm intrigued.

Let's take a look at this illustrious career, according to this document.

"Carano is the first-ever female star in mixed martial arts cage fighting to successfully transition to a career in movies, breaking down substantial barriers for women in the sport."

Off to an interesting start.

All the cage fighting gals can act in movies now and they all have Gina to thank for barrier busting.

"Carano received roles in Hollywood and independent film productions such as Haywire, Fast & Furious 6, Heist, Deadpool, Almost Human, Extraction, Daughter of the Wolf, and Madness in the Method."

I've heard of several of those things! And I think I almost remember her in Deadpool! Very impressive.

Oh wait, they're not done...

"On May 13, 2008, “Gina Carano” was the fastest rising search on Google and third most searched person on Yahoo! while being ranked no. 5 on Yahoo!’s “Top Ten Influential Women of 2008” list."

In 2008 she was popular on Yahoo for a bit. Got it.

Has she won any awards?

"In 2012, Carano was the first recipient of the ActionFest Film Festival’s Chuck Norris Award for Best Female Action Star.

In 2017, Carano received the Artemis Action Warrior Award.

In 2019, Carano received The Rising Star award at Ischia Film Festival."

Very prestigious. I'm sure Chuck Norris has a lovely basement where that ceremony was almost certainly held.

You know what, why don't we just skip to The Mandalorian?

"Although her character instantly became one of the most recognized and popular characters in the series..."

Gina, no... that was the little green puppet.

You were the one who couldn't act very well but you made up for it by punching things good.

"Carano was again instrumental in the success of Season 2 of The Mandalorian."

Nope, still the puppet.

End of "accomplishments."

The next section is titled

For some reason they left out "bigoted" before speech. Weird.

In most of it, it legit sounds like they are making a case *against* her. They show that everyone at Disney and Lucasfilm tried very hard to give her chance after chance. They did everything but point blank tell her, "Either learn and relieve yourself of this ignorance or stop posting shit online."

She totally had the option to keep her shitty views to herself and shut the heck up for the duration and enjoy the money and success a Star Wars show can bring. It's like swatting away a lottery ticket.

I'm all for free speech. And if the government tried to arrest her for saying dumb shit, I'd be against that. But that freedom to speak does not mean there are never consequences. People are also free to not like what you have to say.

The entire last section of the document is just tweets that Gina screencapped. Like, her lawyers didn't even redo them so they had consistent formatting or pixel dimensions. They were literally just off Gina's phone.

She thought she was collecting receipts but it was mostly just her co-stars standing up for marginalized groups.

Based Pedro Pascal posted this...

And the document commented...

"Pascal was not disciplined, required to review documentaries on any of these topics or speak to individuals with contrary points of view, or pressured to apologize for any of his posts. His employment was not terminated, and Defendants made no public statements about his social media posts, much less refer to them as “abhorrent.”"

Yes, why wasn't Pedro forced to listen to MAGA dipshits tell him why they hate his sister? Why wasn't he told to watch a Dinesh D'Souza documentary? Why wasn't he told to apologize for posting cool ass muppet memes?

The most telling part of the document for me... the part that really showed her ignorance... was when she compared one of her tweets to one of Carl Weathers'.

First, her infamous tweet comparing the holocaust to conservatives being moderated on social media for spreading misinformation...

And then Carl posted this in response to conservatives banning books...

And the document says...

"Even Carano’s male co-star, the late Carl Weathers posted the exact same message, but no action was taken against him. Nor was Weathers accused by Defendants of denigrating people based on their cultural and religious identity."

THE EXACT SAME MESSAGE

THE. EXACT. SAME. MESSAGE.

#gina carano #holocaust mention #antisemitism #long post

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deputyrook · 6 months

Text

Impressions- 1/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

(Repost after I accidentally deleted my tumblr 😭)

Kerry, an old friend of yours, knows that you have a gift for clairvoyance. When she reaches another dead end in the search for Jigsaw, she brings you into the station in a moment of desperation.

Unfortunately, it's not just the two of you who are present for your revelations.

Word count: 3498

Set after Saw II. Inspired in part by this gifset. I have no plan for this, I just started writing for fun, and suddenly I had 3000 words down.

WARNINGS: Blackmail, power imbalance, abusive dynamics, overt threatening, reader is deeply afraid, general Saw-levels of horror.

“Pretty sure having civilians in here is against the rules,” Detective Mark Hoffman remarks to his colleagues as he enters the precinct room, “…and having them play with the evidence definitely is.”

Rigg looks up toward the voice, as do you, but Allison Kerry doesn’t. Her eyes are trained on the piece of evidence that you hold in gloved hands, a small and rusted lock.

Spread out on the desk in front of you are a variety of grisly photographs- from crime scenes and autopsies, all related to the now infamous Jigsaw killer- and a few pieces of physical evidence. It turns your stomach just to see them, but you swallow your discomfort and try not to show on your face how upsetting you find it.

“Take it up with the Chief. He approved this, as long as it never gets out to the public,” Kerry responds with a scowl.

Nobody is happy you’re here. Least of all you. Rigg is the one to finally say it to Hoffman, with an air of forced levity- “Kerry’s got a psychic friend.”

That makes you wince, and Detective Hoffman’s reaction- a slight raise of his eyebrow, and an audible scoff- makes you all the more embarrassed to be here.

“Well, I gotta see this. Aren’t you going to introduce me?” He asks Kerry, walking over and pulling up a seat to the table that you’re all sitting around. He sets his cup of coffee down on the table, right beside some horrific metal contraption, and looks you over skeptically.

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” Kerry snaps, her voice raising in irritation. She finally looks over at Hoffman, shooting him a glare. “She’s been right about things before, and Eric’s been missing for months. You have another lead, you let me know.” Having defended herself, and by extension you, Kerry runs a hand through her hair and sighs.

After a pause, she tells Hoffman your name, and then adds, “We’ve been friends since college.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say with a strained smile. He nods in response, but he’s smirking, like he finds the entire thing ridiculous. To be fair, it is.

“Listen, I don’t… normally do this kind of thing, I swear,” you say to the table of detectives, who all watch you in anticipation. You feel like you’re on a stage, and it makes you worry they can see you start to sweat. You feel the need to defend yourself further, and prove you're not insane (or worse, an idiot). “This isn’t my job. I don’t charge money to do this or anything. I’m only here because Allison asked me.”

“Well then, work your magic,” Hoffman says, taking a sip of his coffee, “Rigg, you willing to put money on this?”

“Let me guess, you’re betting against?” Rigg shoots back, and Hoffman gestures as if to say, obviously.

Ignoring the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks, you close your eyes.

“I can’t promise anything,” you mumble, but even as you speak you’re starting to get impressions. Those strange feelings and impulses that beat against your intuition like a war drum.

Turning over the lock in your hands, you feel a sudden sharp pain in your left eye- you drop the lock, cringing, and gingerly reach up to touch your eye, feeling the bone of the socket under the skin.

“I haven’t told her a thing about the investigation, by the way,” Kerry says, and you detect a note of pride, or perhaps vindication, in her tone.

“Something was… here. Cold and heavy, like a lodged bullet.” You point to your eye. The table is silent now. You could hear a pin drop now, each detective’s rapt attention singularly on you. You get the feeling of something on your face, hard and suffocating. And then, the impression of cold- the long winter, wind whistling through trees, and still snow. The forest, the river, the empty lake.

Death.

“This was- whoever was associated with this didn’t make it out alive.” You open your eyes and pick up the autopsy photos, scanning through them until you find one that fits. A sheet covers the head, but you know what’s underneath. You still feel the echo of the mask on your face. Quietly, you pick it up, and then set it back down.

“Some of the details leaked. Lucky guess. Tell us somethin’ about John Kramer or his assistant.” Hoffman says, and you see him shuffle in his seat. His demeanour has changed, going serious. Keyed into your intuition as you are, something spikes a signal of danger through the back of your mind.

Not all that unusual for the cops you’ve met, though.

For several minutes, you get nothing but flutters of feeling and pain. Your foot goes numb, prickles like pins and needles; your body feels warm, like it’s being baked under the sun. Each sensation comes and goes just as quickly. You take the strange metal contraption in your hands, feeling the weight of it in your grasp, and close your eyes again, trying to stifle the feeling of panic that rises within you.

And then slowly, it comes to you. A vision of a chessboard, with multiple pieces, moving too fast for you to follow. It hurts your head to try. Finally, you speak again.

“I think… there’s more than just one. There’s the King. The Bishop. The Rook. The Knight- there’s at least… five? No, four. No wait, there’s a Queen, but is she aware of the play, or just a pawn promoted? And who is he? Is he real, or an imitation?” Your words are coming too fast for you to censor, spilling out so quickly that you trip over them.

“Are you saying there are… a team of Jigsaw killers?” Rigg asks dubiously. You nod.

“I think so. It’s all jumbled, it’s… a thousand strings weaved into patterns that I can’t follow. There are plans laid on top of plans, curled into schemes and plots. The King’s Crown is tainted with a rot, it drips down his forehead, it hurries his hands. It guides their every act.”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know where they are. I just feel her desperation- the Bishop. It’s like a fucking- it’s a torrent. She needs him, because she hurts, and she doesn’t know what care is like if it doesn’t hurt. God, and there’s so much hurt. It’s- it’s endless, it’s all pain. It's all pain.”

“She’s not making any sense-” Rigg mutters.

“Eric Matthews. Where is Eric Matthews,” Kerry’s voice cuts through, bringing its own hailstorm of impressions to you- regret, remorse, desire, annoyance, desperation and guilt, heavy like a stone. Suddenly, you’re struck by the image of Kerry as an angel. You shake it off, confused.

“Ah… cold. It’s cold. He’s inside the Earth. Buried below ground, somewhere deep and dark. Poor Matthews. God. It’s so cold,” you can’t help but shudder, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. It seems so lonely.

Kerry is silent. It’s obvious she would have preferred something more optimistic.

“Anything else?” She asks finally.

“Yeah there’s… there’s something…” you bite your lip, and grimace. There’s a feeling there, distant and only a flicker, but it seems really, really important.

“I can’t quite figure it out, it’s like… it’s like a mirror. What is it? What are you saying?” You sigh, trying to understand. A feeling of rage slips through you. Horrible, sickly loss and rage. A heady sadism, the feeling of power. A feeling of voyeurism- of enjoying it.

You receive a flash of an image, a large figure, in a pig mask. That image is pretty fucking clear, but there’s something about it that you’re just not getting, that seems like it should be really, really obvious to you. You chase the feeling through the corners of your mind, like a dream you can’t quite remember.

The image of the pig’s mask turns to a theatre mask, and then to a blank void. It swirls and laughs at you, mocking.

“There’s something I’m not seeing with him. The brutal one, the Rook. It’s like... he’s been tied up and pulled into this by a wire. The King uses it to move him, but what started in reluctance has become...something else. Something sick,” you mumble. Ironically, with the face a blank and swirling void, the impression becomes stronger.

You feel obsession, the kind that eats away at a soul. They all have it, but this is like a slow burn, a chemical fire in his heart that erupts and spills out. He enjoys it.

And suddenly, it’s like he’s right there. Close, close, it’s so strong and burning so clear because he’s right in front of-

Your eyes snap open, and you’re staring at Detective Mark Hoffman, whose eyes drill into yours.

Without a doubt, with one hundred percent, absolute certainty, you know that he is one of the Jigsaw killers.

“Uh,” you tear your gaze from his, and look at Kerry. The prickle of danger is alighting every nerve in your body, and quickly, you’re starting to panic. You laugh nervously. “Sorry, I don’t know what that was. I don’t have anything else. I should go.” Abruptly, you stand. You need to get the fuck out of this room, where Jigsaw is sitting just feet you-

“Hold on.” Hoffman’s voice freezes you. He rests a hand on your arm, and like a frightened rabbit, you jump. “You alright? That was a lot. You sure you didn’t get anything else?”

“What, are you a believer now?” Rigg asks him. He too looks a bit shaken, but frowns. “Sorry, but we didn’t learn anything from that. I could have told you Eric’s dead. The rest was a mess.”

You incline your head in an apology, feeling your hands start to shake. “I didn’t get anything else. No identities of the accomplices, or anything like that,” Fuck. Fuck, you need to stop talking. When you say the word accomplice, Hoffman’s grip tightens on your arm.

His eyes meet yours, and you feel your breath catch. You think you’re going to be sick.

“You did good,” Kerry says, though she sounds disappointed. She looks over her notepad. “We got a lot of information that’ll be helpful to keep in mind as we investigate. And who knows, maybe more will come to you later.”

“Yeah, maybe,” You say. Suddenly, another wave of pain and dizziness crashes over you, so overpowering that your vision swims. You’re falling, spinning, and then you’re caught in a warm embrace. Sturdy arms are holding you, keeping you from collapsing to the ground.

You open your eyes to see the killer holding you, peering down at you. Expressionless.

Somehow, it feels comforting, even knowing what you know. Somehow, it feels protective.

Lies upon lies.

“Hey, I’m headed out anyway. I can drive you home,” Hoffman says gently, and your eyes widen. Wee oo, wee oo! DANGER!

“Oh, no, I’m okay, really,” You mumble, but as you try to stand and extricate yourself from Hoffman’s grip, he just holds tighter. He smiles in a way where you can sense the snarl, just below the surface.

“Shh. It’s alright. Don’t worry about it,” He says, quiet and forceful, right beside your ear. You catch Rigg rolling his eyes.

“Really Mark?” He mutters. You shift in the embrace again, attempting to stand upright. This time, he lets you go, but keeps a hand on you. To the others you’re sure it looks like a helping hand to steady you. To you, it seems like a threat.

But what can you do? If you scream out that holy fuck, he’s a Jigsaw accomplice, Kerry might believe you and no one else will. You don’t know what Hoffman might do under pressure, but you’re certain that the word of a crackpot psychic wouldn’t be enough to put him behind bars. Not without some kind of proof. And without that, your safety would very much be in danger. More than it already is.

You could adamantly refuse his ride, but then he would definitely know that you know. And again, that puts you in a very dangerous position.

Maybe you could play it off as though you didn’t see or know anything? What choice did you have? Kerry had accidentally fucked you by asking you to come in and do your best.

“Are you okay?” She asks, concerned. She looks from you, to Hoffman. “I have to stay at the office a bit longer, but I’ll catch up with you after. I promise, Mark’s a good guy, even if he looks scary and gets on my nerves. He’ll get you home safe.”

You muster up a smile. Kerry and Rigg know you’re leaving with him. He can’t do anything.

“S-sure. A ride home would be great, then. If it’s not too much trouble.” Your smile wobbles under the intensity of Hoffman’s stare. You feel like a mouse, being cornered by a hawk. Finally, he lets go of you, only to put his hand on the small of your back.

“Steady now,” he says, "It's no trouble." You nod.

“Thanks. Sorry again I couldn’t be of more help,” you shoot Kerry an apologetic smile, and are ushered out of the room by Detective Hoffman.

He leads you out of the precinct, keeping his hand on your back as he does. All the while, your stomach churns in anxiety. Down the corridors, and around countless bends and offices, you're lead down the stairs and eventually reach the door outside.

He stays right beside you all the way out to his car, close enough that you can hear him breathing. By now, it’s dark out, a quarter past nine in the evening. Kerry had asked you to come late, so that if anyone was watching the precinct, you wouldn’t draw any attention- jokes on her, you supposed.

Hoffman opens the car door for you- what a gentleman- and closes it behind you with a heavy thud. It feels like the closing of a coffin door.

A coffin. Another flash, of a coffin filled with glass. Blood, everywhere blood.

“Never believed in psychics before,” Hoffman says to you. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat when you open your eyes. You hadn’t heard him enter the car.

“That’s what Kerry said, the first time I told her,” you murmured. You glance around the vehicle. The doors are locked from the inside, and you don’t know how to open them.

“What’d you see this time?” Hoffman asks as he starts up the car.

“Uh, I don’t know. It was all blurry,” You reply. If you’re going to try to convince him you’re a shit psychic, you’d better start now.

“Uh-huh,” he replies as he pulls out of the parking lot, “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You swallow nervously, your heart starting to beat wildly in your chest.

“I haven’t told you where I live,” you mention, trying to keep your voice light.

“Let’s go for a drive,” Hoffman answers coldly.

Oh, you’re so fucked.

You close your eyes, searching your intuition and trying to calm your breathing. The damn ‘gift’ has never been much help to you, but if it could get you out of this situation, you would pray to Cassandra every night for the rest of your life in thanks.

“Don’t bother lying any more.” At first, you think it’s your intuition saying that. After a second, you realize it was Detective Hoffman. “You said enough that I know you’re for real. So what’d you see?”

You glance out the window. He’s taking you out of the downtown core, away from the busy streets and traffic lights and out toward the highway. Swallowing nervously, you reply, “A glass coffin. A lot of blood. I don’t know if it’s something that’s happened or is going to happen. It’s never really clear- that’s true.”

And I’m sorry about your sister, a voice inside you whispers surreptitiously. You bite your tongue before you say it out loud.

“How often you get that?” He asks.

“It depends. After a session like today, I’ll get waves of it for a while. And then it’ll ebb. But it always comes back.” A migraine is starting to bloom between your eyes, but you know it’s the least of your problems tonight.

His grip tightens on the steering wheel. Strangely, for a moment, he seems nervous. “Can you... can you talk to the dead?”

You shake your head. “No. Sorry. I wish I could.”

He drives silently for a while. For a weird moment, it almost seems peaceful. He drives on the highway, and then exits onto an off ramp, into an industrial district. Hoffman drives in silence with you for the better part of half an hour. Then, finally, he pulls off beside an old mill of some kind, one that looks like it shut down years ago.

There is not a soul around. If you were to start screaming now, at the top of your lungs, you doubt anyone would hear you. Hoffman unbuckles his seat belt, and turns to face you.

“Are you going to murder me?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Now why would I do that?” There’s a note of false concern in his voice, which is offset by the smug smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. He wants you to say it out loud.

Right now, you’re feeling helpless.

“Alright. Alright. Yes, I think- I don’t know what I saw. Maybe it was you, maybe it was someone else. Bringing me out here instead of home isn’t a good look for you, you know,” you ramble nervously. He watches you.

“You think I’m the accomplice," he confirms, "Explains why you were so jumpy after,” Hoffman leans across the middle console, and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. It would feel intimate, if it wasn’t overtly threatening.

“Which brings me back to my question. Did you bring me out here to kill me?,” you size up the windows as you speak, wondering if you could break them, if you had to. Can you roll them down? Nope, locked too, just like the door.

“You’re the psychic.” He replies, before he says, “I’ve still got questions that you might be able to help me with. You’re too useful. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I won’t lie to you, so don’t lie to me, either,” you snap back at him. He actually laughs at that, incredulous.

“You’re really something,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Listen. Your... theories. You tell them to me, and only me. You don’t tell Kerry, you don’t tell Rigg. You wouldn’t want to put them in danger, would you? No one would believe you anyway, but let’s not take any chances.” Hoffman leans into your space again, using his size to intimidate you. He’s only inches from you, caging you entirely back against the passenger side car door.

You nod your head in acquiescence. He hums in approval.

“Good. You tell Kerry about your theories, and it doesn’t end well for anyone, get it? Can you 'sense' that?”

And you can. You know he will kill you if he has to. He’ll kill you, Kerry, your family, anyone that gets in his way or threatens his cover. You get the horrible, hopeless sense that nothing would be able to stop him if he wanted you dead.

“Give me your phone.” You pass him your flip phone, still feeling dizzy with adrenaline and a pulse of relief- that he’s not going to kill you. At least not tonight. Probably.

After a few moments, he passes your phone back to you, leaning back into your space. A contact has been added under the name Mark.

“Now I wanna hear you say it. You’re not going to tell anyone else.,” pressed back against the car door, you almost feel like you can’t breathe, but you nod quickly. Sickeningly, your face is flushed from the proximity.

“I won’t tell anyone else what I see about the Jigsaw murders. Just you,” you breathe, and he nods, touching your neck for a brief moment before he lets go and leans back, sitting back in the driver’s seat and looking you over.

“Before I take you home. Is there anything else you picked up that you haven’t told me about?”

“Mostly just feelings. Power, rage, loss, pain. Things like that. The, um, pig mask,” you pause, floundering, worried that continuing will piss him off. But he catches it- of course he does- and raises an eyebrow.

“And?”

“And I’m- I’m sorry about your sister.”

He sits back like you’ve knocked the breath out of him. He looks truly stunned, staring at you with his mouth slightly agape. You quickly add, “I don’t know anything about what happened. Just uh, just that sentence. And the feeling of... of a crushing loss.”

“Right,” he shakes his head, starting the car back up. He nods to himself, like he’s still processing what you’ve said. “Fuckin'... wow."

"Yeah, the intuition doesn't pull any punches," You mumble in return. He glances at you in surprise, and you quietly curse your inability to shut the fuck up.

Reluctantly, you give him your address, and he starts to drive back to the city. Within another half an hour, you’re pulling into the driveway of your apartment building, anxious to be out of the car and into your home.

“Now I know where you live. Got it?” He murmurs. You nod again, mutely. As you exit the car, Mark stops you.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says, before you scamper into your building.

NEXT CHAPTER

#im so sorry for putting this in the tags again #mark hoffman #slasher fic #saw franchise #slasher x reader #saw movies #sawposting #costas mandylor #detective hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #mark hoffman x oc #my writing

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butterflydm · 4 months

Text

More s3 hints from interviews (day 2 & Josha!)

@markantonys linked me to a masterthread of More Interviews (twitter.com/GradeKangusBeef/status/1736788980006330448), which I have scoured for more s3 hints, lol. The twitter thread is being updated as they appear, so I definitely recommend the thread as a whole.

From a screenrant interview with Zoë:

Are there any future events or character moments from the books that you know about that you’re excited to get into?

Zoë Robins: Yes, definitely. I’m going to have to tread very carefully, but there’s a moment in season three that I think Wheel of Time book readers will be very, very happy about. It was incredibly exciting to shoot. I think that’s all I can say.

Guessing this will be the Nynaeve-Moghedien confrontation! The word 'exciting' makes me lean that way -- though we may get other key scenes from the books like Lan giving her his ring, not sure that would count as 'incredibly exciting to shoot' and would more likely be described as tender or sweet.

From one with Daniel:

One thing that is less present in the show so far compared to the books is Lan being kind of a mentor figure for Rand. Is there a chance we’ll get a little more of that as the show progresses?

Daniel Henney: I would say that I personally would not bet against it. I'm being shipped off in two months to a place very far away to shoot some really incredible stuff where I have to be in very good shape. I'm eating tree leaves and protein shakes, and I'm in a double training schedule right now, which could include some of the stuff you're talking about.

Another hint that we'll be getting Lan training Rand next season.

From a Dónal one from screenrant; this isn't about s3 but it's sweet:

Dónal Finn: It's great. I love the character very much for that reason. It’s a very human experience that when you're watching, you can go, “I can identify with that, because that person is trying to use levity and humor and lightness to make ease of someone else's difficult situation.” Even though it often can feel like he's kind of punching up or trying to jeer at Rand or something, he knows that it comes from a place of, like, “God, there's so much hard stuff going on for Rand in every day of his life that he needs somebody to do that.” Otherwise, when we meet him in Cairhien, if he doesn't have that—if he doesn't have Mat at that place—he may not laugh, and that's just really crap for your best friend.

I love this point here. I don't think I even realized how miserable as a baseline Rand was this season until we got that contrast of his reunion with Mat. We may be getting that dynamic continuing into s3.

Kate Fleetwood with dragonmount:

KF: Lots of things happen in Season Three... yeah… they sat me down and were like, “This is what we are planning for you in Season Three.” I was, whoaa! Ok…

Very vague, but interesting! I wonder if Liandrin will be a tug-of-rope between Moghedien and Lanfear next season, because Lanfear snagged her from Ishamael but Moggy might snag her from Lanfear.

The tiniest of s3 hints from Ayoola:

AS: A combination of things, I think like, it’s the writers and it is Naomi, my dialect coach, and I kind of spoke about that, it is that humor that the Aiel have that's kind of, can catch you off guard and isn't necessarily funny to everyone but they find it amusing… just where that hits I think and just kind of the situations and we're able to play with that and bring that in. Also, Aviendha is kind of a little bit more cheeky than some of the other Aiel that we will encounter and kind of her humor is very much part of who she is. Just kind of playing around with that, and it just, it just came out and felt right.

We're gonna meet some serious Aiel in s3. Not a surprise, but good to hear!

Madeleine talked to decider.com:

So far what we know about next season is it’s going to be hugely inspired by The Shadow Rising. We’re going to see Rhuidean and Tel’aran’rhiod. Egwene is now coming out of being a damane. You know, is there anything about her experience with the Seanchan that might influence how she handles, say, another hard, foreign culture like the Aiel? Absolutely. Look, I think even from Season 1, we see that Egwene’s truly been a novice of the world and is fascinated with what is out there and what other people can teach her and what other cultures can teach her. I think she’s sort of taken little bits of the Two Rivers, the White Tower, the Seanchan… And, you know, she goes on this journey to the Aiel Waste and ultimately will, no doubt, learn a lot there as well. So I think she’s just like a big sponge for the world and wants to learn.

Confirmation that Egwene is going to the Aiel Waste, which makes sense, given that's her TSR plotline. Also, Egwene as a big sponge for the world and constantly learning is just... absolute 100% Egwene.

Josha talked to looper.com:

For Rand, Season 2 was about finding himself and realizing that he can't run away from it. He needs to do it with the people he loves. Season 3 is finally time for facing what he has to face. He's owning that prophecy more, and we see glimpses of why Rand is the Dragon Reborn and why he'll end up where he needs to end up. As that evolution's taking place, what do you do to get into character as this character is evolving? I'm very lucky that I have 14 books, which I have read, and that has given me a lot. I really understand Rand, and it's a lot of things. It's the conversations I have with Rafe [Judkins], the directors, and the writers. It's playing with all these amazing actors. It's the sets. Everything feels so real, and at the end of Season 3, we go to South Africa for two months, and being in that environment, all those things added up together, that helps you to get into the character.

Very exciting! We know that South Africa is Rhuidean, I believe, so very exciting to hear.

Also, Season 3, that keeps on going, and that is a very interesting area to explore because Lanfear is the Devil, and you can't love the Devil. It feels at times that Lanfear is the only one that really understands Rand, and because Rand is often very lonely in what he feels and sees, it seems like, at times, he can't express it to anyone else, and she's exactly what he needs — but she's the devil. That was very interesting for us to explore, and I secretly hope that Rand and Lanfear marry, but I don't think that will happen.

lol @ Josha. Anyway, yes, they're going to be exploring Lanfear trying to tempt/manipulate Rand more in s3, sounds like, so she isn't going to pay attention to Moghedien's warning for too long.

Again, without spoilers, what's next for Rand and the Emond's Field Five heading into Season 3? What can we expect? That's a good question. What can you expect for Season 3 without getting into spoilers? Well, they're together again. There is way more togetherness than in Season 2. That's exciting. It is fun to follow all of you guys, but there's a lot more momentum when you're all together. That's also quite hard for them, because these main characters all need to become something eventually. Because they are so close, it also creates some inner conflict. Rand, for example — if someone has been to your first birthday parties, it is very hard to become the most powerful channeler in the world and also the most dangerous man in the world, because they know your parents and they know who you were. That is one of the struggles they're facing now that they're together at the start of Season 3.

I would like to paste that last sentence from his first answer directly into the brains of everyone at reddit who believes that s3 is going to start with everyone all split up into separate plotlines and we're not going to get any group interactions.

Great answers from Josha in this one!

Screenrant also talked to him:

How do you interpret Rand’s relationship with Egwene in season 2? It’s romantic in the first season; do you feel like there’s a thread of that still there?

Josha Stradowski: I think a thread of that romantic relationship is definitely still there, because it gives this feeling of home for the both of them. They have been to each other's birthday parties. I think that is, on a human level, very [much] what they both need. But I think it also might transition to something else; more like a brother/sister kind of love. But that’s season three, maybe.

I'm really glad they asked him about Egwene!

Rand only reunites with his friends from the Two Rivers at the end of the season, and we haven’t seen how they are around him [after] knowing that he’s the Dragon yet. Can you say anything about what that dynamic is for season 3? Are they afraid of him?

Josha Stradowski: I think for all the main characters, they get what they need, and that is each other, but for all of them comes the internal conflict that they also feel like they need to become something else. It's like this growing pain, and I think Rand has that quite a lot. I feel like he wants to be there for his friends, he knows that he needs to be there for them to protect them, and the other way around as well, but he also needs to become the most dangerous men alive. How can you do that with someone that knows your dad, or the girl who kissed you for the first time? I don't know if that's Egwene, but in my head it is. So, I feel like they all struggle with this growing pain, but you see why they are friends, and you see why they are together; why they are the main characters of this story.

More that implies that we're going to be seeing EF5 interactions before they split up.

Collider also talked to him:

I've been reading the books, as well, and I think that's one of the sadder parts of Rand's journey, as you see how he's viewed through other characters, and the sadness of them reconciling their memories of him with the person that he now is kind of forced to become. Speaking of love relationships, though, I talked to Ceara and Rafe about Rand and Elayne's first meeting. What was important to capture in hinting at what this relationship is going to be, as well as the surprise of that connection? It feels like these are two people looking at each other for the first time and thinking, “You're going to be someone special.” STRADOWSKI: Yes. And that's what I take away, quite often, from the books as well. I have that with Selene, for example. There are a lot of moments where Rand can't get a word out of his mouth because he's so in shock at the beauty of this woman in front of him — and we didn't really have that with Selene, not like that in the TV show, but we did have it for Elayne. It's, like you said, a hint of what it could be, but I feel like it's subtle. It's a gradual thing which needs to be organic, and we might have some of that in Season 3, but I can't spoil that.

He talks a lot more openly about Selene/Lanfear in general -- which makes sense, because that's the relationship that was on the screen in front of us, while the Elayne relationship is gonna have a lot more spoilers involved -- but we get this hint here and I like hearing that the plan for Rand & Elayne is to be gradual and organic (which will be a big contrast to how the Rand/'Selene' relationship was introduced).

I will point out that Josha seems pretty careful overall about spoilers, mostly talking about things pretty vaguely and with ambiguity, so it feels like part of why he's talking about Lanfear so much is because she's one of the few things he's allowed to openly talk about at this point.

Lan training Rand is something that I think fans are excited to see, so I'll ask you the same question that I asked Daniel: can we look forward to that in Season 3? STRADOWSKI: What did Daniel say? He said he's back on the Warder diet, but then he also referenced your recent Instagram post and said that he needs to trim up to stand next to you. STRADOWSKI: Well, you can tell him I'm on the Dragon diet. Like you said, I'm also very excited to finally see some Lan/Rand swordfighting. I think it's time.

It cracks me up that Josha feels out how much Daniel might have spoiled before he says anything.

#wot s3 speculation #wot speculation #wot #wheel of time #wot on prime #wot s2 spoilers #wot 2x8 spoilers #wot book spoilers #the fires of heaven #we're supposed to get more interviews dropped tomorrow i think #but i am also leaving to go visit family for the holidays tomorrow #so i may or may not be able to look through them #depending on when they get released

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