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vifilms · 2 days ago

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tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it.

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand.

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before.

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers.

“i know what you’re gonna say.”

“and what’s that?”

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.”

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue.

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.”

“this is not, um, i didn’t—”

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath.

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her.

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach.

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake?

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

#need to make a vi masterlist atp #the brainrot has severly taken over #oops?#yeah i'm posting this raw can't be bothered to reread it hehe #vi arcane #vi #violet x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi smut #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #league of legends

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embbarnes · 2 days ago

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I was sooo excited to see this finished, I couldn't wait to read it. Okay, okay...here we go~

The beginning of it is so pure and sweet, I love how you include so many characters and build the dynamics and world up for the story to begin. You always do such a good job with that, and I love seeing all the details.

I also like how you took this with Logan's view, how you described others and the reactions between them were so perfect for his character. Wade and Al were hilarious, the chatter they had in the beginning was entertaining and 100% something I can see happening.

Anyway continuing below cut because I love reviewing your stuff in more detail ~

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time. You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

The tension that builds is so well done. This one really got me into the story, I've never read one with this idea so I thought it was really interesting and fun to read. Sometimes tension is hard to build up, and with the background and characters in the beginning of the story to now and a bit later on, when the 'peak' comes, it feels so well deserves and satisfying. I'm jealous of how you do that 😭

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits – He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now. Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain. When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

UGH. This part was insane. The build Logan begins to feel is so natural here, and as it goes on you can really sense how needy and hard it is for him to handle it. Someone like him being pent up is such a fun concept.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

These little tidbits of details feel so authentic and real, I adore each and every one. Just like the exposed midriff, the tiny details that add to what we already know, urging Logan's desires on and on.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator. It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

I'm always a sucker for ferals to use their senses and how writers include it in fics. Logan's sense of smell is insane so he would of course smell the reader's arousal. I love love that and how you described it was amazing.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid. “But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

Yess, FINALLY. Be bold.

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

Love this little detail a lot too <3

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach. “This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

This entire bit was super hot too, the idea of this happening was sooo good. His demeanor and actions, the light teasing and slapping was just perfection. It was perfectly balanced, and I re-read this bit a few times.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—” “No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?” He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole. “Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

This gets overlooked a lot but I personally really, really like this part. Enough self control to ask reader if they want to stop, if everything is fine, just giving that option to stop if they wanted to. That is such a good detail and shows the depth of care. It's really refreshing each time I see something like this added in a smut fic.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath. You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss. “I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

LMAO girl-😂😭

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader

#fic rec #flowersforbucky

1K notes · View notes

tkomptgoedluv · 2 days ago

Text

watermelon.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.3

pt1. here | pt.2 here | pt.3

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, angst angst and even more angst, did i mention angst?, tooth-rotting fluff, so fluffy it’s honestly a little cringe <3, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 3,494.

warnings: very brief + vague reference to SA, rpf.

notes: hello!! welcome to pt.3 <3 this is probably the part that i’m most proud of, probably because it weirdly hurt the most to write. a couple fun facts about this part: reader’s coat is heavily based on one i have in real life and absolutely adore. also, i genuinely couldn’t bring myself to touch this wip for two whole days because my personal life started to match up with this storyline and i did not like it! became a little too self-indulgent. anyways — enjoy!! lemme know what you think.

love you all lots 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

in a lot of ways, the whole situation was more or less your own idea of hell — ironic, considering it all started with literally the worst night of your life.

not once did you ever think that you’d be here, that this was how things were gonna go. the fun part? you don’t even know how you got here in the first place. for someone so in the middle of it all, you know surprisingly little about what actually happened, or what you must’ve done wrong.

all that you know is that it’s different now. joost is different now.

you still text everyday, a few phone calls here and there, and you’ll see him in person a few times a month or more, but you can still feel it. the subtle lack of emotion in his messages, the only-ever increasing wait times in between responses, the missing details in his stories that you’d still end up hearing from your friends. something, at some point, shifted and joost just didn’t seem to be your joost anymore.

at first, you tried to think nothing of it. you weren’t exactly a stranger to anxiety; it’s always been just a little too easy for you to get lost inside your own head. this also wasn’t the first time that you had fallen down this rabbit hole, suddenly convinced that someone you love doesn’t even like you because they said something in a slightly different tone once.

but then those weird few days where things didn’t feel quite right turned into weeks, and it just didn’t feel like nothing anymore.

you thought it could’ve been the videos because, as predicted, entire montages of the fight found their way onto each and every little corner of the internet. joost could be seen clear as day swinging for him, landing punch after punch until one of his friends would eventually step in. though somehow, the backlash against joost never came. for every clip there was a ‘story-time’ to go right along with it, and every single one explained how joost was just defending ‘this girl that had been attacked by that guy.’

so instead you exhausted yourself asking if everything was alright, just in case there was something else going on that he also hadn’t told you. but there was only so many times that you could ask the same question over and over again, only to get the same answer back.

joost was fine; great even.

so it had to be you. nothing was wrong, nothing bad had happened, it was simply just you that had repelled him all of a sudden. and that was all you could think about whilst you sat in a room surrounded by your closest friends — joost included.

it was someone’s birthday, a friend of a friend who’s name was still unknown to you and yet somehow you still ended up with an invite. aspon was on your left, deep in a conversation with stuntje about some new anime you’d never heard of, and alanis was on your right, asking to see pictures of daan’s latest art piece.

you, of course, were there in between them all, just staring into space. all of the ice in your drink had melted as it sat forgotten about in your hands, and you were fairly confident that you had memorised each and every scratch in the wooden flooring. you were yet to find a better place to look other than the floor, because of course it was joost that had to be sat opposite you.

he had pulled the short straw really, because by the time he came back in from his cigarette outside, the only seat left was one of those awful, plastic fold-up chairs. like the others he too was wrapped up in a conversation of his own, only his included a girl that you’d never seen before, and he was making her laugh a lot.

you didn’t have a single right to absolutely despise what it was that you were seeing, but still your skin felt hot and itchy, and tears burned behind your eyes. despite arriving together in your group and being seated a measly three feet away from each other, joost was yet to even glance in your direction, let alone talk to you. the blatant avoidance was unbearable; the new ‘you’ that he was talking to was even worse.

but with the anger came the shame, because really, you had no excuse to be feeling like this. two strangers with mutual friends, talking with one another at a house party of all places, wasn’t exactly incriminating. they also weren’t touching or even flirting for that matter — from what you could hear, their conversation seemed limited to small anecdotes about the people in common they both knew.

you weren’t being fair, you weren’t being reasonable; there was no excuse for the tightness in your chest.

without a word, you got up and made a dash for the balcony; desperate for a cigarette. so desperate in fact, that you didn’t stop to grab your jacket despite the rain bashing against the windows. you just needed the fresh air, needed space away from whatever the fuck was going on in there.

the small roof that the balcony upstairs provided did little to shield you from the rain. your hair quickly fell damp around the sides of your face as the wind brought goosebumps to your arms. you really should’ve stopped to grab your coat, you were soaking now.

but the pure, unbridled relief that you felt when you breathed in the smoke of your cig made it all worth it, though. it was something else to focus on, something to help soothe all of your aches and pains. best of all, it gave you a reason to be by yourself for a while — a moment alone to think, to breathe, a chance to get a fucking grip.

you took another drag of your cigarette.

“think you forgot this, schatje.”

over the sound of the heavy-falling rain and the music from inside, you hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and shut again.

from the corner of your eye you saw joost standing there, clad in a black gilet and the same adidas track-jacket that you had bought for him two birthdays ago. your coat was in his outstretched hands; a big, red furry thing that almost swallowed you whole every time you put it on.

“yeah…thanks.”

you wanted to cry.

the silence that followed was heavy and awkward; neither of you could even look at each other as you took your jacket from him and slipped it on. whilst you focused on looking outwards towards the skyline, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill, joost busied himself with lighting up a cigarette of his own. it felt like you were standing next to a stranger, and not someone who quite literally knew every single little thing about you.

someone who always picked up the phone when you called; someone whose bed you’ve woken up naked in just a few too many times to count.

“you, uh, you doing okay?”

you almost choked on your cigarette.

he’d barely even glanced your way all night, too distracted by other female attention to really care that you were there at all, and now he wanted to know how you were doing? oh he had to be joking.

you stubbed out your cig underneath your shoe and went to storm back inside, shoving past him with your shoulder as you did so. you had almost made it too, before he caught you by the arm and gently pulled you back. it really pissed you off how hurt he looked, like this wasn’t all his fault in the first place.

“hey, can we not just talk for a minute? i wanna know what’s been up with you recently. we don’t really talk anymore.”

as hard as you could you pushed him off of you, and then you pushed him once more for good measure. you couldn’t bite it back anymore, couldn’t keep it all from spilling out when your blood was already boiling. if you were to regret it in the morning, you would just blame it on the few drinks you’ve already had.

“and why the fuck do you think that is, joost? tell me.”

a small part of you that you really couldn’t quite understand, genuinely hoped that he would push you back. that he’d get all up in your face, yelling at the top of his lungs, just as angry with you as you were with him. you wanted him to shout, to scream at you about how wrong you were; you wanted to feel crazy for even thinking that something could ever go wrong between the two of you.

you didn’t want him to just…stand there with his tail tucked between his legs, looking like he had already given up on you a long time ago. you found yourself shoving him again, only hard enough to knock him back a step or two this time.

“tell me!”

now more than ever you wished that you could stay angry, that you knew how to hold onto the outrage instead of always just breaking down into pieces. it made you feel so small the way that your voice was cracking; your shouts quickly shrinking into cries. you felt like a child again, begging to understand why everyone always left in the end.

“i just needed to work some stuff out, okay? none of this was meant to happen. i never wanted to make you cry.”

you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, the state of your mascara becoming an afterthought, before raking your fingers through your hair. thin strands stuck to the corners of your face and the back of your neck.

“please, tell me what i can do to make it better.”

joost was panicking now, looking a lot like an old dog that somehow knew it was about to be left behind at the shelter. you could see it in the way his hands were shaking and how he couldn’t quite seem to stand still, shifting from one leg to another.

“you can tell me what happened; what changed or what i did wrong. i don’t care.”

from the look on his face, you never would have guessed that all you’d asked him for was the truth; ‘panicked’ was no longer the right word.

“i can’t. i promise, i’ll tell you later but i can’t tell you here. not like this.”

you laughed — you couldn’t help it. three months ago, when you asked him why he was so insistent on doing anything and everything for you, he gave you the exact same line. either he forgot that he’s already used it once before, or he thought you were stupid enough to fall for it all over again; either way, you knew now that ‘later’ was never coming.

before you really knew what you were doing, you were back inside and weaving your way through the small huddles of your friends. a few stared as you began to tread water through the house, a long line of watery footprints following behind you on your way out. you muttered a quiet ‘i’ll see you guys later’ to whoever was listening and in one smooth motion, grabbed your bag from one of the tables and disappeared through the front door, slamming it behind you.

no one tried to stop you. probably for good reason, too, because you could feel the makeup running down your face.

the only good thing to come from looking so sad and drenched from the rain was that nobody on the street stopped to bother you either. not many people were out in this weather anyway, so at most you felt their eyes on you as they passed, a look of pity on their faces. pity for a girl all dressed up for a nice night out, just to be walking home early in tears.

you didn’t want their pity, you just wanted to go home. you wanted your bed and your pyjamas. you wanted a nice warm shower and to try and forget that today ever fucking happened.

you didn’t want joost to be chasing after you.

you didn’t want to hear your name being yelled from down the street by the one person you didn’t want to see right now.

“cmon you always do this! stop running away from everything.”

that was the thing to get you; the one thing that made you stop and turn on the spot.

“oh i’m the one running away? you’re the one that left!”

you met him halfway with steam coming out of your ears, your hands trembling and nose all scrunched up. you were fuming and it seemed as though he was now, too.

“i never went anywhere! you’re making it sound like i disappeared off the face of the earth or something.”

“well that’s what it felt like! what about that don’t you understand?”

you were each taking turns yelling now, oblivious to how loud you were actually being. people were sticking their heads out of their living room windows, morbidly curious about the scene that was unfolding right outside their homes. those that walked by did double-takes and even contemplated getting their phones out to record.

“but i’m here now! and i was ‘here’ back there and you just ran away like you always do!”

“did you really expect me to just stand there and listen to you lie again? all this ‘oh i’ll tell you later’ crap, it’s just bullshit. ever since that night you’ve been different and if what that guy did to me changed how you see me then maybe you’re right, maybe we should stop being whatever the fuck we are.”

joost physically recoiled at your words, his entire demeanour changing to one of hurt.

“what are you..? schatje no, no, it’s nothing like that. fuck, please tell me you don’t really think that.”

how could you not? it was the only thing left for you to think. it wasn’t like you wanted to come to that conclusion or that it was the first one you jumped to, but joost never gave you any other choice. as much as it hurt, it was better than simply not knowing.

something died in him when you nodded — you saw it in his eyes. tears of his own spilled down his cheeks as he rubbed his hands up and down his face, wiping his nose with the inside of his elbow.

“i…i would never; that guy…that wasn’t your fault.”

“then tell me the truth, joost.”

all that adrenaline, all that energy from before was long gone. you weren’t two people arguing in the rain, full of love and anger like something straight out of a romcom anymore. you were just two people standing out in the cold, soaked to the bone, just trying to hold on for a little while longer.

you were still waiting for joost to say something, trying to prepare yourself for the worst. if he was to say that same shit again, that he couldn’t tell you now but would later on, that would be it for you. you’d walk away and not turn back again, not for anything; just like that it would be game over.

but joost wasn’t saying anything, and you couldn’t decide if that was any better or not. he was silent as he took a couple steps towards you, the palms of his hands suddenly cupping either side of your jaw. the pads of his thumbs wiped away all the tears and rain from your eyes and tucked the odd strands of hair behind your ears. not once did he glance away from your gaze, not once did he say something.

it was driving you crazy.

“joost?” you were pleading with him now, desperate for him to say something — do something. the way he was looking at you, it was like you were the only thing he could see. “say something.”

“i love you.”

you blinked, and all of sudden you weren’t quite sure what to do with your hands anymore. it wasn’t the first time joost had said that to you because he says it to everyone, every single one of his friends. but he had never said it to you like that before, with a look in his eyes so heavy you feared that they might fall right out of his head.

“what?” your voice cracked as you spoke. “i don’t understand…what?”

“i love you. that’s what changed.”

a headache was coming, you could feel it. right behind your eyes, you felt a twinge, and then a subtle thumping that made your eyebrows twitch. you just couldn’t wrap your head around it, and the more you tried to make sense of it the more your head hurt.

“i swear to god if this is a fucking joke, if you’re just making this up -”

he shut you up with a kiss.

it wasn’t exactly for the first time or even close to being so, but it felt as though it could’ve been; all soft, gentle, careful. the hands that held either side of your face did so as though you could’ve cracked and shattered at any second. he moved slowly, almost hesitantly, until he felt you turn into mush beneath him. only then did he pull away, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

but you couldn’t let him have it though, could you? couldn’t just let him have the upper hand, just like that. you had to chase it, had to pull him down to your height by the collar of his jacket until your lips could meet his. by the time you were finished, both shaking and breathless, there were faint smudges of red all across his mouth.

“that was so hot; do it again.”

you laughed at his words for not the first time tonight, but now it was only out of pure joy instead of anything else. you laughed because of how out of it joost looked now, his eyes glossed over and lips parted ever so slightly as he panted. you laughed because of how much you did want to do it again and how you felt giddy knowing that joost wanted you to do it again too.

so you did. only this time joost was ready and pounced on you hard enough to knock you back a couple of steps, almost making you slip on the wet pavement. his fingers lost themselves in your hair, gently tugging at the roots as yours gripped onto the nylon of his jacket for dear life, too afraid to let go and risk letting him slip away.

you would have stayed like that with him all night if it wasn’t for the wolf whistle you heard from one of the windows above, followed by the rumble of thunder. the rain was starting to fall harder now, the storm only growing and you didn’t like knowing that people were watching you now.

“we shouldn’t be doing this here — people are looking.”

with his forehead resting against yours, joost simply groaned as he struggled to catch his breath. his hands still cradled the back of your head and his eyes were still squeezed shut.

“don’t care. need you.”

he may as well have been one of the puddles at your feet, the way he couldn’t even form proper sentences anymore. the things you were doing to him right now were criminal, almost cruel, and you were loving every minute of it. proud of it, actually. you might have been mush in his hands, but he was like putty in yours.

“well…maybe you should take me home then, yeah? then you can need me as much as you like.”

joost groaned again, muttering something about how you were ‘going to be the death of him’, and leaned back in. from your nose to your cheeks, to your chin, every inch was peppered with very sweet, very wet kisses.

“have i told you much i love you yet?”

he had, at least a handful of times by now, but not nearly enough as you would’ve liked. so you shrugged, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face as you did so, and stepped back, lacing your fingers with his.

“it’s okay, you can tell me one more time.”

apparently that was way too far for you to go, because after one singular step you were tugged back again and kissed as though joost’s very life depended on it. ironic, considering you were certain that you were both about to be struck by lightning at any moment.

“i love you.”

you figured if that were to happen by some chance, it’d be worth it if it meant staying here with him for just a little while longer.

“i love you too.”

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost klein x f!reader #luvvergirlwrites

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immoral-stranger · 12 hours ago

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 // 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑. 💋 “I can get a little drunk, I get into all the don’ts but on good days I am charming as fuck.” – Tove Lo, Moments.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem! reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: None except alcohol and drunkenness.

A/N: Sike, you're getting the first letter tonight. It's cute as fuck. Dedicated to all my girlies (gn) who get Tove Lo drunk when aiming for Pitbull drunk.

Charles wasn’t sure why he had agreed to go out tonight. Monaco’s nightlife, as dazzling as it was, had become an overplayed record to him. Especially during the summer with all the tourists. He remembered being freshly turned 18 and discovering it (legally) for the first time. It had been magical. Now it was a done deal, a well-rehearsed story, knowing how it would go from beginning to end. Maybe that was why he actually preferred spending time on his yachts or on some small remote resort on some small remote island during his summer break from the racing calendar.

Alas, here he was, tipsy from an overly sweet cocktail in a VIP booth at Jimmy’z. His friends were having fun, as were his friends’ friends and whoever else could get close enough to leech on, knowing that Charles was definitely the one paying the tab. It seemed to be the primary talent of those people, sticking close enough to the rich and the famous to get something for free out of it.

Charles found it braindead.

He sighed, swaying half-heartedly to the DJ’s relentless house music. Was he even a fan of house music? He didn’t think so. Between the thumping bass, the flashing strobe lights, and the endless game of shouting over the noise just to make small talk, Charles felt tired.

Maybe he was getting old. But he hadn’t even hit thirty yet. Could you have a quarter-life crisis at 27?

It got to the point where he started counting down the minutes until it would be socially acceptable to excuse himself for a “bathroom break.” The moment came, and Charles seized it, weaving his way through the dance floor. He lingered in the queue for the toilets longer than necessary, opting for a stall over a urinal so he could sit in peace. He didn’t even need to pee. He just wanted to be alone. His head was spinning slightly from the alcohol. Not drunk, not even close, but his famously rigorous fitness regimen had turned him into something of a lightweight. Not that he’d admit it.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he navigated the narrow corridor leading back to the main area of the club. That was when he felt it—a tug on his arm, insistent and clumsy. Before he could fully process what was happening, he was yanked backward and down onto a bench. Or a sofa. One of those little black pleather-clad, trashy club furnishings.

For a fleeting moment, he considered all the reasons he hated being famous. Whatever was about to happen—selfies, autograph requests, or an inebriated declaration of undying love for Ferrari—he was sure it would test the limits of his patience.

“Hi!” a voice chirped. “Are you busy? No?”

He blinked. Sitting beside him was a girl—young and lively, a light shining in your eyes as you spoke excitedly. Or maybe just drunkenly. You had that half-glazed look of someone balancing precariously between charming and completely hammered. You spoke English. A tourist most likely. Dressed up nicely. Not like you had another choice. It was Monaco.

As Charles was too shocked to answer, you continued talking in a heartbeat.

“Great! Not busy.” You clasped your hands together as though you’d just agreed to the most wonderful thing in the world. “You…” you announced grandly, pointing at him, “are going to help… me.”

“I am?” Charles asked, caught between amusement and disbelief.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, as though this were obvious. You leaned heavily on Charles’ shoulder for support, your words tumbling out in a rush. “Okay, so. Here’s the situation: I lost my bag. Then I lost Emma while looking for my bag. And now—” you gestured dramatically, nearly toppling over even when sitting up—“I am stuck here. No bag, no Emma, and way, waaay too much tequila in my system.”

Charles stifled a laugh. “And you think I can help?”

“Of course!” You nodded vigorously. “If you find my bag and Emma, then this—” you gestured vaguely at yourself,—“this will no longer be a problem.”

“If I find your bag?” he found himself repeating.

“Mhm, then you can come here to me again,” you slurred your speech a little, nodding again like your head was constantly stuck doing it. “With Emma and the bag and no problems.”

“You can’t do it yourself?”

“Exactly!” You pointed at him, impressed, narrowly avoiding touching his dimpled cheek with your long nail. “See, you get it. You’re a lifesaver.”

You seemed to have no idea who he was, and you were definitely drunker than you had first led on. He saw it in the way your body slumped and in your bloodshot eyes. Your hair was messy, your makeup smudged, and your dress a little wrinkled. And you were undeniably funny, totally capturing and taking over the conversation without letting Charles speak.

He helped you to lean against the sofa, getting himself out from being your human crutch. Still, he couldn’t find a way out of being your lifesaver.

“All right,” Charles sighed. “What does your bag look like?”

“It’s black, sparkly, and small. Like… impossibly small. A wallet with delusions. But I bought it in Paris—”

“Okay, I got it.” Charles suppressed a smile. “And Emma?”

“Tall. Blonde. Looks like she’s judging everyone but will absolutely cry over a military homecoming.”

“Right. Tall, blonde, and emotionally complex. Got it,” he repeated. “Are you sure I can leave you on your own?”

Charles stood from the sofa, glancing at you as you leaned your head back against the wall, your eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m fiiiiine. I just need the room to stop spinning.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Enthralled by your giggle and the way you looked sort of fairy-esque with glittery eyeshadow in patches around your eyes. There was something magnetic about you, even in your dishevelled state. He couldn’t lie and say that it wasn’t also slightly concerning—a young woman alone in a drunken state. You were a happy kind of drunk right now, but he had a feeling that might change quickly.

With a final look at you, he set off into the chaos of the club. Back underneath the strobe lights and the pulsating music. Back between the warm and drunk bodies of others. Somewhere, a girl in a sparkly dress was yelling about her ex to anyone who’d listen, and he thought for a fleeting moment how easily you might have been her—except you weren’t yelling. You’d asked for his help.

He heard his friends yell after him from their place in the VIP area, probably wondering why he’d been gone for so long. But Charles was on a mission—to find a minuscule bag and a blonde woman in a crowd of not that many bags and way too many blonde women.

The bag was easier to spot than he expected. Its sparkles caught the light as it lay abandoned, right by his feet on the dance floor. That seemed too good to be true. He picked it up, the thing so small it felt absurd in his hands. What could you even fit in here? A debit card? A single lipstick?

Charles didn’t mean to pry, but he opened it to make sure it actually was yours, and much to his surprise, he found a debit card, some spare euros, some sort of makeup product, a tampon, and a driver’s license. Fuck, you were the kind of person who looked gorgeous in official portraits. And he knew your name now. Maybe he should’ve asked for that before he decided to agree on being your knight in shining armour.

Emma, however, was more elusive. Verging on needle in a haystack territory. He scanned the floor and the booths, getting nowhere. Looking for a girl as equally lost as you were turned out to be harder than he thought. Everyone fit so well into the orchestrated act of nightclub hierarchy that no one looked out of place.

Admitting defeat, Charles turned to walk back to the corridor outside the toilets, hoping to find you exactly where he left you. Before he could even round the corner, he heard your voice cut through the noise.

“I know, Emma. I know that I do this all the time and that it scares you to death.”

Your tone was half-pleading, half-explanatory, like you were trying to win a debate and console her at the same time. The sound of it made him stop in his tracks, curiosity anchoring him to the spot.

As he edged closer, you came into view, seated exactly where he’d left you. Beside you stood Emma, arms folded tightly across her chest in a way that broadcast equal parts frustration and affection. She was, as Charles had guessed, tall, blonde, and distinctly more polished than you at the moment. Similarly dressed but with an air of sharp control.

Emma was the kind of person you’d send in to fix a mess—not become part of one. Clearly switched into full mom mode, she had already given you a glass of what Charles prayed was water and had tied your hair into a haphazard ponytail, probably anticipating the worst-case scenario of tequila-induced disaster.

Charles lingered just out of sight, gripping your little sparkly bag as if it were a trophy. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your voice was unmistakable and loud enough to rival the DJ.

“I get a little drunk and I get into all the don’ts, but on good days? I am charming as fuck, and you love me for it.”

Your voice, slurred but insistent, filled the hallway. You reached out toward her, your hands wobbling in the air until she sighed and took them. Emma sighed, her annoyance cracking just enough for Charles to catch the tired laugh she let slip. It was the kind of laugh that said, Yes, I love you, but you’re impossible, and I have considered leaving you in a bush once or twice.

Charles smiled to himself, your declaration replaying in his mind. Charming as fuck, indeed. He wasn’t sure if the grin tugging at his lips was due to the absurdity of the situation or the undeniable truth of your words.

He wasn’t invisible, after all, so when you were done with your exclamation to Emma, your gaze easily landed on Charles, standing somewhat pathetically, waiting just a few metres away. The moment your eyes met his, you lit up like you’d just remembered something incredibly important.

“And look!” you exclaimed, pointing toward him. Drunk you had a thing for pointing. “I had this… hot guy here to help me. He’s found my bag! You, sir, are a lifesaver.”

You’d just managed to call him both “hot” and “sir” in the same breath, and Charles wasn’t sure if it was because you didn’t know his name or if you were trying to drive him completely insane.

Emma’s head whipped toward Charles, her face shifting from surprise to a kind of restrained horror as recognition dawned. Her posture stiffened again, her folded arms tightening. While you hadn’t known who Charles was, Emma definitely did.

“Y-you roped Charles fucking Leclerc into looking for your bag?!”

“A what now?” you mumbled, looking between the two of them with confusion written across your face.

Charles stepped closer, handing you the bag like a peace offering. “I am… a Charles Leclerc.”

“It’s a thing?”

“No, it’s my name.”

You squinted at him, as though trying to decide if this explanation satisfied you. Then, with a dramatic sigh, you let your head fall back against the wall. “You should have led with that,” you pointed out. “I need to sit down. Oh wait—” You gestured weakly at your own position. “Already doing that.”

“Charles Leclerc,” Emma said, gesturing toward him with an incredulous sweep of her hand. “Formula 1 driver? Like… literally one of the best in the world?”

“Ohhh, right. We’re in Monaco,” you mumbled to yourself.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something about you being impossible. Then she straightened, looking at Charles briefly before her gaze shifted to the dance floor. “I’m going to find the others and tell them it’s time to go. Don’t let her wander off again, please.”

Before Charles could respond, she disappeared into the crowd, her blonde head bobbing toward the pulsating lights. He watched her go, unsure if he’d just been handed a babysitting gig or a challenge. When he turned back, you were studying him, your head tilted slightly.

Charles hesitated, then he sat down beside you again, leaning back against the worn pleather as he looked right back at you. Up close, the club lights caught in your hair, making it shimmer like an accidental halo. He wondered if it was the alcohol in his veins or just the moment, but you looked… luminous.

“So, what now? Bag found, friend located. Mission accomplished,” he asked, almost proudly, as he relaxed further into his seat.

You drunkenly fumbled through the belongings inside your bag, in disbelief over everything being there. “You really did solve all of my problems… Thank you,” you said softly, a hint of genuine gratitude creeping into your voice.

He smiled, his amusement softening into something warmer. “You’re welcome.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze slower now, more deliberate. “It makes sense that you’re famous,” you said finally, as if you’d unravelled some profound mystery. “You’ve got a really pretty face.”

Charles chuckled completely unguarded. “I think that’s the tequila talking.”

“Nope,” you said, grinning with certainty. “That’s all me.”

He couldn’t help but be drawn in by your confidence, your complete lack of pretense. On top of the almost sticky pleather sofa, he could see your hand move tentatively, dancing over the fabric, aimless yet perfectly intentional. He wasn’t thinking when he grabbed it, intertwining his fingers with your own, but it felt right—and something innocent that felt this right couldn’t be wrong.

“I think you were right,” he said, not scared to look you in the eye. “About you being charming as fuck.”

“Good,” you replied, raising your glass of water in a mock toast. “Because I think I’m keeping you here for a while.”

“Still too drunk to walk?” he teased.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” you declared, each syllable landing like a punchline.

He laughed loudly, letting the chaos fade into the background, his hand grounded in yours, feeling more intimate than any drunken kiss had ever done.

Charles wasn’t dreading being in the club on a Saturday night for once, not counting the minutes until he could leave without being called boring. Instead, he found himself thinking about where you might go next—and wondering if he could come along. Even if that was a hotel room after-party or a rented apartment in Nice. You were more interesting than anything else Monaco could offer right now, and filer à l’anglaise would leave the leeches to pay for their own enjoyment.

Thank you for reading, hope this is a good introduction to what the rest of the love letters will be like! Please comment, like, reblog, bombard me with messages, I feed off that stuff 💌

Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send

(if i haven't tagged you it's because your age wasn't visible for me to verify on your blog, i keep that as a precaution even if i'm not always posting smut)

#love letters 💌#my writing 🪐#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff

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reccyls · 1 day ago

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My Greed-filled Christmas with Victor

My translation for Victor's Christmas collection event story

Victor: I've been waiting for you, Kate.

Standing with his arms spread wide open in front of a tree so enormous it was close to brushing the ceiling was Victor, cloaked in festive cheer.

Victor: Your mission for today is to help me decorate this tree!

Just after I had woken up a few hours ago, a maid told me that Victor had a message for me.

Kate: "There's a task that I absolutely need your help with."

(I thought it'd be a normal mission, who would've guessed that it'd be tree decorating!) (And... together with Victor...)

As I watched him excitedly fish out piles of ornaments and other decorations, expectations began to build in my heart. Victor was always so busy, so to be able to spend this time having fun with him...

Victor: Everything that we'll need is right over here.

Just then, a group of servants brought over a huge stepladder.

Victor: I'll start from the top, so could you start decorating from the bottom?

Kate: Of course, leave it to me!

Victor: Wonderful! Now let's be sure to give our boys the best Christmas surprise of their life!

...

Victor: Kate, can you pass me those ornaments over there?

Kate: Sure, here you go.

Victor clung to the ladder with one hand and reached down with his other. I handed over the ones he wanted, and he deftly hung them up on the tree. It was two hours since we started, and the tree was quickly approaching completion. As I was admiring the colorful decorations, I suddenly noticed something.

(That ornament has a crown design, and that one's decorated with a fox, there's a cat, one with apples, even mirrors...)

Kate: Do those ornaments represent everyone in Crown?

Victor: That's my Kate! I knew you'd spot it!

I met VIctor's sparkling gaze.

Victor: Everyone in Crown holds a special place in my heart.

He smiled gently as he poked a red bauble wearing a mini-crown.

Kate: That's lovely. I didn't expect there to be so many ornaments with these designs.

The nine unique designs all showed off each member of Crown.

(Is that one supposed to be Victor?)

I spotted a few plain black baubles, far less in number than the other designs and overshadowed by the others. But I found my eyes captured by it anyway, despite its simplicity.

Victor: And last but certainly not least, the star at the top.

Victor climbed down from the ladder and met my eyes. And then, he handed over a large golden star to me.

Victor: You should place it.

Kate: ...Huh?

Victor: Scared to climb up the ladder?

Kate: No, that's not... Are you sure that I should be the one doing this? The star is special, isn't it?

At my words, Victor smiled.

Victor: And that's why there's no one better than you to place it.

He braced the ladder with his hands and looked back towards me.

Victor: Don't worry, I'll keep the ladder steady. So could I please ask this favor of you?

(He's asking me for a favor?)

Victor almost never asked me for anything. His words filled me with a sudden determination, and I nodded vigorously.

Kate: Of course!

(...It is kinda scary, though.)

I finally made it to the top of the ladder and carefully placed the star on the tree. But just then--

(Hm?)

I noticed a small white ornament shaped like a robin near the top.

(Is this supposed to be me?)

Hanging next to the robin was a pure black ornament, almost hidden by the pine needles.

(Ah...)

As I was reaching out to touch it--

Kate: Aaaaaah!!

Victor: Kate!

I slipped off the ladder. I screwed my eyes shut and braced for pain. But it wasn't the cold hard floor that I landed on, but something warm.

Victor: Are you hurt!?

Ever so slowly, I opened my eyes. Victor had caught me just before I hit the ground. Our faces were so close that our lips were nearly touching. Though his eyes were filled with genuine worry, I couldn't help how my heart began to race as I realized just how little distance there was between us.

Kate: I- I'm fine.

Victor gently lowered me to the ground, and I began to calm down.

Victor: Good. And the tree is done, too.

He was looking at the tree with such delight. Even though he had his back turned to me, I had to look away to hide the flustered heat on my face. It could have been unintentional. Him putting those two ornaments next to each other.

(But still, I was so happy when I saw them.)

Victor then spun around to face me again.

Victor: And now, time for your compensation for this successful mission!

Kate: Compensation?

Victor pulled two tickets out of his coat pocket.

Victor: There's a special Christmas play premiering the day of.

It was a show that I'd wanted to see since forever ago. The Christmas Day version had special scenes changed too.

Kate: Thank you so much...

I was so happy I couldn't stop myself from clutching the tickets hard.

Victor: May I also have your Christmas to myself?

Kate: What?

Victor: Let's watch it together, Kate.

In shock at his sudden invitation, I could only nod.

Kate: --Yes, let's.

Victor beamed. He put his hand around mine, the one that was holding onto the tickets.

Victor: Thank goodness. I don't know what I would have done if you had refused.

He looked up towards the top of the tree and smiled again.

Victor: It's going to be a wonderful Christmas.

That was when a servant appeared to call Victor away for something. Waving goodbye to me, he hurried off for his next task. I was left alone, sitting at the foot of the tree with tickets in hand.

(Definitely. It'll be a Christmas I'll never forget.)

Overhead, that black ornament glittered in the shadow of the robin's wing.

#ikemen villains #victor (ikevil)#my translation

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winchesterwild78 · 1 day ago

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On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

Master List

Characters: Ben/Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, Self esteem Issues, Light Smut, Pregnancy,

A/N: Day 11 of my holiday fics. I hope you enjoy this short series. I’m really excited about it. All work is my own, please don’t take it. Reblogs and likes are welcomed.

I do not own the rights to the characters I use, these will not follow the story lines of the series the character appeared in. This is a work of fiction.

I gave Ben’s mom a name in this even though she’s not named in the series.

Written fast and edited fast, please overlook any errors.

Minors DNI 18+

I sat on the couch touching my swollen belly. Feeling the little kicks of my baby girl growing inside me, I smiled.

Ben and I had been married for over three years and I finally convinced him to try for a baby.

I desperately wanted to have his baby. I’d wanted to since the moment I met him. Well, maybe not the exact moment, but pretty damn close.

He and some of Butcher’s team showed up at my office to take care of some business and he was focused on my co-worker, April most of the time. She’s gorgeous, long legs, thin, long blonde hair and very busty.

I’m the complete opposite, well I do have boobs, but many exes said it was because of the extra weight I carried around.

I was a little jealous of April, especially when Ben finally asked her out. She giggled and said yes, then they left. In the middle of the day they left to go on a “date”.

Hours later when she came back her stockings were gone, makeup smudged, and her hair was really out of place.

I felt a pang in my chest and couldn’t figure out why. I heard April giggle at her desk as Ben whispered something in her ear.

I sat at my desk trying to focus on the mountain of work I had to finish before I left for the weekend.

I grabbed my coffee cup and sighed, it was empty. I stood and walked to the breakroom. Hearing her giggle over and over in my head made me feel worse.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never formally met him, but everyone knows who he is. There was something about him that made me want to be with him and only him. It was crazy.

I was lost in my thoughts trying to figure out how to push him out of my brain. This feeling of wanting him was crazy. I’d never even spoken to him. I didn’t hear the heavy footsteps behind me as I bent over to grab the creamer from the refrigerator.

“Damn, now that’s a gorgeous view, doll.” My eyes went wide and I stood and turned. There he was, looking incredible. His voice sent a shiver down my spine. Which he noticed because of the smirk it drew on his face.

I bit my bottom lip, unsure of what to say or do. I turned back to my coffee and started to finish making it.

“What’s your name, doll?” “Y/N, and you’re Soldier Boy.” “Ben, you can call me Ben.” “Nice to meet you Ben.” By this point I was turned and facing him.

Taking in his perfectly trimmed beard, his strong jaw, his piercing green eyes, plump lips. Oh god I could feel myself getting aroused and my heart rate picking up.

He stepped closer, “You okay, darlin’? Your heart is pounding.” I just nodded and my breathing became shaky.

He stepped closer, inches from me, “You sure about that?” I made eye contact with him and held my breath. Oh god I would have his babies right now.

He asked me questions about myself and my life, and I just freely gave him everything he wanted. Hell I would have given him anything he wanted right there in the breakroom.

His hand gently touched my cheek and I leaned into it. I bit my lower lip. I’d never felt like this with anyone.

As he was closing the distance between us, April walked into the breakroom. She gasped, “What is this? Soldier Boy, what about us?!” She didn’t call him Ben, interesting.

He turned and looked at her, “There is no us doll. We were just having a little fun.” Her face turned red and her jaw clenched.

She looked at me, “So you think you can seduce THE Soldier Boy? Girl please. I’m half the woman you are. Why would he want you when he’s had me?”

I felt the pang grow in my chest. The cruelty of people making fun of my weight wasn’t something new to me. It's been happening since my teen years. Even now as an adult the judging looks, the snide comments and sideways glances seemed to be a constant. This time however, it hurt to my core.

She was right. Why would he, a man built like a Greek God want me when he’s had her and so many other beautiful women.

I felt the sting of the tears in my eyes. I turned away as I felt the tears fall.

Ben crossed the room to her and grabbed her shoulders, pinning her against the wall. “Don’t ever talk about her like that again. She’s gorgeous and twice the woman you are, and she’s mine.”

I lifted my head and turned to look at him. His eyes met mine and instantly softened. Did he really just call me his? What the hell?!

He let April go and she left the room. Ben walked back over to me and his thumb gently wiped the tears away. “God you’re beautiful, Y/N. Even with a red splotchy face.” He chuckled and I smiled.

“Ben, why did you tell April I’m yours? I’m not.” “I know, darlin’. I want you to be mine. I can’t explain it, but I feel drawn to you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We did just meet and I did just fuck your co-worker.”

There it was again, that pang of jealousy filling my soul. I couldn’t ignore it.

That was over 4 years ago, and the day I took a chance on Ben. Fast forward to now, and here I am sitting on our couch in our house, watching him fight with the Christmas tree and lights on Christmas Eve.

“Why the fuck do we need a damn tree up, Y/N? It’s Christmas Eve.” I rubbed my belly, “It’s for her, Ben. Plus a Christmas tree with twinkling lights is beautiful at night and I can’t do it alone.”

“She’s not here yet, why does she need a tree?” I rolled my eyes, he could be stubborn sometimes, but I knew he was in trouble once our daughter was born. That rough, tough, grumpy man will turn into mush when she’s here. She already has him wrapped around his finger. As evident by the extravagant nursery he created for her.

I tried to get off the couch, but being almost 9 months pregnant it was proving rather difficult. Ben stopped what he was doing and walked over to help me up.

He helped me stand and chuckled, “What’s so funny, Ben?” “Nothing, I love seeing your belly swollen with my baby. Even if you can’t stand on your own anymore.”

Emotions and hormones got the better of me and I started to cry, “I know, I’m fat. I’m so sorry I look like this and you don’t want me anymore.”

Ben’s eyes shot back to mine, “Don’t say that! You’re so fucking beautiful and you’re giving me a baby. I love every (he kissed my lips) inch (he kissed down my neck) of (he kissed my collarbone) your (he gripped my hips) body (he kissed the top of my breasts that peaked out of my shirt).

My cheeks flushed red and I felt my arousal growing. Sex with Ben was always amazing, but since I’ve been pregnant it’s been different and at times primal.

As soon as Ben found out I was pregnant a primal instinct in him took over. His need to protect became stronger. When we had sex he was gentle but dominant at the same time. As my pregnancy has progressed we’ve had to be creative with positions due to my growing belly. Ben’s favorite recently was me on top or he behind me, cradling my belly.

Ben began kissing me deeper and walking me backwards towards our room. “Ben, we really should finish the tree.” “Nope, I’m gonna finish what I started.” He practically growled.

Once in our shared room Ben began removing my shirt and pants. His hand slid between my legs. “Damn, sweetheart, you’re dripping wet.” I smirked as I felt my arousal running down my thigh.

Ben began to undress as I sat on the side of the bed. I tried to grab the blanket to cover myself, but he pushed it away. He lifted my chin, “Please don’t, you’re so beautiful and I love every inch of you.”

I bit my lip. He always had a way of making me feel so beautiful and desired. One of the many reasons I fell in love with him.

Ben undressed and laid back on the bed, motioning for me. I laid beside him, the best I could and his hands trailed up and down my body.

“Ben, I need you.” He grinned, “I need you too baby.”

My hand slid down his torso and to his thick, hard cock. My thighs clenched together.

He helped me up and I straddled him. Taking his length in my hand and I lined him up to me. We both moaned as he bottomed out.

His fingers are holding onto my hips and digging into my skin. I moved my hips as he thrusted up. Each thrust pushed me close to the edge. I knew I wasn’t going to last long.

“Ben..I’m so..close.” “Mmm, let go baby.” My body responded to him and before I knew it I was cumming hard.

“Damn baby, you soaked me.” He chuckled. I felt the warmth of my release all over me and him. The bed became soaked under Ben and I kept feeling it.

I stopped moving. “What? What’s wrong, Y/N?” “Ben, I think my water broke.”

Ben helped me up and I could still feel the liquid coming out of me. “Y/N, you’re not due for about 2 weeks.” “I know, I just think we should go to the hospital.”

Ben cleaned off and helped me get dressed then got himself dressed. He helped me to the car and I climbed in.

Arriving at the hospital we saw a ton of people waiting to be seen. Ben stormed up to the front desk, “We need a doctor NOW! My wife is in labor and she’s not waiting out here with all these sick people.” Ben growled.

The nurse looked up at him then over at me as the contractions started.

She grabbed a chair and had me sit. Ben was by my side as they pushed me to the labor and delivery floor.

Once I got changed and hooked up the doctor came in and confirmed I was in labor.

Ben began pacing the floor. “Isn’t it too early?” Ben asked the doctor. She shook her head no and told him everything looked perfectly normal.

“Normal?! She’s having a supe baby and she’s 2 weeks early. There’s nothing normal about that!”

The doctor looked at Ben and then back to me. “How are you feeling?” She asked me. “The contractions aren’t that bad yet, but they are getting closer together.”

She glanced at the machine tracking my contractions and nodded. “Well, let’s check to see how dilated you are.”

Propping my legs up in the stirrups she checked my cervix. I winced in pain and Ben was at my side holding my hand.

“Can’t you be a little more gentle doc?” Ben’s voice boomed in the room.

“Ben, it’s okay. She didn’t hurt me. It’s just uncomfortable. Baby, you have to calm down a little. I need you, she needs you.”

He ran his hands through his hair, “I know. I just don’t like to see you in pain and I caused this situation.”

“Benji, look at me, please. She is worth all the pain in the world. Before too long we will be holding her in our arms and all of this will be over.” Ben’s eyes softened and he kissed my forehead. “Sorry doc. I know I can be a dick sometimes. She’s just everything to me.”

The doctor nodded and smiled, “I understand, and your reactions are perfectly normal. I promise you I’m going to take care of your wife and baby.”

He nodded and she left the room leaving us alone.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of us as we listened to her heartbeat fill the room. She was less active as the contractions came closer together.

A few hours later the doctor came in and said it was time. I took a deep breath and grabbed Ben’s hand.

“Are you ready to meet our daughter, Ben?” He smirked and nodded.

After what felt like forever the sound of a tiny cry filled the room. The doctor laid our baby girl on my chest and Ben cut her cord. It was love at first sight.

She had a great set of lungs, sandy blonde hair and piercing green eyes like her father.

When the nurses took her to clean her, measure and weigh her, Ben was standing over them.

He kept asking questions and the nurses were so sweet answering him and even let him help.

“Why are you wrapping her so tight? She looks like a burrito. That can’t be comfortable for her. Is she breathing? Why’d she whimper?”

I giggled seeing him hover. The nurse handed the baby to Ben and he walked over to me with the biggest, proudest smile on his face.

It reminded me of why I fell in love with him. His softer side not many people get to see.

He sat down beside me and smiled down at her then at me. “You did amazing, sweetheart. Look at what we made. She’s perfect, just like her mama.”

My heart filled with so much love and joy, seeing him hold her. He was made to be a father.

“Ben, we have to name her.” “Yeah, we do, but how do you give a name to someone so perfect? I can’t think of one that does her justice. It has to be perfect.”

I smiled, looked over at the time and realized it was Christmas Day. “Ben, how about Noelle?”

He looked at me and then down at her and smiled. “It’s perfect. Noelle Grace”

I smiled. Ben didn’t talk much about his mother, but I knew her name was Grace. “Perfect” I smiled at him.

He handed her back to me and I held her tight. “My little Noelle Grace. Merry Christmas, baby girl, and Merry Christmas, Ben.”

Ben leaned down and kissed me and then her, “Best Christmas present ever. Merry Christmas, Y/N. I love you.”

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.

Tags:

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573

@k-slla @jackles010378

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

@roseblue373 @cheynovak

@jassackles @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom

#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #soldier boy x plus size reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut

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inc0mple · 3 days ago

Text

🗝️ ”Keys Are People, Too” 100 Chapter Q&A ⭐️ (ongoing!)

(Last edit: 12/20 10:40 CST)

Hi! :) If y’all don’t know me my name is Inco (it’s not but shh) and I write a fanfiction for Cinderella Boy called Keys Are People, Too. It’s not finished, it’s ongoing and rapidly approaching 100 chapters XD (yes we are like four chapters away but shh rounding) (I PROMISE WE’RE ALMOST TO THE LAST ACT). So because of an ask from @isitamia and, we’ll say the 100 chapter milestone… tada Q&A??

I don’t know how many people are going to engage with this but that’s totally okay :) I love ranting about stuff and I’ve put a lot of thought into this story, so it would be cool to have an outlet to answer some questions where they don’t get forgotten in AO3 comments. And if you guys also have general questions about writing advice/things like that, I am not an expert but I do also like talking about stories.

So please ask! I’m not planning to close this at any specific time—I was thinking y’all could comment questions under this post or via reblogs (I might miss them in reblogs though) and I will edit this post to answer them, and also reply to you so you know your question is answered. This might get like 10 notes and that’s fine haha (I have zero idea how many people regularly read my story beyond the ones who leave comments), but if there are a lot of questions I’ll try to categorize them. Really just a place to drop info for fun :)

Q&A below ⬇️

I tried to make it organized. It's... kind of organized. Kind of.

Plot/Characters

"What key archetype isn't one of the siblings? Do we get to know their archetypes soon?" asked by @spookieee28 12/20

I'm not gonna say the archetypes at this point in time because it risks spoilers. You will find out by the end of the story and hopefully by that points all of the archetypes should be relatively clear. Some have already been mentioned like the chapter "Heralds and Thieves" for Jade and Cooper, I think (?) Cora has been mentioned as the Innocent archetype, etcetera.

"Which character do you struggle writing the most and which feels easier for you, if you have preferences?" asked by @isitamia 12/20

"Do you ever struggle with keeping Cinderella Boy's canon characters in character?" asked by @isitamia 12/20

I'll answer both of these together. Chase is pretty easy for me because I just channel chaotic gremlin energy and it seems to work. Buddy is OKAY although I am struggling right now making him vulnerable while still retaining him Buddy-ish-ness if that makes sense? Deacon is just Deacon... I am sorry, I feel like I don't really do anything to characterize him, he's just there as a sounding board XD I will say- I daydream situations for CB ALL THE TIME which gives me a lot of comfortability with the canon characters and considering what they would do and say and how they would react. I do have a little bit of difficulty characterizing the human keys so I just kinda went like "oh WELL that's because, UUHHHH, the key siblings don't match the keys exactly! That's it that's the answer!" because I felt like Silver wasn't quite Silver-ish and stuff. As for struggling writing the most I have two main answers.

BRONTE. For those who maybe haven't read this but are scrolling through it anyway, or aren't there yet, Bronte is the "human" version of Bronze and I kinda accidentally eliminated him from the story until like... the 80th chapte ror something like that. I had a lot of trouble actually writing his dialogue and scenes with Chase. It just did not have Bronze's snarky energy. So that was tough and I feel bad because I really feel like I did not do him justice :c

DUKE RAVENELL!!!!!! Ravenell hates me. He gives me so much trouble primarily because I just plunked him in at the beginning and didn't give him a real personality beyond a few vague notions. I've really had to sculpt his character as I went and it's especially difficult because Ravenell is intended to do a lot of plot device-ing. He perpetuates a lot of themes in the story and he is a HUGE character foil to Chase, because he often reflects the opposite of Chase's (and Idonea's) values and intentions. I want him to be morally grey and I am constantly fighting a BATTLE with this man to make sure he isn't too likeable or too hateable. I posted on Tumblr like a week ago really just asking for a diagnostic and the response made my day because people are all OVER the place about this man, some people love him, some will never forgive him, some are like "he's alright but there's something off about him and I can't help but distrust him" and others are like "I know he keeps making mistakes but I can't help but trust him" and I LOVE IT. Fortunately I think he's finally in a place perception-wise where I want him. I want the confusion. So badly. Only now I have to continue to fight this stupid tug-o'-war to keep him properly dividing until the end of the story XD

Behind the scenes

"How did you come up with the plot for KAPT? Was it just a little thought that popped up in your head one day, or did you have like inspiration or something?" asked by @xcitrix 12/20

"Did you have an idea for how you wanted the story to end when you first started writing or did you come up with more ideas while working on it?" asked by @lapileaf 12/20

I'mma answer both of these (and any others if they are asked) in kinda the same go if that's alright. In August I was wanting to write some fanfiction for CB, and one idea rotating in my head was, what if Chase went into a nonfiction book? Like he thought it the most effective way to study for a history project, or he saw a mention of Ex Libris, or something. So, completely directionless, I drabbled out the first chapter of KAPT where they find the book in the museum and... adopt it. And then it sat there in my Google Docs for like two weeks while I worked on a different fanfiction, Violets and Chains. I tried to return to it a little bit and got through the first anthology chapter where they're in the Chartesia battle, but that too did not have a plot behind it, I was like "myeh... trebuchets... uh... and now there's a guy... oh maybe they're PRISONERS..." And then brain did not work and I gave up. Eventually got myself together, BS-ed the rest of the scene, and then sat down and essentially ranted to myself about potential ideas until I figured out the plot.

More ideas have kept cropping up as I've worked on it. There are certain puzzle pieces that are foreshadowed in even teh first ten chapters that I didn't even mean to foreshadow because I hadn't thought of the yet - the plot was generally mapped out but has defintely been refined and added to as time goes on. Eventually you get into the flow of a story and everything just starts clicking into place, like you yourself are theorizing about an external work. Keep in mind that because I am publishing it as I write each chapter, KAPT is a first draft, and I have to hatch out plot points and main parts of the story as I write and make my best effort to recover any loose threads or things like that. It's a fun exercise!

"Do you plan to stick to the story you have already till the end or is there a possiblity you'll have to change some things if we get to know more about canon Ex Libris/Buddy lore while it's still ongoing?" asked by @iwikpines 12/20

There are some new bits of information that are kinda iffy for KAPT, but ultimately because KAPT takes place inside a book most of the Buddy/Ex Libris lore is not applicable. Regarding Buddy's situation I am going to go ahead like I was planning to originally, and I'll add a disclaimer when time permits. I don't think either way throws a wrench in the plans too much but I would rather be confident in the themes I've already set up as opposed to trying to hastily recover new lore in the last third of the story, if that makes sense.

"How did you come up with your ocs? I know some, like Jaime, come from another original story of yours ... but what about characters like Ravenell, Galeus, and Rose? What inspired you? How did you decide their personaltiy, their struggles? Did you take inspiration from yourself for anyone, similar to how Punko took inspiration from herself for Chase? Do you follow any specific process to come up with ocs, like follow a list, scheme, or coming up with hypothetical scneraios?" asked by @isitamia 12/20

A lot of the characters are cameos from a passion project I've been working on for years called IFI (no I will not tell you what it stands for) - Jaime and emma are from there, as well as several others including Alexei, Nishan, Mattheo, Kelitia, Indie (the Marchioness), King Aarius, and King Olivyn. So those are just plunked in and then Jaime decided to become part of the plot. As for the other original characters made specifically for KAPT, they just kinda got plopped in for one reason or another (I wanted Rose to connect to the Chartesia lore, Ravenell to have a foil for Chase, and Galeus because, well, there had to be a king) and then I slowly worked to build connections, themes, and character. Often times I don't specifically sit down and think "this character will be this way", it just emerges naturally from their dialogue, like I'm chiseling something out that was already in the stone like an archeologist, as opposed to carving my own new sculpture. I've always written that way and it makes it difficult when I am required to add structure to my writing or explain why I do things the way I do. I will say it is all VERY inspired from my own life and beliefs; Rose exists as a confidante in the story, and many of her more preachy dialogue pieces are things I'm getting out of my system. So yeah, not really a lot of structure to it, they just appear... and I figure them out as I go... most of my characters are in some way facets of myself or the way I percieve life. As I get more experienced with writing I'm sure I'll be more intentional with them, but for now, they are Athena and I am Zeus.

"How do you post daily" (kind of) asked by @isitamia 12/20

To give an actual answer for this because I know it's a lot to post a 2-4k chapter PER DAY - I am a student and have a LOT of downtime in class where I can't really do anything but write. That is how. Also, I have taught myself to be a prolific writer because that is the thing in my life I can always rely on when other things are unstable.

"How did you extend the story so far? I love the plot and it's kinda insane how you were able to develop it so much, at this point it's a full novel and I kinda live for it LOL. Also how long would you consider one act?" asked by @shyve3 12/20

Two parts to this question, I will answer them both;

I didn't mean to. I am really bad about being concise; I can't. When I write and get passionate about a story there's so much I want to stay and I can rarely fit it into what most people consider a pallatable length. I just get going and... idk... unstoppable force or something lol. And yes KAPT is at least the length of a typical trilogy XD ITS BEEN FIVE MONTHS

Regarding the act question, I ORIGINALLY said KAPT would be three acts, with the first ending when Chase goes down into Rose's "tomb" for the first time, the second ending with the Bronte part, and the third being the final one. It is actually more like four now, with the "second" act split into two at the masquerade ball. We are so close to being onto the actual final act, which should be a 4th of the total fic, so we have maybe 30 chapters left (?) (we'll see lol)

I don't have a specific length, it's just the way the story tends to ebb and flow if that makes sense?

General stuff

"Do you have any advice as a writer?" asked by @iwikpines 12/20

I AM SO BAD ABOUT THIS because I really do just go type type type and words appear. I know there's more to it than that but I've spent a lot of time writing and not a lot of time learning how to write so I have the experience without the actual education behind it. Write what you care about :) I mean NO DUH but like - your best stories will come from the heart. You will find prolificness (is that a word?) in PASSION. If I didn't care about Cinderella Boy or the themes I'm trying to communicate in KAPT would I spent my days writing a chapter a day ABSOLUTELY FRIGGIN NOT I'd be writing a different story. So yeah - write what you love and your audience will find you. What the world needs is a buncha people doing what they love really well because it's what they care about. Also, I didn't include your full comment here, but I am excited to read your fanfiction! <3 Please post it on Tumblr when you also post it elsewhere!

#cinderella boy #cinderella boy webtoon #cinderellaboy #keys are people #kapt #keys are people too #am i allowed to do this #is this conceited #qna

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midnight-mourning · 3 days ago

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Holiday Fun

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 11❄️❄️

still feeling a little weird, BUT enjoyed writing this one out, these just keep getting fluffier and fluffier, WHOOPS, ah who am i kidding, i know y'all are eating it up, hope you enjoy this one as well ^_^

Prompt: Request! Christmas themed activities with the Daycare kids. Maybe Arts n' Crafts or even DCA trying to impress the kids with some funny costume

Word Count: 2040

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When Sun approached you with the idea of going 'all-out' for the holidays this year, you were just slightly surprised, but very pleased.

You've always love the holiday season, and having the chance to share it with both the playtime and the naptime attendant was always a bit of a joy. You'll admit, while you've never said it outright, you found their company very endearing, and having the excuse to put in the extra hours to get everything prepared was thrilling to you. Of course, you do your best to hide this excess excitement to see them as excitement for the kids, but still.

They had big plans for this time of year, much more ambitious than the usual. More games, more activities, more presents, all of it. The Daycare was decorated head to toe in all sorts of Christmas fare, including a rather large tree you're still not quite sure how they managed to get their hands on. Regardless, the mood was elevated for everyone, and especially for the kids.

It was decided that you'd stick to the usual routine throughout most of the month, leading up to a big celebration before the Plex closed for Christmas, consisting of a week-long 'party' filled with everything and anything you could think of.

However, it was during this time that you noticed the slightest shift in the attendants' attitude. Not a bad one by any means, they were still overjoyed, but you'd noticed they'd become a bit more, cheeky, in their interactions with you.

It started with a simple game, 'Pin the nose on Rudolph' with you volunteering to demonstrate for the children to help understand.

"Alright, are you ready Sunshine?" Sun asked, hands on your shoulders.

You nod, putting both thumbs up, blindfold blocking your line of sight. "Yup! Bring it."

He spins you around once, twice, three times, and you expect him to let you go, simply point you in the right direction with the sticky foam circle in your hands. Instead, he holds close, waiting for you.

At first you think nothing of it, stepping forward and feeling around for the poster. But you do whisper to the bot your confusion. "Um, Sun, everything okay? You're not trying to trick me now, are you?"

"Of course not, Starshine." He answers, just as quietly. "Just want to give you the best chance possible and impress all our little friends! Now, lift your hand up just a tad..."

Sure enough, you manage to get quite close to winning, and the kids are thrilled.

Similarly, during story time later on in the day, Moon asks you to help read with him, playing a few parts in the story, something you never do. But, you're more than happy to help out, though you do find his choices for you to be surprising, if even a bit flustering.

"Something the matter, Star?"

You cough, and shake your head, settling in beside him to be able to see the pages of the book. "Not at all, you just never ask for support during stories is all."

"Well, even the best of us need help sometimes, I'm not so prideful to not admit to that." He scootches closer, arm wrapping around you to grip the book he now puts between your laps. "Let's get started, shall we?"

You nod, heat on your cheeks hopefully invisible in the low light. "Of course!"

It doesn't go unnoticed to you how additionally, all their crafts throughout the week mysteriously end up in your bag, adding to the growing collection that was now scattered throughout your home. You know they're just being silly and sweet, but still, each little note you receive with each makes your heart soar.

Your favorite so far is the shared Christmas ornament they made you. One of the ones filled with paint and sparkly things and more. The blue and yellow bulb is hung front and center on your tree, and everytime you catch sight of the glitter hearts they added to it you have to turn away again, shaking your head.

It doesn't help that the children have ganged up on you now, seemingly unaware of how much it flusters you to be pushed together with your crushes for every activity. From movie watching, to making gingerbread houses together, to even dancing around the Daycare to Christmas music.

With each activity, you notice how they all giggle amongst themselves, whispering and the likes. And every so often, you'll catch the Attendant joining in, shushing them, tones too hushed for you to make out yourself. You're not entirely sure what it all means, but you assume it must just be the extra excitement relating to the party at the end of the week. As much as you've enjoyed the extra attention from the bots, there was certainly no way either of the Attendants meant anything by all this teasing.

That was, until the day of.

When you walk into the Daycare that morning, having ran a little behind because of the weather, you notice how, quiet everyone is.

It's odd, but still, you smile all the same to the kids, greeting them as you hang up your coat and go through your usual routine. You start reviewing the checklist on your clipboard, double checking that everything is set up and ready to go for the official 'start' of the party in a few hours.

As you're doing so, a shadow suddenly looms over you. You look up, eyes widening when you catch sight of his outfit.

"Oh! Good morning, Sunny! I wasn't expecting to see you so dressed up!" You comment with a giggle. "Or so blue."

He is in, fact, covered with blue and white, but not Moon's level. Rather, his outfit is a lighter blue, with snowflakes scattered throughout, including the end of the hat he's wearing. Jack Frost wasn't what you'd expect the sunny attendant to dress up as—if at all—but you have to say, it works well.

Sun puts his hands on his hips, head held high. "Why thank you! I thought a bit of dress up would really make this party a good one! Don't you agree?"

"Of course!" You beam.

Something's set down on the desk beside you then, the clipboard in your hands removed. "Wonderful! Then I hope you won't mind joining me, would you?"

You realize that it's a matching outfit, complete with

"Even Jack Frost needs a bit of assistance, and who better to help than his favorite helper?" He puts his hand over yours.

You can't help the stutter that forms then, even if the notion is silly. "Re-really? Are, are you sure?"

"How could I not be! The children are so excited too, we wouldn't want to let them down, right?"

You take note how the kids are keenly watching the two of you then, snickering and chatting just like they've been all week.

Something clicks for you then, and the warmth that's been building in your chest spreads ten-fold.

After a moment, you nod, taking the outfit. "Okay! Yeah, of course."

You rush off to change then, and when you come back, the kids cheer, only flustering you further. Sun claps excitedly upon seeing you, spinning you into a dip before setting you upright again. It dizzies you in more ways than one.

As the day goes on, you can feel the tension build more and more. You know very clearly now that they're planning something during this party, but to what extent, you're not for certain. But the lingering touches, the whispered teases, it's almost a bit too much for you now.

You just hope you're not reading this all wrong, or it's going to be really embarrassing—

"Having fun, Sunbeam?" Sun asks, practically skipping over to you.

You sip on your drink, watching the controlled chaos of the Daycare. Kids are running about, each with their own little costumes in the form of headbands and face paint. There's a craft or two happening, as well as a few easy to monitor games.

You don't know how, but you think this is the smoothest party you've ever had, despite so much happening. And now having realized the kids have been in on the schemes of your Attendants, you can only imagine what they did to convince the children to behave so well.

Music plays somewhere around you, and in that moment, you're the most content you've ever been, you think.

You glance up to Sun, and decide to make the first move for once. You wrap an arm around his waist, smile on your face as you observe the controlled chaos. "I'm having a great time, thank you. This is all so, perfect."

"Oh. Well, um,"—you hear Sun's rays spin quickly—"There is something else, we, we planned it just for you! If you'd um, be interested, that is."

You giggle then, patting his chest once with your free hand. "Lead the way then."

He nods, taking hold of your hand and guiding you further into the Daycare. Just then, the song changes, something still holiday-related, but slower, easy to dance to. With a slight hesitation, Sun takes both your hands, starting to lead you into the song.

"So." You say.

"So." He answers.

You giggle, looking up into his gaze. "You two have been pretty sneaky this week, haven't you?"

"I don't know what ever you could mean." Sun spins you around, into a shadow. It's enough for Moon to show for a moment. "We've been on nothing but our best behavior."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Not to mention you've managed to trick our friends into helping you. Do you have any idea how close to bursting my heart has been all week?"

"Obviously not enough, if it's taken you this long to notice." Moon snickers.

You scoff. "Give me some credit, when you've had a crush for so long, you find it hard to believe it might be reciprocated."

A shift back into the light, Sun's rays appearing again. "Well, maybe we just need to be a bit more clear, hm?"

Before you can say anything, Sun presses his smile to your lips. Your eyes widen, and before he can move away again, you pull him in for another, longer, kiss, full of the yearning you've been trying your best to hide for so long, now throwing all that caution to the wind.

You break apart, you find Sun is frozen in place. Then, he reaches up, and pulls the hat he's wearing down over his eyes, causing you to laugh outright.

"Sorry." Your hand comes up to his face. "Guess I got a little carried away for a moment there."

At that moment, you realize that several pairs of little eyes are on you both. Including—

"Danielle! Amy! You set me up?" You gasp, seeing them peeking out from the playset above you, sticks with little bits of mistletoe hanging from their grips.

They giggle as do the other kids, and it's your turn to be embarrassed. After shooing them away, with no help of either Sun or Moon, you're left alone with the two once more.

"I can't believe you pitted them against me. I knew they were in on it, but still!"

Moon chuckles, arms wrapping around you once more. "You're very oblivious, Star. We needed all the help we could get."

You grumble, but accept the hug, burying your head in his chest. "Fair enough. I guess."

"So, is this all alright then?" He asks, with just a hint of nerves in his tone.

You squeeze tighter, nodding. "More than alright. Trust me."

"Good. We should have another ten minutes before Santa arrives. Let's make them count, hm?" He asks, leaning back down to your height.

"Moon! We have a job to do."

He tsks. "Job can wait. They'll be fine on their own for a little longer. We gave them plenty of candy to keep quiet."

You're interrupted by another kiss from protesting further. But once you're not so distracted and flustered, you will be having a talking to them about bribing the kids for their help. Even though you were indeed, benefiting from it greatly.

Very much so.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you to @lizyxml for the cute request! Liked having something that had the daycare kids involved to an extent, and had a good bit of fun writing all the little scenes hehe ^-^ also thought jack frost would be a cute/silly costume so that's why I went with that for the boys :D (also a big jack frost fan sooo yk how it is >-<)

Masterpost link

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml

#chat we're popping OFF today #hehe #trying to anyway #want to desperately get caught up so I can work on other things #if yk yk #:)#fnaf dca #dca fandom #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sundrop #moondrop #dca fic #x reader #MM dca december

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jediwrites · 3 days ago

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slice of life: jedi edition ch.1

//Anakin Skywalker x Jedi Knight Reader

this is pure fluff and nothing more. (+1k)

warning: a lot of kissing and nonsense stuff that came out of my head

Your fingers brushed the soft curls of Anakin’s hair, his head resting in your chest, while his arms surrounded you. The sound of your calm heartbeat and the gentle cuddling was making the man fall asleep again. Unfortunately, the shy sun’s rays entering through the window indicated that soon you would have to part ways.

"Ani, you already gave a class to the Younglings, right?"

"Yeah… why?"

"Master Yoda asked me to take care of them this week." You said. “I’m trying to think about some things I can show them.”

Anakin stayed still for a moment, making you think he slept again. But without a warning, he tightens his arm around you, making a sound like he is straightening out. Laughing, you tried to push him off.

Anakin raised his head, one of his arms over your belly, while the other was supporting his body. Gazing at you, he gave you a faked pity look. “That’s a horrible thing to ask someone, doesn't he know that?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not that terrible.”

“If you say so.” He said with a sarcastic tone, burying his face in your neck, making you giggle. "If I remember right, I tried to tell them about my own stories, but they only wanted to know about lightsaber tricks."

His eyes got back to yours, a boyish grin plastered in his face. "Though I can't blame them for that, they know the fun part."

You snorted. "I don’t know about that, levitating things with your mind seems more fun."

His lips curled, saying in a playful tone “Maybe you’re right”, before locking your lips together.

After some time, you and Anakin had to rise from the comfort of the bed. You finished putting your belt over your clothes and looked at him, his back to you while he picked up his tunic on the chair. You smirked, an idea passing though your mind.

“I was thinking-”

“No,” Anakin said flatly, putting on the tunic and turning to you.

“You don’t even know what I have to say,” you huffed, exasperated.

Crossing his arms, he gave you a look. “You don’t need to, I know exactly what you will say and my answer is no.”

“You clearly don’t.” You imitate his pose.

“Okay, so continue then.”

You got to him, putting your hands on his shoulder, feeling the man softening under your touch.

“I was thinking that would be perfect if you showed up.”

“No.” Giving a quick peck on your lips, he got out of your embrace, catching his robe and belt off the floor.

“Come on, Ani,” you begged. “You are not that bad with children, they love you, it will be amazing.”

“I already had an experience with them worth a lifetime, darling, I don't want to repeat that.” He finished with his belt, and looked at you. “You’re asking for an impossible thing.”

“Fine.” You crossed your arms, with a little pout on your lips that made him chuckle.

He then stepped to you, pulling you by your hips and closing the gap between your lips.

It was now your time to melt under his touch.

You were standing at one of the windows of the Jedi Temple’s corridor, sight fixed at the skyline of speeders going on in the distance, the hurried pace of Coruscant seemed to be the same as your heart. Sighing, you gazed at the final of the corridor, expecting to see Master Yoda, but he was nowhere.

You shouldn’t be so nervous about having to take care of the Younglings — it would be only a few days, a break from the battlefield. However, to you, as a Jedi Knight, everything that involved teaching the Jedi Younglings — and Padawans —, seemed to carry a heavy weight to it. They are the future of the Order after all.

Closing your eyes, you tried to ease your feelings, focusing on the warmth of the sun in your face. Inhale. Exhale. After some time you could only feel the Force through your body.

“This view is really beautiful, don’t you think?” Someone said behind you, getting you out of your meditation.

Turning to the familiar voice, you got Anakin looking directly at you, a smile on his face. Grasping his comment, a smile emerges on yours, with your heart going back to the rapidly beating from early, but now for a different reason.

Before you could respond to him, a group of Jedi Padawans entered the corridor, making you stiffen in your positions, the warm smile fading away. Anakin sighed.

“I thought you were with the Chancellor,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

“We will meet later today.” Anakin looks around. “So, where are they?

“Who?”

“The Younglings, I thought we would show them some lightsaber tricks.”

The sudden appearance of Anakin made you rapidly forget about your upcoming task. You arched your eyebrow. “We?”

“Well, I changed my mind.” He shrugged.

The group passed you two, some greetings were exchanged between you before they got going down the corridor until they were out of sight. Coming closer to you, Anakin whispered. “And to be honest, even if I find it terrible, what I wouldn’t do for you, hm?”

You crooked your head, a smirk appearing in your face. “Actually, there are things-”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “For the last time, I won’t let my beard grow.”

The first time you said such thing, he shot you a look that you will always remember and laugh at.

“Fine, your choice, but know that you are preventing all of us from witnessing a masterpiece.” Touching this matter seemed to get under Anakin’s skin for some reason, and you found it very funny. You strongly believed in your assumption, though. “And I said to let it grow when you get older, Master Kenobi is such a cute with that beard of his.”

The disbelief in Anakin’s face was noticeable, but before he could respond, a thud startled you. You stepped away hastily. Turning to where the sound came, you face Master Yoda, a bengal stick in his hand and a questioning look.

“Master Yoda.” You shifted your gaze to your hands. “Hope the Younglings are fine for today.”

You hold yourself from cringing at your own words. You definitely could pretend better than that, but not with Yoda, it seemed.

“Very excited they are, young one.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I come together, Master,” Anakin said, trying to ease the tension.

“He offered to help me today.” A smile brightened your expression again. “I clearly wouldn’t declined this kind offer.”

Anakin playfully rolled his eyes, exchanging looks with you.

“A surprise, this is.” Yoda looked at the two young Jedi. “Skywalker coming back to work with the Younglings, had never thought I would see.”

“Sometimes it is good to give a second try.”

The older Jedi shotted him a smile. “Right you are, young Skywalker.”

A/N: after so many tries, i was finally able to write one of my ideas down. i didn't liked it that much (idk i feel like i dont know how to write anakin yet), but eh anyway :)) i tried to revise throughly this one before posting, but if you find any grammar mistake, please let me know. dividers are from this post.

#jediwrites' fics #anakin is my sweet boy :(((#anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x fem reader #star wars fanfiction #sw fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker x jedi reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you

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abbysimsfun · 19 hours ago

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Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 113 (Cozy Celebrations)

The events of this post occurred leading up to Winterfest (Generation 2 parts 99 to 102)

The Winterfest season began in Henford with a fresh coat of snow on the ground. White powder was rare in the rural river town, but like anywhere else, it was always welcome during the holiday season.

Hazel Moody-Nesbitt lived in a two-story cottage in the Bramblewood with her wife, Nicola. They also lived with Nicola's mother, Kim, and brother, Dominic, and Hazel had recently returned from a political conference in San Myshuno with holiday traditions on her mind.

The high school sweethearts had been married close to three years, but they were already growing apart. Still, they both hoped they could find the spark still lit amid the magic of the festive season.

"The first Winterfest without your father won't be easy, but we should try to make it a happy holiday," said Kim. "For Eddie's sake."

"We don't need to be sad, Mom. Dad's still with us, especially at this time of year." Nicola and her family wanted a quiet Winterfest at home, wrapping themselves in comfort and tradition as they soldiered on without her father. Outgoing Hazel wanted to support her wife, but she was hoping for something more this holiday season.

"Staying in watching Winterfest movies sounds like a really nice time, but maybe we could spice things up a little, and add some traditions from other cultures for the fun of it. Like cooking different kinds of food! Maybe we can't travel anywhere, but we could do the next best thing exploring different cultures."

Nicola hadn't travelled much. She'd heard Hazel's tales of camping in Granite Falls with her family, but she thought it sounded uncomfortable and full of bugs. She was a homebody, but expanding their holiday celebrations to embrace other cultures was a good idea. It's exactly the sort of thing Nicola would want to teach her students.

They got the season started by hanging a festive wreath over the bay window in the living room, and Nicola made japchae at Hazel's suggestion. "Apparently, it's a noodle dish they serve in places like Mount Komorebi for the holidays."

Nicola was comfortable with things like roast turkey, gingerbread, even egg nog - the comforts she'd grown up with in Henford, but the more gregarious Hazel wanted to try new things. Taking it upon herself to learn new recipes as well, Hazel taught herself to make brigadeiro, a Selvadoradian holiday confection made with chocolate and condensed milk.

The girls decorated, donned festive sweaters, and brushed over their relationship issues with tinsel and fairy lights. They both wanted to discuss their relationship fears, but they avoided it at every turn. They could never find time for couples counseling, even though they brought it up whenever they would argue about one thing or another.

Living with Nicola's mother and brother often left Hazel feeling like the odd man out. She'd come downstairs after working on the computer, listening to her wife chat happily with her family. But when Hazel would enter the room, they'd grow quiet, as though their conversations weren't meant to include her. As if she wasn't family.

Late at night, while Nicola graded papers and listened to familiar winter holiday music on the stereo, Hazel would head to the Gnome's Arms. She was a social creature and always had been; Nicola was more outgoing when they were younger, but after she lost her father, she didn't enjoy the nightlife anymore.

Hazel tried to understand, but it's not like Henford even had particularly wild nightlife to begin with. At the Gnome's Arms alone she would socialize, getting to know the locals in support of her work for Mayor Varner.

She'd even stay late enough - and often enough - that the pub owner, Laura Jameson, let her practice mixology for fun when the tables started clearing. She even learned to make a coquito - best described as coconut-flavoured egg nog mixed with rum from Isla Paradiso.

She visited her childhood home in Finchwick one afternoon after work, excited to discuss their plans for the holiday season. She found her father, Neal, standing in the laneway with River's wife, Cassandra.

"I'm looking forward to Nicola and I blending family traditions this year. We'll be over for Winterfest dinner, but she wants to spend a lot of time with her family remembering Eddie, so I don't know how many other family traditions we'll be able to join." She couldn't hide the regret in her voice.

Neal smiled. "We'll miss you for whatever traditions you and Nicola won't make it to, but we'll be thrilled to see you both, as always."

By the time Hazel made it home that night after a visit with her family, Nicola had finished grading papers and fallen asleep. Hazel climbed into bed and leaned over for a cuddle, but Nicola was sound asleep and grunted as she turned the other way.

Laying in bed, Hazel tossed and turned, resorting to counting falling snowflakes out the window to quiet her mind enough to sleep. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Japchae is Korean (Mount Komorebi), brigadeiro is Brazilian (Selvadorada) and coquitos are Puerto Rican (Isla Paradiso). The game says the real places in the descriptions, but I'm trying to be cute and keep country/world names in-universe, even though it's impossible to perfectly match every Sims world with a real-world location.

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puckpocketed · 3 days ago

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Trying to absorb everything there is to know about ice hockey within the shortest amount of time possible really does strange things to a person. You come up against questions such as what do defensemen even do aside from skate backwards and do tummy time to protect their goalie? (Broadcasts aren’t the most informative) What the hell makes defensemen effective? What do the casters mean when they say “gap”? What are defensive details?

I love watching games back, I love trying to understand the game. I love hockey <3 But sometimes it’s nice to have help, and sometimes my favourite writers/podcasters collaborate!!

Here is part 1/3 of a podcast mini-series about defending, putting it here so I can have a copy of it in case it ever gets taken down + wanted to share with everyone some of my findings! (All episodes are available if anyone just wants to listen to them!) Transcript + edits done by me, all mistakes are mine.

Published 6th November 2024, Hockey IQ Podcast: Modern Defensemen (with Will Scouch) Ep #1 - by Hockey's Arsenal, hosted by Greg Revak (apple / spotify / youtube / bonus substack link)

part 2

[START Transcript]

Greg Revak: On the Hockey IQ Podcast today, we open up a new segment: we’re bringing back our favourite Will Scouch. If you’re on the Hockey IQ Newsletter you know his work by now.

Will, good morning. Earlier than most of us probably normally get up, but it’s a good day.

Will Scouch: Yeah, Greg, thanks for having me, it’s a lot of fun. Me and Greg go way back. We’re boys from years ago and I’m excited to hop on the show. I’m a keen listener, keen reader.

[They exchange pleasantries]

GR: Beautiful. Well, today we’re gonna talk about three concepts. We’re gonna break it into three spots though, so everyone’s gotta come back next week and the week after that.

We’re gonna talk about defensemen, because everyone knows they’re important but how do we actually play the position well?

WS: Yeah, I mean, it’s a position that’s still, to me, being explored; both by, I’d say youth and junior coaches and pro coaches alike. There’s a lot of different ways that you can do it.

I mean, I watch a lot of hockey from around the world, all kinds of different levels. I’ve watched guys develop from 15 to 24 at this point, and just seeing how their games evolve and everything, and how effective various versions of this position is. And I think it’s a very interesting area that’s still being explored in a lot of really interesting ways, for sure.

GR: Yeah, I think back to David Savard; he comes out of the [QMJHL] as this high-flying offensive defenseman, and if we just forgot about the rest of his career and you just saw him today as this great shutdown, defense-first player, you’d be absolutely shocked.

I mean, you think about Rasmus Dahlin — kid didn’t even play full time defenseman until his actual draft year, he was still playing forward a ton. There’s so much to be explored here.

I feel like [to get a lot of] — for you NHL fans — to get a lot of value in the later rounds out of your defensemen, take those offensive players first, and we can find a lot of hidden gems later.

WS: Well, yeah. I mean, actually, I’ve said this a few times but your listeners probably don’t know, but I did a presentation during the pandemic at the Ottawa Hockey Analytics Conference about this topic exactly; how, when you look at the numbers and the defensive value of players in the NHL, I found that there were just as many in the top 50 defensive value of players in the NHL, there were just as many undrafted players as there were second round picks, second and third round picks combined.

So the draft isn’t really a great historical gauge on defensive ability. Offense is a different story from defensive players, which we could probably get into a little bit.

But I find, personally, that evaluating defensemen and projecting defense to the NHL is still really spotty and questionable. And I don’t know, in my line of work, watching a lot of defensemen, a lot of the ones who I think are some of the better defenders kind of go a little unheralded, because a lot of the time you don’t need to be particularly noticeable to be a good defenseman, but scouts are always looking for the noticeable guys.

So it’s a very interesting world and it’s a very interesting thing to pick through, but there’s definitely a lot of case studies you could dig into, and a lot of players you could look at as cases of, “Oh yeah, nobody was really paying a whole lot of attention to them!” or maybe people were thinking about them the wrong way. But if you think about things a little bit outside the box, you might be able to see something really interesting there.

GR: Yeah, so let's dive into why that may be. Classic example would be Lane Hutson, so maybe we'll pick on him a little bit, but I definitely want to talk about Rasmus Ristolainen, because he is an interesting case study that we wrote about on the newsletter.

So where I want to start with this is just modern day defending. How are defensemen defending today versus old times? A lot of times it was the big hit, separate the head from body. The puck’s somewhere, but let's separate the head from the body, and we’ll worry about the puck later — that is going bye-bye.

Every coach I talk to now, they prefer having the puck rather than having a head on a stake. So for me, it comes back to this old saying of, “position before possession.” We're gaining body positioning, we're not so much separating head from body, but puck from player.

All right, so we've got position before possession. It's super valuable in gaining the space that you need to have first whack in a puck or put the puck where you want it, or just push it to a teammate. Just having the idea of owning space and there's no better league at this and no league that values it more than the NHL. If you don't do this well in the NHL, sooner or later, you're going to find yourself out of a job making a heck of a lot less money in a league that probably no one really cares that much about. You want to be in the show, the big lights: you have to value this more than anything.

And this is actually the one thing that I noticed about Hunter McDonald. He's in the Flyers’ system now — he was an overager, but I was like, “This guy is unbelievable!” He’s a huge frame, you can’t miss him out there. He would just get the positioning before possession, and I was like, “Okay, that’s interesting, let me watch him further.”

And I feel like he’s going to be one of those bottom of the lineup guys who, unlikely, made it out of being an overager in the [United States Hockey League], going to college for a few years, but has those little details of a defenseman that you see in modern day play, which is positioning overall, which is an NHL trait to the nth degree.

WS: No, I know. I think I would definitely agree. Those are the players that are always really, really fascinating to me because you look at a guy like Hunter McDonald and the production just isn't amazing. But it doesn't — to me, when you look at defensemen, it almost doesn't really matter. That's kind of a very secondary-slash-bonus style of thing that comes with a player.

I see a lot of defenders every year and it seems like a thing where a lot of them, maybe at the lower levels, there is a little bit more of that “separate the head from the body”-type of player. And I think there are NHL scouts who still gravitate towards those guys but, at the end of the day when it all comes out in the wash, it's a lot of the time the guys that are kind of, I hate to say ”boring”, but just very effective, and just they're always in a good position.

The guy I always reference as a young defenseman who, I think, is just a really, really high-end defensive guy is Kaiden Guhle in Montreal. We're going to talk a little bit about Lane Hutson in a second, but Kaiden Guhle is a guy who, when he was in the junior level, just played such a great, balanced style of defense.

He was a good skater, but he had really good length. He was a guy who didn't just lay the body every single time, but he certainly could if he needed to. It was about his lateral mobility, it was about tracking rushes, keeping inside the dot lines, and preventing chances from inside and leading with his stick, but then finishing with the body if he had the opportunity or the need to do so. And he seemed to have a really good read of just how to do his job really, really well.

And so that's been a lesson for me for sure. He was a really interesting case study a few years ago, and he's become a pretty solid NHL defenseman. I mean, on a team this year that’s kind of struggling defensively I think he’s been one of the brighter spots on that defense group there, [he’s] doing a pretty good job at least suppressing chances against.

GR: I don’t watch as much as you do, prospects, but Guhle I did catch. For me, the play style wasn’t very good. He had elements of it, you could see the flashes, but he was just really brash. His decision making and his reads were quite poor. But the tools were there, and it was like, “Can he adjust?” Which I think he’s done a phenomenal job [of], and I think Montreal is probably the perfect place for him to develop a lot of that.

So I think you're spot on like, “Okay, how does he actually apply?“ Having assets is one thing, having the tools is one thing, but how do we properly apply those assets, those tools that you have in a good way? So I think another piece, for me, is if you do have the speed, is just making sure that you're controlling speed and then you're also keeping small gaps.

And just knowing with my high school team that no one knows what a gap is, let's define that real quick, which is: the difference in space between the forwards and the defensemen. So the space in between, “How much space are you [allowing]?” in hockey term slang. It's underneath you versus on the other side, which is above you or behind you. So, “How much space, what's that gap between D and O?”

(Editor’s note: He says O instead of F here, I assume because the person attacking isn’t always a forward. As in, “How much space between the defenseman and offenceman?”)

So you got the speed, shrink that gap as much as possible. Don't give them the space to operate or work in, or, I even call it the space to think, which [it often becomes] for forwards, especially unsophisticated ones.

WS: Yeah, I mean, that's really the bread and butter of a lot of the position. It's so much of this, like you said, gap control. I actually just did a bit of video work for a really high end player, [an] NHL draft pick playing in Sweden this year, who is producing really well.

But in terms of the defending side of the game, he's not the most incredible skater you've ever seen, he's not the biggest guy in the world. And a big thing that I noticed, that even at the professional level that was kind of a bit of a work in progress, was that gap management. Especially because the footwork wasn't amazing, [he was] keeping his feet a little too stationary, gliding backwards and sort of allowing that gap.

And when you watch the NHL that's the point of the whole exercise, watching the NHL and how they play. Forwards are fast and they're smart, largely. The guys who can score are the guys who know how to get through soft defensive pressure, the guys who know how to find lanes and cross up defensemen, and if you don't have the footwork or the mobility or the reach or all of it — all of the above — to track all that and manage it, then it's going to be a lot tougher to do your job.

But the interesting thing, though, is that there's a lot of different ways that you can get defensive jobs done. That's always been very interesting to me; seeing how different players approach the position in different ways and seeing the efficacy of that come out in the wash, and how their offense balances with their defensive ability. It's a very interesting world to dig into, for sure.

GR: Yeah, I think you've got a rabbit hole there. You just kind of opened up around defensive skating. What do clean feet look like? What does defensive posture look like, that actually allows you to have that kind of mobility?

So we'll leave that for another day. If anyone wants to go check it out on the Hockey IQ Newsletter, they can do so. Just look up defenseman skating development. We've got two good pieces there talking about building and maintaining defensive posture and keeping clean feet, which — actually massive base for anyone.

It allows you to have the proper gap that allows you to kill plays early, and ultimately, it's a lot about just controlling speed. You don't want McDavid building up to full speed. You don't want MacKinnon building up to full speed. You don't want anyone coming up to you at full speed. It's very hard to maintain that kind of speed going backwards [that we] even generate in the first place.

How do you kill it early? How do you get a hand on someone? Or, my favorite example is just proper pivoting. A guy dumps a puck on you, how are you going back? What does that pivot look like?

I'll let you open that up because at the NHL it's almost too good, where you can't see what a bad example looks like, but you can see it's everywhere.

WS: Yeah, I mean, it's a make or break skill in the NHL. It's where a lot of defensemen die. I mean, it's a cliche at this point to talk about pucks in deep, to talk about [getting] pucks deep in the offensive zone, get below the goal line, dump and chase. People make fun of dump-and-chase kind of stuff. But if your team is built to do it, you can do it.

You can take advantage of defensemen in the NHL who just don't have the speed or the agility or the skating ability that some of your forwards might have. It is a lot easier to skate forwards than it is to skate backwards. That's just, you know, anecdotal, but also pretty factual — you're naturally going forwards.

I think an interesting trend that you're seeing a little bit more of [is] what they would call ‘scooting’. You're the coach; I don't know if that's exactly what the terminology would be, but [it’s getting] your defensemen in the neutral zone, kind of pinching a little bit more and having them skate forwards, tracking play towards the boards.

So it's not necessarily that they're doing their backwards crossovers, it's not necessarily that they're entirely skating backwards, but you see guys who are really talented skaters or do have a lot of quickness driving play to the boards in a more aggressive way than having the play in front of them. It's about them sort of tracking that play laterally, which is an interesting thing I think you're seeing more of now.

I think there are definitely coaches and systems that love to play their defensemen more that way, and the weak side defense can sort of fill between the dot lines for them and sort of leave the weaker side of the ice a little bit more open. That's kind of what I mean. There's a lot of different ways to achieve these kinds of goals, and I think you're seeing a lot of different things popping up to adapt to this.

In situations where you have a dump and chase or something like that, or just getting pucks in deep or whatever you say, when you have a defenseman who has trouble with their footwork and turning around… Trust me, I'm a defenseman, when I play hockey, I strap on the skates — I play defense myself and that's where I fall apart, when I do fall apart. Which is often. But definitely, when play turns around and I’ve got to change directions or change my area of flow, it can be tricky. And in the NHL, I can only imagine how tricky it can be there.

GR: Yeah. I mean, a good pivot you're looking at three steps total, like boom-boom-bam and you're there. You watch an amateur game and it could be like five, six, seven, eight chops before [they] finally get going and [it’s] looking like a proper forward stride again. [Or just] getting into a good defensive posture and positioning. It's total scramble mode.

A big one for me, too, is just the direction that you pivot. Do you wait for that offensive player to commit to their lane? It's just a great defensive habit in general, letting the offenceman make the first move. If you're making the first move, you're the one showing your cards. It's kind of like showing your cards first in Poker.

Let them make the decision and then you can pivot into them. Now you can get that position before possession, or at least get a chip on them, slow them down. You can either make it easier for yourself or your partner. So one, there's the clean footwork on the pivot, and two is making sure that we're controlling the speed and we're pivoting properly in the direction that we want to pivot.

There's a ton of times where I see, especially the lower levels, players coming up, they're in a bad spot, they're skating forward, defenseman skating backwards and they just chip it off the boards. And the defenseman is like a dog just following the puck and it ends up in the middle of the ice where the forward actually went. Again, the NHL is the best at this so it's really hard to see bad examples of pivoting into and controlling the space of the opponent.

WS: Yeah. I do a lot of work outside the NHL, and the biggest thing I notice is not necessarily the number of chops it takes, but the amount of time. You can see guys taking two seconds, maybe more, to get themselves turned around, tracking pucks below the goal line.

To me hockey is a game of milliseconds a lot of the time, right? I was working with someone years ago who really shared the idea with me that, in the NHL, generally goals are not scored if you have the puck on your stick for more than either half a second or a second.

I can't remember off the top of my head, but it's so fast in terms of; when you score goals in the NHL, it's when you touch the puck for a very short amount of time in the offensive zone and get a puck on net. And so, if you have guys who take too long — and “too long” might not be very long… If the difference is relatively short at the time you're making those pivots or those changes, but the [opponent has] got a lot more speed than you and you're [taking more] time to then start generating that speed to match the opponent, you're in trouble.

And in my opinion, I think that you want your defensemen to be more assertive. I always fall back on the strategy of; make them make a decision, make them commit. That might imply that you do the committing first, but that's where the importance of footwork and tactics come into question.

You have to have strong support, whether it's from backchecking forwards or your partner. You want to be able to adapt to quick players who might fake one way, go another, and be able to use your stick or use your feet or both to be a factor regardless of what happens.

It's very interesting to watch defensemen play. I find it really, really interesting to see the different approaches of different players and especially how they evolve and get into the NHL.

But yeah, I mean, [it’s so pivotal], the skating ability; defensemen who can skate, it unlocks so many doors for their career. If you're an elite level skating defenseman, it just unlocks so many doors that interest me. If you're not, and if that's not a strength of your game, then it can be a big struggle, especially against faster opponents. Even if you're big and physical and pretty good throwing the body or whatever, there's a lot more of the game in the NHL these days. Very, very interesting stuff.

GR: I think that's actually the perfect segue into someone who, early in his career, threw the body too much and sold out too much on plays that he probably shouldn't: Rasmus Ristolainen.

Great case study, great case study from when [John Tortorella] started working with him to where he is now. Will, I'll send in the link here from the Hockey IQ newsletter so we can track a little bit better with each other.

I found him to be a fascinating player. High draft pick, 8th overall in 2013. Really pretty, smooth skating, big body — has all of the tools that you would traditionally say, “Yep, that checks [out].” And then you looked at his stat profile and it was just abysmal. His micro stats were terrible. I think the only thing he was good at was D-Zone Retrievals, which, being able to take contact, it was kind of an easy thing for him.

WS: Yeah. I remember watching Ristolainen when he was in junior hockey, because that was the earliest years of me being kind of curious about that side of the game, and I did not really recall that being a premier area of his game.

I remember him being big, but pretty mobile, and has some skill to play around with. He did have a bit of a physical edge to him, but it feels like it was that tail end of an era in the NHL where those big, mean, physical guys were kind of in vogue, and people were kind of curious and needing guys like that. And I guess that's what Buffalo drafted him to be.

I remember being very surprised that he was in the NHL the year he was drafted. It just did not look like it was really working out there. And Buffalo just seems to have been not a great fit for him, they kind of turned him into something that he wasn't, but I do think that he's turned into some sort of serviceable defenseman.

But he, to me, is a great example of one that I always look back on and go, “Man, what if?” Like, what if things went a little bit differently for him? Because there was good stuff there, it's just I feel like the development was focused in the wrong areas.

To me, 65% of the work [is] scouting, and developing — the easy part is drafting good players, the hard part is developing them and bringing them along into being good NHL players.

So to me, if you can find the most amount of things that get in the way of that process being easy, then you're doing a really good job. And with Ristolainen, I feel like in his case they inserted more things to make that journey more difficult and sort of turned him into something that he wasn't, which is always a scary thing for me to think about doing to a player.

But it's not over for him, obviously. He figured it out. Obviously, Tortorella found something for him to do, and he has shown a little bit better. But yeah, he's always been a what-if guy for me.

GR: I always liked how Tortorella, after the 2022-2023 season, was doing his media stuff and he was like “Yeah, he's our most improved player.” You're a guy who's getting paid big bucks — I think he was making five million plus that year, still is, probably — and even him, he was like, “I was just bad the first half. And then around Christmas break, I started getting going. The second half was much better.”

Basically, the first half, they were just trying to rebuild his defensive game, and this is true for anything. Zach Benson's another good example of this. If you can't play defense in the NHL, you're going to be out quick. Benson can play defense despite being — I think they list them at five foot 10, but there's no way.

WS: Yeah, no, no. I know. He's a little guy, but he's another great example of a player where I, in my work, I do not care how big you are. I just care about how you play. Even in the NHL. And I feel like Benson's a really, really good example of that; a guy who, just forechecking alone is a really… The easiest way to defend is if he can cause turnovers in the opposing team's offensive zone, a guy like Zach Benson does that extremely well.

And if he needs to track guys through the neutral zone and backcheck, he'll do it, and he does it really well, and he does it at a speed that I found to be projectable to the NHL. And again, that's another one where I was a little surprised to see him in the NHL so fast, but he didn't really look out of place there.

He's had a bit of a slow start this season, but just a really, really talented player, and one where you kind of do look at and go, “Yeah, these smaller guys can definitely defend.” They just — the expectations are a little bit higher, and maybe for good reason, but he checks all the boxes for sure.

GR: Yeah. So for Rasmus (Ristolainen), there's two big things that, when I dug into this, that Torts was working at. At this point, I was so intrigued [that] I was tracking every single time Torts spoke and Rasmus spoke to the media. So I was like, “I wonder what they're actually doing?” Which, Torts can be tight-lipped, but he gives it away if you follow long enough.

The big one was just inside, like too much, he was finding himself, Rasmus was finding himself on the outside. So whether that be outside the dots, outside on bad ice, for whatever reason, or just finding yourself outside, like losing defensive side positioning to the offensive player.

If you finish contact, but now you're on the wall and your player's got to step to the net, that's trouble. There's a great, great clip the other night featuring, I think it was (Aliaksei) Protas [who] ended up scoring the goal and K’Andre Miller of the New York Islanders. So Caps — Rangers, not Islanders — Rangers… Where [Miller] went in soft, didn't really take positioning, got beat back to net, and Protas just put out a stick and just tapped it in, Igor Shesterkin never had a chance.

A similar idea of; okay, good, maybe you got some contact, you tried to make the stop, but you still need to maintain defensive side positioning. You still need to finish on the inside. So if you're doing contact, you can't overreach.

You just can't do that. You have to stay in good positioning.

And the second piece was just, finishing with contact to get stops, like stopping movement. Offensive play is a lot about movement, and defensive play is about stopping movement, AKA getting stops. So he would maybe make a play, or get a poke check, but the puck was still moving and could be easily on the other team's stick.

So how do you make sure you're always staying in good positioning? Staying on the inside, as Torts put it. Or the other piece, which is getting stops, or finishing with contact — but smartly, not chasing the contact for contact’s sake? Being tactful in your play.

I feel like Risto really just learned how to play defense smartly. He was actually thinking and being intentional about what he was doing, rather than like, “I see a puck and a player, I'm going to go end that!” And then, boom, in the big scheme of things, it’s a net negative. Even though at the moment, it may have, especially to him — otherwise he wouldn't make the play — seemed like a positive, really it was a negative for the team.

WS: Well, that's the interesting thing too, going back to talking about junior players and the context in the draft and how defensive players might go a little bit underreported or undervalued in a sense.

I see this all the time, especially with North American defensemen, especially with Canadian ones, but there are definitely players who everybody talks about how good they are defensively, everybody talks about how solid they are. They're big, they're physical, they're mean, blah, blah, blah. But then when you watch things in detail, it's this sort of Ristolainen-style thing. You're talking about K’Andre Miller where it's like, they're along the boards, they're doing the thing along the boards, but they're losing.

They're allowing guys to get low on them, get through them, and even in the junior level, right? What good is it if you're trying to pin a guy against the boards and they give you a little shove, crouch down a little bit, chip the puck three feet out from you, you don't adapt to that, they get three feet of space on you, throw it out in front of the net, and boom, you got yourself a scoring chance, right? I see that all the time.

It's the focus on the body and not focus on the turnover, turning that possession back over, that really seems to be a tough lesson for a lot of defensemen to get over. I find that a lot of defensemen from the age of 18 to 23, in the grand scheme of things, their style of play doesn't drastically shift all that often.

And so, when I see things like that happening, I'm going, okay, I gotta either hope that this guy puts in the time in the gym and becomes, just, a strength nut, and pins that guy to the boards so they can't do anything, or they figure out a way to get into those situations, take a step back, chip at the puck. Really battle for the puck rather than focus on the guy.

Because I've seen it so many times with guys who are bigger and more physical, they apply it in a way where I feel like coaches will go, “Wow, look at you go, you're playing hard, you're playing the thing!” But then they escape, this opponent might escape, and create a little bit of space for themselves. And again, this is a game of inches, it's a game of a couple of feet, and every inch matters.

So in some cases, yeah, you get those situations where guys like Ristolainen, yeah, you're doing the thing, people clip the hits, people clip the physical play, but then five seconds later, someone's got some space on you and they generate a scoring chance. And so what do you really value, right? Personally, fewer scoring chances would be ideal.

GR: I love it. Last piece to wrap this up, because I think it'll go well into our next piece, which is point play. Shorting the zone.

I was able to find some phenomenal clips and do some photos of this for the newsletter. But the concept of; if you're watching a game in the NHL, if you can see all five of the people trying to break the puck out, low in the zone… A lot of it, you think about the NHL today, is like a swarm. We're going to do close support. I'm going to try to crowd the puck out.

A good way to respond to that is to short the zone, which basically means your defensemen, instead of hanging out at the blue line, are going to go into the offensive zone. And they're going to start with small gaps, they're going to be [at the] top of the circles, if not a little bit lower.

Tortorella is another big fan of this, so you can see it with the Flyers a lot, too. I would say [Sheldon] Keefe is another example of a coach who does this a ton. So you saw a lot in Toronto, now you'll see a lot more in New Jersey, which is the perfect d-core to make all of this work. So I think Devils are going to be good for — that's going to be a great fit.

But just the idea of crowding in the space, setting small gaps, so when you do start defending, you can either cut a play off early — it's an easy pinch there if you don't have to go very far — you can cut it off. Or, 2; create a turnover in a much better spot than what is in your own zone. Why not make it in the o-zone? So from a positioning standpoint, phenomenal place to start, good way to kill plays early.

Before they can get going, before the team can build speed, and just being able to put yourself in a good spot to take advantage both from a defensive standpoint, but offensive standpoint.

WS: Yeah, I love when I see this being deployed. I think, again, I'm a geek, like I'm a math guy, and even just thinking about the numbers here, it makes such a difference if you think about it.

The offensive zone from blue line to goal line is 64 feet. So you're looking at the difference between a guy standing at the blue line being maybe 75 feet from the net or at the top of the face-off circle where you might be 20 feet closer, maybe 20, 25 feet closer. So you're cutting down the time at which you give the defense to adapt, the goaltender to adapt. You're cutting that time down by a third-ish, a quarter to a third. I'm ballparking here, but that automatically is just based on where you are on the ice.

If you can compress the offensive zone on your opponent, you're laughing. The second thing I wanted to mention here is this is, again, why skating ability and quickness and speed are so important to me. Because it is objectively a better position to be in when you're in that position — closer to the top of the face-off circles for your defensemen.

But if you do have a situation where the opponent has possession of the puck you have to get set up, you have to cover that gap, you have to cover for yourself, or you have to have some sort of system in place where a winger can cover for you if you're caught in the offensive zone. Ideally, you have your defensemen who can wheel up, get some speed going, get positioned well to counter that attack, and have a system that can swarm whoever has that puck in the offensive zone.

I think it's a really interesting trend for sure. It's a simple little thing, it's a concept that you see definitely a lot more now than you used to, but I'm all about it. It just makes sense mathematically, and it plays into exactly the styles of player that I always look for: guys who do pinch a little bit more aggressively, but have the mobility and the skating ability to cover for themselves.

I would rather have a player who tries something creative, or tries some sort of play that could lead to a high scoring chance, but may relinquish some space on the ice, but has the ability to cover for themselves.

And I can at least as a coach, rely on them — not that I'm a coach — but rely on them to cover for themselves. To go, okay, I can rely on them to try these things, because I know that if it doesn't maybe go their way, which happens in hockey all the time, I'm not going to be upset at this player, but I know that I want them to backcheck, cover for it, because I know they're capable of it.

I think that that's sort of the trade off that you have to live with, but I'm totally cool with it.

GR: All right, so we're going to call this end of the day on some modern day defending, and we'll pick up on point play in episode two.

[END Transcript.]

part 2 <- convenient link at the bottom <3

#puck!script #puck!research #p!res:defenders #p!res:archiving #proud of this one. took ages and definitely not perfect but very important to me !! <3 #please read if you have an interest in dmen and understanding dmen... there's a few mentions of specific NHL players ->#rasmus ristolainen #<- features heavily here. there's a lot of flyers talk actually and I found it super interesting!!#Parts 2 + 3 transcribing... soonish. as soon as I get a bit more time on my hands.

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theus-what-are-you-doing · 2 days ago

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Ask Ozi?

I saw @p1tabread reblog my Ozi post with a question so I thought it would be fun to do this little Q&A thing and develop my keysona a little more! Below "read more" will be more in depth answers if anyone is curious!

Now for the questions expanded!

Ozi is my favourite key ever

Ozi would only respond with confusion to this statement, or be flustered, because they was at their height of usage within Ex Libris' organisation during the Elizabethan time (I know that isn't canon but let me head canon, will you? It fits their story a lot better) e.g. when Shakespeare's works were hitting theatres and the need for comic relief characters were at an all time high with the focus on tragedies.

Recently however, it could be argued that their position has been fulfilled by the role of the "Helper" key Bronze, as many modern stories have a tendency to combine the helper and the comic relief roles into one character, think of the sidekick that is used to be funny in tense scenes within hero movies or books.

As so, they doesn't get as much use as they did back then, hence their confusion to why they are a favourite in this modern age.

They do greatly appreciate it though, even if they're a little confused!

2. What's his favourite Shakespeare character or play?

Honestly, back in the day they used to be a big fan of them all as they thrive on tragedy. That being said, they doesn't like "Romeo and Juliet", for reasons that "They can't understand why the hero wouldn't just have a good cry and wait for Juliet to wake up. They didn't need to die."

That's their reason at least, we theorise this was mostly because this was one of their first books they had entered and they and their human had genuinely though that Silver and Goldie had actually suffered the tragedy that befalls their characters. Dark, huh? Safe to say, a lot of crystal tears had fallen when they were reunited!

As for "Something Rotten", it's one of my favourite Shakespeare inspired works, and I have a feeling that If I did have a key, that is one of the first things I would show them! I however, love the Soothsayer more than I love Shakespeare! Nick Bottom is a close second however!

I hope that answers your question, fellow nerd (Fear not, I will not sue you!!

#cinderella boy #my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #art #original art #cinderella boy webtoon #cinderella boy punko #CB Webtoon #keysona #keysonas #keysona cb

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dcdreamblog · 3 days ago

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so i Was Looking for a Uesd Things shop and found This

( a Superhero team poster ) Its for Something Called OLD JUSTICE and i Have to Aks

is This a real Thing or Something for Some Movie makeing Fun Of sidekicks? and If There real What Was There Story

Well this is certainly something. Honestly the story here is a little sad and a little inevitable considering the kind of generational effect that the superhero community has had. While most of the still living JSA happened to stumble into this or that circumstance that have kept them young (or at least, young enough) into the modern day, many of the people around them have not been so "lucky"

And so a bunch of them got together and formed a group they called "Old Justice"

Daniel Dunbar AKA Dan the Dyna Mite: A Golden Age sidekick to the beloved and mourned TNT

Mortimer and Amelia Jibbet (Nee Hunkel) AKA the Cyclone Kids: The former sidekicks of the original Red Tornado, married in adulthood. Mortimer "Dinky" Jibbet is the younger brother of famous newspaper comic artist Scribbly Jibbet.

Doiby Dickles: A Brooklyn cabbie (and part time alien prince consort) and ally to the original Green Lantern

Merry Pemberton AKA Merry, Girl of 1000 Gimmicks: Adopted sister of the original Star Spangled Kid. In adulthood she married the original Brainwave (seriously) and had two children by him.

Thorndyke Thompkins AKA Second Sweep: The foremost member of Hourman's wartime "Minutemen of America" (Think the boy scouts, but with a lot more scrap collecting and nazi punching)

In their old age, motivated by various unhappinesses in their "golden years" they sought to make sure that no other young people in their positions would ever make their "mistakes". Trying to turn public opinion against the hero team Young Justice and even pushing for legislation to criminalize superheroism under a certain age (the irony of these golden age heroes pushing for another hero registry that could only have been enforced by invasion of secret identities evidently did not occur to them)

Due to a chaotic incident where the ages of most superheroes got swapped, leaving the heroes of Young Justice as the adult chaperones of a now tweenaged Justice League, Old Justice was able to see what kind of mettle these new kids would muster and decided to part ways as friends.

They were REALLY pushing the court of public opinion there for a couple months though, so that's probably where the poster came from.

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popculturebuffet · 11 hours ago

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Transformers More Than Meets the Eye Season 2 Retrospective: World Shut Your Mouth Parts 1-3 (Pateon Review for Brotoman.EXE)

Hello all you happy autobots and after nearly a fully year and a crossover.. welcome back. It's been a long road but it's finally time to get back on the lost light for TRANSFORMERS MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE SEASON 2 BABY

For those just embarking, More Than Meets The Eye was a long running Transformers comic by James Roberts, a fun trek to the stars where a bunch of Autobots allegedly quest for the mythical cybertron while in actuality figuring themselves out, cracking jokes, getting traumatized and saving the unvierse. It's one of my faviorite comics ever and thanks to my good patreon brotoman.exe I finally got to cover it. I complied season 1 into two posts (thanks tumblr) you can find here to get up to speed

Over the break I started a look at Boom! Studio's power rangers that continues in feburary i'll be doing on and off, then a bunch of fun side quests including Transformers One which you can find my gushing review of here

But I missed these guys and i'm excited to get back to this series. In fact with my Giant Days retrospective starting up in january, that means i'll be covering two of my faviorite comics of all time simultaneously. Also that time the Government decided if they ignored gotham maybe it'd go away. Lots of fun plans for next year.

A big reason besides just the joy of this series is simple: Out of the three seasons Season 2 is my faviorite. I loved it the most reading the comic the first time. Season 1 is great.. but also makes a lot of assumptions in some places, assuming the reader didn't start with this comic and will just know what the dead universe is or who overlord is. It make sense for the time as Chaos was the last thing to happen chronologically and last stand of the wreckers was a hit: it's not a bold assumption that most transformers readers still on board know all this. But it is a bold assumption to not ease readers who might NOT have been there for the previous volume or noped out after it was bad and felt bad, or who are coming in fresh because "hey look hot rod! cool space adventures! queer robots! sign me up'. I'm in the latter category in case you were wondering.

Season 1 is good.. but Season 2 feels more accesible while continuing the great plotting, paying off a lot of season 1's setups, adding a few of it's own and generally being pretty damn awesome. It also adds some fresh faces to shake things up with Chromia being a faviorite of mine, Nightbeat being fun, and Getaway being one of the most intresting characters they've added for reasons I won't spoil but if you know your already booing him.

The biggest and best though and the one I feel helps pull the series together... is Megatron. The former leader of the decipticons, the big bad of most transformers media... joins the autobots and the lost light. It brings the series themes of war and it's cost into focus: Cyclonus is CONSIDERED a decepticon, but while he shares the philosphy he wasn't there killing our heroes friends. One of the things I feel the season 1 cast really lacks for it's post war themes is any deceipticons.. and putting the most infaomous one of all, a man with so much blood on his hands he could fill a swimming pool more than makes up for it. Megatron is TRYING to do better as we'll get into, geninely wants to do something.. but struggles both with being better and EVERYONE hating him. At least to start EVERYONE is understandably hostile to megatron, who dosen't help by being his usual standoffish self. It's a fun situation... and also great for comedy as he both makes a good straight man and pisses Rodimus off as he's not happy about his new "co-captain" and the duo's banter is pitch perfect.

IT also allows for megs to be thorughly explored: why did he do this, what does he regret. Dark Cybertron hinted at this, but now he's a full time cast memmber we relaly get into why Megatron is the way he is. He feels so critical to the series it's a shocker that he's there because Editorial wanted him in one of the books.. yet it works so perfectly. The lost lights established issues with seeing the cons as automatically evil, their war trauma nad moving on are tested by putting the biggest symbol of all thier issues and the reason many exist at the helm. It's an engaging , hearbtreaking thought provoking season and we can finally kick it off under the cut as we find out HOW Megatron got this sweet gig, how everyone's dealing with it and just how drunk trailbreaker can get.

We begin

And we're back, with Nautica, now mostly settled in hurrying up to talk to her new bestie Brainstorm. And right away the series already has a new charming character dynamic: Chromia finally provides someone genuinely intrested in Brainstorm's work when it isn't on fire and a foil as she finds his newest idea a tad questionable: COLOR CODED LASERS, so you can tell who the baddies are. Ahhh how I missed James Roberts addiction to taking goofy parts of the franchies and making them an actual thing. This one dosen't quite take off as Chromia points out just how bad it is while Brainstorm just says.. maybe change the color. It's also a nice little peak into his character through some wacky nonsense: depsite the war having passed.. he still sees it as the good guys and the baddies. Granted a good number of decepticons were pieces of shit, but as prowl has proven time and time again and will somehow be allowed to keep proving, just because your on the right side of history dosen't make you a good person. It's something Chromia fully grasps and adds some fresh perspective; she's TECHNICALLY an autobot, but her home planet wasn't in the war and it gives her a diffrent perspective.

The two notice a pile of people outside Rung's office as he has a very special patient.. and it's here it's revealed whose the captain now. I spoiled it a tad early out of necisity but it's still such a great panel

I just notice the little cubes of energon and the energon equilvent of a water jug for the first time. I love that Rung has refreshments. Such a good therapist.

So we flash back six months and get used to it as we'll be going back and forth to explain well, how did we get here? Rodimus is prepared to leave, understandably as he was just through some shit before the whole crossover.

Optimus however dosen't want ANYONE leaving till after the trial. And naturally Prowl dosen't want a trial but a public execution. He even says it twice, proving that Magnus should've just let Chromedome finish him. Optimus points out WHY they need one: the public needs to trust the autobots again so the trial needs to be transparent. Granted Optimus still makes some fumbles in setting it up: while he makes the wise decision to apoint magnus as the defense, as he knows even with every reservation Mags will do the right thing, he appoints PROWL to proscution. Prowl who the NAILS could easily point to as biased. Prowl who Optimus knows from the crossover as Rodimus damn well told him set up the whole overlord fiasco out of paranoia. Prowl who SHOULD STILL BE AT THE BOTTOM OF A CLIFF INSTEAD OF IN THIS PRIVATE COUNCIL. I get it's not asshole free, Starscream is also there, and Rodimus has some thoughts about that that sadly feel all too relevant

Just that feeling that you can't grasp WHY something very stupid and horrible happened... or why they elected it to office.

So the trial is set, and Rodimus reveals why he's so twitchy: the matrix. Granted Optimus once again comes off as a bit of a prick, and unlike the prowl thing where Roberts hands are tied by the sister book having Prime weirdly trust the guy, Optimus just.. seems grumpy at Rodimus breaking the matrix. Despite ya know DOING SO TO SAVE THOUSANDS OF SENTIENTS. I love this book, with all my heart.. but sometimes it forgets our heroes can and have actually done shit.

So Rodimus is going to thunderclash for help, which frankly is a hell I wish on no one. But he has a reason for being so twitchy besides "everyone is being a dick to him today and the planet is ruled by a smooth talking facisit now": Thunderclash hasn't responded which given who we're dealing with is not exactly good. Still Rodimus being present gives Optimus an idea to speed things up.

Back at therapy Megatron is annoyed Rung has made his fusion cannon a penis thing, a gag I love but Rung points out why: Megatron is being evasive

So Rung tries something diffrent... great encounters. Who he met that had the most impact on him. Megatron deflects by pointing out how they met, the incident at the Macaddams from Chaos Theory. it's a major reason why I wanted to cover it, the other we'll get to as we go. Megatron dosne't begrudge him from forgetting and tries to use his usual rhetoric and deflect.. but Rung's found an opening: See he brings up Megs biography.. and specifically that he found a rare first edition, the others all wiped.

It's a quote I deeply love and shockingly haven't had a use for till now. But it's not only once again precisent.. but also gets to the heart of things. Rung tried finding the change, found nothing.. and then spotted the deidcation and asks whose terminus. Before he can dig in on that, the lights go out. Megatron takes that as a sign to leave to go refuel and then get back on deck so Magnus doesn't get too comfy. He does point out why he edited it out though: Terminus was a friend. and taught hims omething important. Okay it's vauge as hell. Rung is curious though as we find out MEGATRON asked for the session. Also btb, Ravage, one of soundwaves cassets is lurking on board. It dosen't come up in this half of the story and I almost forgot to mention it but it will naturally be important later.

Back in the flashback we get a brief bit of levity as Swerve holds fake "Crewditions" to fuck with people. It gives us a look at the adorable nerd Nautica is and nightbeat eventually shuts it down. It's a fun bit and leads us into what Optimus was getting at: letting Chromedome extract testiomny. Probablem is.. Megatron has a deathly fear of mnemosurgery, reacts harshly and assumes their coming to take his brain instead of you know, trusting optimus. I mean I can't blame him for not wanting to take the needle. Rodimus.. takes the chance to mock him and say megatron will end up where he started: under rock deep under ground with nothing to show for it. And this.. will be a mistake. Not for the whole of cybertron as it leads to some good things, bu tfor Rodimus as it's going to be a pain in the ass in the short term as Megatron has Rodimus give Magnus a box.

Back on the ship Skids and Nightbeat are hanging out. Their buddies now. And Chromedome is.. not doing well just sitting in his cell replaying rewind's message having ALMOST recovered a little.. but then you know, he didn't get to kill prowl so back to depression he goes. Nightbeat is curious though.. the last number on Domey's hab suite is missing.. something... is up.

Speaking of.. I don't have a transition. Whirl is doing what he does best: pick a fight to mask his deep issues. In this case he sucker punches Megatron

It does not. Once again Whirl not only picked a fight with someone stronger, but someone who did not want one. And unlike Cyclonus who simply threatens to murder him some day, Megatron cuts to Whirl's core. Whirl brings up the fact he tried to murder Megatron in a prison celll... and Megatron reveals in gratittuude for setting him on his path, he ordered his men to never actually kill Whirl. I like the ambigiuity: Megatron is usaully straight forward.. but he's also smart and knows this kind of lie, or even worse truth, would damage whirl way more than a fight he did not want or ask for and lets the fight go while Whirl looses an arm in Megatron's insides as shockwaves use of him as a space bridge means his stomach's all kinds of freaky.

After this we flashback as Megatron explains the why of his therapy: he explains the editing that life is all edits, slowly piecing things out of your life, changing yourself for better and worse and sometimes the wordk you've done.. is unsalvagable. You need to start over. And that's what Megatron is doing here, why he threw his past away on Luna 2 where the trial took place. We'll find out what that means later for now the issue ends as the crew finds a mysteroius coffin with an autobrand in space.

We open our second issue with the return of Tailgate! I missed him.. I missed all of these guys granted but still I forget sometimes he was in a coma between seasons. But he's back and Cyclonus smiles upon seeing him coming. He's then massively confused as Tailgate tries to jam his finger in his head as his new signature move, but still it's clear he's happy for a change. Tailgate gets caught up to speed on just about everything.. only to see Megatron hauling a coffin and wearing the autobrand. They both have one as Tailgate got his as a present while in stasis , with Cyclonus feeling it dosen't fit either of them. We do get a cute moment though that after a drunk autobot you da man now dawg's tailgate, Cyclonus assures Tailgate he was missed.. by him. He says it about as directlya s he can without just saying "I missed you dawg now let's go have robo sex".

Back in the past, Rodimus is watching the trial with tons of victim testimony.. too many. In a nice bit to show his depth he does feel it's necessary, the bordedom comes from just how the same it is: so much trauma in a pile. So he's greatful for a break as Atomizer asks him. You remember him right? The red one? has a visor? Hasn't been plot relevant till now o clock?

Well now he is and he's suspiciously giving Rodimus a keypad with the names of every person that voted against him when he called for a vote on his captinancy. Rodimus does the right thing shrugs it off.. twice even.. but Atomizer knows his audience... he knows even at his lowest and most regretful.. rodimus still thrives on attention... and simply says he'll stop pushing.. if Rodimus says it one more time.

Back in the present everyone's at swerves and Swerves now has a bouncer, 10, one of the legislators left over and reporgrammed. He only says 10. While he deals with that and Swerve is grumpy over the new captain, though frankly should be greatful megatron let him keep his bar given what a stickler he is, Natuica, Skids and Riptide, a new crewmember whose less important than Nautica are watching Trailcutter slowly drink himself into a coma. His crippling self esteem issues and alcholishm have lead him down the darkest hole imaginable and it's sad to see, sadder this time around as having read his spotlight and seen just how shabbily he's treated by everyone but Whirl, whose busy patching up his pride, you can see why he's drunkely spiraled. And it only gets worse as Riptide mentoining Megatron drinks some kinda super fuel gives the poor shambles an idea.

Back to the past, and Starscream is being starscream, going on a long rant first describing how much he's acomplished and how much he loves his poeple and exactly what you'd expect till Magnus tells him to knock it off, then a long stew of lies painting Megatron as a mistaken blundering fool whose revolution got out of hand and whose been lead by others. This.. is what gets Megatron to activate his escape hatch to the suprise of no one. While part of it is genuinely good impulses as we've seen. he still has an ego. It's not as big as Starscream's as tha'ts just not physically possible, but it's enough to get him to say "fuck this time for plan b" after pleading guilty and intended to just.. give up.

Chromdome goes to visit Nightbeat. Turns out as he's been rewatching Rewinds's last words again.. and again and again, and again, and again and again and again and you get it, he's noticed a change...Rewind screaming. A change that's now gone and understandably Nightbeat think's it's just grief and Chromedome refuses to see the naunce in that and plans to storm off... till Nightbeat sees something... REWIND.

So it's back to trailwhatevers drunken escapades. Nautica leves as she's tired of water man and skids egging this stupidity on as Trailbreaker breaks into megatron's room.. well rather the door goes missing. This issue does a nice job of amping things up.. that something IS seriously wrong with the ship and the sign on chromedome's suite was just the start.

So he breaks into suplies, checks the energon and finds megatron.. and finds megs, magnus, ratchet, some white guy, guy with a visor and cool red guy with a visor starring him down. Trailbreaker responds by busting out his new move a "panic bubble" that lasts 90 minutes. While he huddles and his enablers have no idea we go back to the past.

Starscream is doing what he does best: celeberating prematurely that he's won, he's the true leader of the decipticons. er cybertron...

The Autobots also got an autobump. But the real meat is back in the present. Nightbeat has figured out what Rewind might be. A g-g-ghost! Specifically a data ghost. Information has a life of it's own, and Rewind was constnatly recording... and him stopping when his spark stopped. Sidenote I just realized transformers sparks are where their hearts are and i'ts a consitant thing in this comic. Like no matter the side the spark tends to be at the center... I know this because of all the impalings. So many impalings. I'm not haunted at night you are.

Point is Nightbeat is fun, on a tear if not exactly senstive as Chromdome is both depressed he didn't bring his partner back with the power of love and thinks it has ot be revenge since he hasn't been contining the quest for dominus ambus like he promised. They have bigger issues.. which i'm saying a lot this review but is true as the wall of nightbeat's habsuite is GONE. Somehow their not in the vacum of space. or something.l the art really isn't clear.

So back with Trailboy, he's coming down and is ready to go to prison or be sent home or whatever just as long as it isn't a beating. The bad news is he's still getting a beating as Megatron thunks him on the head. The good news is Megatron.. is a good leader now. He recognizes the problem and activated Trailbreakers fim chip. Basically he can drink he just can't get drunk. Disabling it is how robots get drunk in the first place. It's a violation of space.. but something necessary as this coudl've gone so much worse. It's also a job opportunity: Megatron admits this shoudln't of been even possible: even with the door going missing someone breaking in this easily and this drunkenly is impressively sloppy. He needs a new cheif of security since with all these extras and all this chaos.. no one.. no one thought to hire a new head of security since Red Alert's breakdown. Especailly given it was proven he was entirely sane and hearing a serial killer in their walls, but we'll get to his fate later. Point is Megatron sees this drunken breakdown for what it is: a very depressed man with a disase who badly needs a purpose and gives him the job. It shows already that while Megatron is still coarse and arrogant.. he's also a better man. In the past he probably woudl've just killed trails and does threaten to murder him.. but here he empathizes seeing that he's just a bot at the very end of his rope with no one actually supporting him but given the panic bubble with actual talent. Sending him home or locking him up helps no one. Giving him a job, a purpose and what he wanted most of all: recognition.. that ... that's a good thing Megatron did.

So Trailbreakers rock bottom did help though: it opened the casket and since no's eyes are leaking out of their skull, Megatron opens it to find RODIMUS BODY. Yup apparently he's been dead this whole time.

TO find out how we... should go back to the flashback. And we do but get no answers: Megatrons pleading not guilty now, while Rodimus did the thing we all expected and reads the data pad.

We being our final issue for now where we left off: on trial. Yeah this bit isn't BAD.. but feels like it woudl've been better as it's own issue in the middle or at the end of these three. A whole flashback to explain. It's how most comics do it and while that can get tedious I now see why: you can thread flashbacks with a story well, see the first arc of the most recent captaina merica run. JM Stranzki nicely synchs up Steve's past trying to stop american nazi's with the present. Here it synchs up a little but it feels like two diffrent stories that are important but keep interupting each other.

I do like the trail as it helps set megatron up: why he's here where his heads out etc and I like his prewrittne response he has magnus read out

Now the mentally violate part is fucking bullshit. That's.. entirely made up and not at all what happened and footage from the cell could easily prove that. That's just megs being a dick. But the rest.. isn't wrong. They didn't pull any witnesses from the decipticons, any of his loyalists left alive who might speak for his character, and while Magnus did his best he really didn't make an actual defense, his judge is his archenemy and his prosecuter is a known war criminal. It's very clear Megatron only let this go as far as it did because he planned to just sit and rot and was fully taking the kangaroo court.. but hot rod and starscream woke up his ego: his desire to not have the story end in shame.. but in doing SOMETHING right.

More on this soon. For now everyone has some drinks and kicks back, riptide studies a bit and we get back to the past where exactly who you'd expect are reacting exactly how you'd expect.

Look starscream isn't suprising.. but at least he's entertaining. Of course he's going to pout his evil plan isn't going the way he wanted. Prowl is also unsuprising.. but a giant fucking dick i'm still baffled john Barber couldn't see as a monster. Maybe it's roberts writing but you can't just..conviently ignore that one of your main cast commited war crimes in the other book or is saying shit like this. Or blame it on constructicons as he'll end up partially doing. Prowl is arguing they should basically have a show trial and trying to imply it's us or them and not "everyone even monsters deserve a fair trial. " Ratrap cuts through this very RID argument with a simple point: Ask megatron what he wants.

Back with the corpse First Aid is examining and has NOT been doing well. Ratchet primarily asked for his help because Ambulons' death hit the poor guy hard and he's been in his room barely engaging with anyone sense. Seems to be going around. Still calls need to be made.. and thus after a three issue absence, kinda... it's the return of the king

Yeah a rare full page here as everything about this is great, Rodimus clear grief... and it being interputed by a petty argument. I like that like Ultra Magnus Megatron just.. cuts through Hot Rod's bs.. that he's now tag teamed by two people who won't take his shit. And both have a point: They are co captains. Made up rank or not optimus judgment stands, but Rodimus was sulking for what was implied to be several months, kinda proving WHY maybe they needed a new captain.. co captain. Whatever. While Optimus taking the reigns from Rodimus is cruel as this is Roddy's quest, he acomplished little and let a serial killer on board on a dare. Megatron has done FAR WORSE.. but has far better motives than his own deep seated insecurity.

So back in prison Megatron is wondering about the people who tried to spring him. By the way some decpitcons tried to free him. It.. it sure did happen. I nearly forgot to mention it but in doing os realized just HOW superflous it ends up being. It shows Megatron isn't going to flee but like.. we got that.

And this proves it as Megatron explains why he' squesting and wants to change things to being judged by the knights of cybertron. He dosen't want his epitaph to be written by starscream. He wants to do something right

He's trying to atone for what he did. this isn't just an escape hatch: he had one ready, unsuprisingly, but his reasoning... is good. he just wants to make a better world after ruining this one.

Optimus agrees. While he could just throw megatron in the brig till Rodimus finishes the quest, He sees the genuine nature of this request and asks for two non negotiables first

Second we'll naturally get to later, as for now Rodimus is freaked out and thus calls for TEAM RODIMUS WHAT WHAT. Specifically nightbeat, nautica, chromedome, brainstorm and skids, all people who are smart and can deal with weird shit. He ignores Night beat about to tell him shit is weird and instead has chromedome once hack into a dead body

Yeah Rodimus is a bit of an ass this arc even by his standards. Nautica finds specteralist symbols, chromedome only finds curosy memories left and first aid confirms via enermost energon that it's him. Sometime in the near future he apparently dies after they reunite with drift again.

So Rodimus has a resonable adult reaction to his impending death: CUT OFF HIS ARM. After all if his corpse has two arms, he has one it can't happen. Perfect plan! Megatron points out the flaw and I just.. love how these two bounce off each other. We've never really had someone on the same level of rodimus point out his stuidlty. Others have but with those bellow the command trinity he can tell them to shut up and respect the captancy and magnus and drift were both weird in their own ways: drift was new agey by cybertronain standards and magnus would marry the rules if that wreen't against the rules. Megatron is megatron.. but he lacks the quirks whiel still being megatron enough to be funny. He's straight with roddy like magnus but unlike magnus has no clear issues he can push. Roddy can pull out the "your a monster card" and does frequently and will call megatron out on a lower moment next time, but it's not something that works when pointing out basic logical falicies and when the person isn't trying to be space hitler these days.

Thankfully rodimus mental breakdown is interuppted as a large portion of the ship disappears behind him. So Nightbeat's right while Brainstorm's latest invention has the right idea

Meanwhile our other new castmate finally reappears: Getaway. As Tailgate is hot doggin and grandstanding at the bar, Getaway comes up and starts flattering him, calling the little guy a hero and blatantly hitting on him in a way that's obvious to a grumpy cyclonus and anyone with eyes, but also comes off creepy... the way he just... butters Tailgate up it seems wrong. And it is but we're a long ways away from that. The alarm goes off and we go back to the flashback. Megatron denounces deciptconism and everything he stood for, a bit mopey.. but understnading

Speaking of MOpey rodimus shows Ratchet the pad.. and finds out Megatrons going to be assigned to his ship. And his pissy ness.. is entirley justified. Now his months long mope sesh isn't, he didn't act like an adult and unlike first aid and chromedome he's not dealing with severe trauma and depression: he's just sore his ship got taken away and if he wanted to prove he's still captain, fucking act like it. Be a leader.

That said it wasn't within Optimus' rights to fucking do this. It's not his ship, not his mission, not something he's been involved with apart from a brief team up. He has no authority over the lost light and should've had no authority to keep it here for the trial. He's not in charge of anything but the autobots. not cybertron, and frankly shoudln't of been judge. His intentoins are noble: keep megatron honest and in the public eye and watched and under fools energon so his strengths down, it's why the special diet. But his actions are simply selfish and not how a leader acts: While sometimes you HAVE to ignore the will of your team to do something right in fiction, to give someone a second chance even if they sucked before, this.. isn't his team. He was autobot commander but he RESIGNED. Bumblebee is dead. This decision is not his to make. He didn't set out on this mission. He changed an entire ships mood, put the crew with a leader they truly hate simply because he knew they'd listen to him and wouldn't contest it and that... that's not good leadership. That's not being superman tha'ts being a dick. It works out long term, but it's an example of the rest of the autobots dismissing the lost light crew's autonomy. They stopped being one united all together faction the second they split and while they'll be there when cybertron needs them, the autbots left on cybertron have to accept they aren't one big army anymore. He's not THE SUPREME COMMANDER. He deserves respect I get asking for favors but this is a unilateral decision tha thas horrific consequences.

Anyways Rodimus feels bad as he was considering generally using the pad as Atomizer suggested, to cull the herd.. but can't. Ratchet points out what a stupid thing this would be but lets its lide given bout the cirucmstances and the fact Rodimus agrees to destroy it. That said.. he also points out it's fake. his name isn't on the list.. and that clearly wounds Rodimus.

So we end act 1 of the story as everyone scrambles to exit the lost light. We get some great banter as Megatron gives a classic villanous unhand me.. and Rodimus points out good guys don't really do that and I love their bickering on the escape pod

Now kiss... but maybe later as the lost light is gone. And that ends part 1

While splitting it in half this was was just circumstance, and it's late release was just me having a massive cold the split fits as while I consider this is a 6 part arc and all of it's collected in the same volume, it really is two acts the first slowly building up to the big event and explaning "why megatron here" while part 2 leans more on the sci fi high concept now we're all caught up. It's why I wish we'd gotten a flashback issue. Maybe DO rodimus as a corpse then the flashback.. then reveal he's alive. I dunno. This stretch of issues is decent but the trial stuff makes it drag slightly. I'm not reading this book for a self righteous asshat to hold a trial for his arch enemy whil ea war criminal screeches to just kill him already.

Having to spend time with Prowl did not help, as .. it's Prowl. he sucks. And I admit a large part is how the series ends, with Prowl somehow surviving all this, yes, really, and getting to dismantle the lost light. I'll get to the context in a few years, but that knowledge just makes me hate him more. Every panel is him just being the smugest most uncomfortable dickweed and it really pisses me off he's allowed to be involved in this trial AT ALL. That he's not HAVING A TRIAL or in a cell. I mean I get doing megatron first but i'm shocked starscream didn't throw him in one as he has every reason just to piss optimus off. I get so tired of the heroes throwing their hands up at prowl being a dick, arguging with him but doing nothing, something that will lead to a whole ass crossover event. And yeah you could blame his current combiner status but it's clear from the flashbacks before his brainwashing or his time as bruticuis, he was a DICK. An authortarian asshat who thought the ends justified the means. He's the Transformers verison of amanda waller but without the comptence or style... so absolute power era amanda waller, but I digress. He's a bad person and while Rodimus actions involving overlord haunt him I notice somebody never gets tried fo rit, exiled or just... plain.. kicked out. Optimus should NOT have brought him to earth or even talked to him. He gives Rodimus so much shit, and the shit over his not resinging was deserved.. but he lets PROWL get a fucking free pass till it's too late only punching him after he's comitted more war crimes. The more I think about it the more prowl's presecnce just drags down this whole affair and I didn't think i'd be ranting about him AGAIN but here we are.

This first half is fine, as while season 2 is my faviorite it does have a bumpy intro with the flashbacks, everyone being a tad grumpy and the first arc really being everyone adjusting to a war criminal being made captain. The levity the series needs to ballance it's deep sads isn't there often and it's only when Rodimus returns the series equilbrium comes back, his man child nature perfectly setting up comedy again with Swerve in a grumpy mood and Trailcutter's breakdown being more sad than the shennigan the series tries to play it as partly. He's a constantly negelected and unseen person lashing out and doing a drunken stupid that only dosen't end in his death because Megatron is a shockingly cool guy. But once you get Rodimus and Megatron arguing and our cool star trek style high concept of the week going, things feel like the comic I feel in love with and thankfully the second half is way stronger for it.

Next Time: We find out where the lost light went, Megatron gets a cat, and a former member of the crew returns! Kinda! Multiverse theroy is a bitch! I'm pulling for ya we're all in this together

#transformers more than meets the eye #megatron #hot rod #transformers #ultra magnus #rewind #chromedome #nightbeat #nautica #swerve #ten #ratchet #starscream #optimus prime #trailcutter

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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 1 day ago

Text

Bunny - Health Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

(Part 4)

Pairing: Joker x Fem!Reader

Joker x Reader with Anxiety

Word Count: 9892

Warnings: Joker, lol

Summary: Poor Y/n let herself go while Joker was locked up, now she's sick and Joker's goons have to look after her

A/N: Took a while to get this one out (shocking) but got it done! a bit on the shorter side of my other fics, but I didn't really have much for this part, it's more of a little fun one

(Laptop was playing up again, so had to post from my phone, will fix later)

Hope you enjoy this part 💚

It had been an agonising week without Joker. Normally, this wouldn't have been a cause for concern, disappearing for stretches of time was just something he did. But this time was different. This time, she knew he was in trouble, and the weight of that knowledge pressed down on her like a vice. Her anxiety, already a constant companion, had become an unbearable storm of worry and dread.

The news outlets seized every opportunity to cover the story of Joker being locked up, using every scrap of information. While the police remained tight-lipped, determined to withhold key details, the public had ways of uncovering the truth.

Grainy cell phone footage of Joker in a shitty holding cell circulated online, and rumours spread like wildfire. Everyone seemed to have an opinion, their voices merging into a deafening roar that only added to Y/n’s unease.

Every time she passed a television or scrolled through her phone, there it was, his face plastered across the screen. Headlines blared about his arrest, speculating on his motives, his crimes, and what the authorities planned to do with him. Each broadcast felt like a punch to the gut, a painful reminder that he was out there, caged, while she was here, powerless to do anything about it.

She was surprised to see that his makeup was still intact. Whether the authorities hadn’t bothered to remove it or had tried and failed, it didn’t matter. His face remained as she remembered it, boldly painted and defiant, other than little empty patches here and there. Oddly enough, it brought her a small sense of comfort, a reminder that even in their custody, he was still him.

She couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. Her mind replayed their last moments together over and over, dissecting every detail, searching for some sign, anything, that he had a plan to get out of this. Because he always had a plan…didn’t he?

Y/n paced her small apartment, her nails chewed down to the quick, her phone clutched tightly in her hand. She considered calling someone, Rocco, maybe, but what would she say? Who could she trust? And even if she found someone to talk to, what could they do?

The uncertainty gnawed at her. Joker’s absence wasn’t just a void in her life, it was a ticking time bomb, and she was terrified of what might happen when it finally exploded.

The days dragged on, blurring together as Y/n confined herself to her room. She couldn’t bring herself to do much of anything. Her appetite was nonexistent, and the thought of eating made her stomach churn. The only thing she consumed was water, and even that was more out of necessity than care.

The once-cozy space she called home felt suffocating, the walls seeming to close in on her. Her bed became her constant companion, the blankets pulled around her like armour against the world outside. She hadn’t bothered to tidy up or even open the curtains. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of her phone screen.

Her reflection in the mirror told a story of exhaustion, dark circles under her eyes, her skin pale and dull. She felt as though the weight of her worry for Joker had physically anchored her to the bed.

She didn’t want to see anyone. Avoiding her friends, ignoring texts, and letting her phone calls go unanswered, she kept herself isolated. Leaving her room felt pointless when her mind was consumed by thoughts of him.

Her chest tightened every time the news flickered on in her head, imagining the cold, sterile cell he was probably in. It was a mental loop she couldn’t break out of, and it left her drained.

Y/n’s neglect of herself was becoming painfully obvious, the toll on her body undeniable. Her once-vibrant complexion had turned discoloured and lifeless, dark shadows lingering beneath her hollow eyes. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, the lack of proper nourishment leaving her looking gaunt and fragile.

Her energy levels had plummeted. Even simple tasks like standing up or walking across the room left her feeling lightheaded and weak. Her muscles ached from lying in bed for so long, and her legs felt shaky when she did manage to pull herself up.

The dehydration was catching up with her, despite the water she drank. Her lips were cracked, her skin dry and rough to the touch. Her hair hung limp and dull, reflecting the lifelessness she felt inside.

Her immune system stretched thin from stress and lack of sustenance, left her vulnerable to every chill in the air. She must have developed a slight fever that she didn’t have the strength to care about, brushing off the sweat on her brow as just another inconvenience.

Y/n’s body was screaming for help, yet her mind remained fixated on Joker. It was as if she’d become a shadow of herself, physically and mentally drained, all because the one person she cared about most was out of her reach.

Y/n lay sprawled on her bed, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her arms felt like lead, barely able to reach the half-empty water bottle sitting on her bedside table. Her fingers brushed against it weakly, but even the small effort was too much. She let out a soft, defeated sigh, her dry lips barely parting.

Her gaze, blurred and unfocused, was fixed on the ceiling when the creak of her door made her heart skip. She thought it was just another trick of her mind, her exhaustion had caused her to hallucinate sounds before. But this time, shadows fell across the dim room, and she slowly turned her head.

Her vision was too poor to make out details, the figures were just dark blurs against the soft glow of the hallway light. Panic fluttered in her chest. Was she dreaming? Or had her mind finally cracked? She blinked hard, trying to clear her sight, but the figures remained.

Then one of them stepped closer, and a familiar, gravelly voice filled the room. “Boss sent us,” Rocco said simply, his tone gruff yet somehow grounding.

Y/n’s breath hitched. It wasn’t a hallucination. These were real people, they were in her room. She managed to push herself up on trembling arms, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. How had they gotten in? The door was locked...wasn’t it? How fucking shit was this dorm’s security?

Her bleary eyes darted to the second figure, standing just behind Rocco. She didn’t recognise him, this one was new. He stayed silent, his broad frame looming in the doorway, while Rocco stepped closer.

“Damn, kid,” Rocco muttered, his voice softer now as he looked her over. “You look like hell.”

Y/n didn’t respond, her throat dry and her mind too foggy to form words. All she could do was stare at them, trying to process what was happening.

The realization hit her like a jolt. Joker. Was he okay? Did he send them to check on her? Did this mean… he was still out there? Her hands gripped the sheets beneath her tightly, desperate for answers, but too weak to demand them.

Rocco stepped closer, crouching down so his face was level with hers. His sharp features softened slightly as he took in her dishevelled state. “You’re not taking care of yourself,” he muttered, a mix of irritation and concern in his voice. “Boss wouldn’t like this. He sent us here to make sure you’re still kickin’.”

Y/n blinked slowly, her head swimming with questions, but the mention of Joker made her heart clench. Her lips moved, though no sound came out at first. She swallowed hard, wincing at the dryness in her throat before croaking, “Joker...?”

The second man, the one she didn’t recognise, stepped forward now, his arms crossed. His gaze flicked over her like he was assessing her condition. “He’s fine,” the man said curtly. “But he’s got…other things to handle right now.”

Rocco shot the man a look, clearly annoyed by his lack of tact. “What he means,” Rocco said, his tone more measured, “is that the Boss can’t exactly walk through your front door right now. So, he sent us. He wanted us to check in, make sure you’re okay, and…” He hesitated, glancing back at the other man before sighing. “...and make sure you get back on your feet.”

Y/n felt a rush of emotions, relief that Joker was alive, frustration at her own helplessness, and confusion about why these two were standing in her room like they belonged there. “How…how did you get in?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Rocco smirked faintly. “Lock wasn’t much of a challenge,” he said, jerking a thumb at the other man. “Frankie here’s got a knack for getting through doors. Don’t worry, though. We’re not here to cause trouble.”

Frankie, so that was the name of the stranger, gave a curt nod but said nothing. His presence felt imposing, but he didn’t seem hostile.

Y/n tried to sit up straighter, her body protesting with every movement. Her head swam as she forced out another question. “Why…why did he send you?”

Rocco reached over to the bedside table, grabbed her water bottle and handed it to her. “Boss cares about you, kid,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “More than you probably realise. He doesn’t like the idea of you wasting away while he’s out there handling business. Said if you don’t start taking care of yourself, he’ll have to come sort you out himself. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

Y/n took the bottle with shaky hands, her eyes wide as she processed his words. The thought of Joker sending these two to check on her, even while he was dealing with his own problems, made her chest tighten. He cared. In his own chaotic, unpredictable way, he cared.

Rocco stood up, brushing off his knees. “We’re here to help, alright? Whether you like it or not. So, drink up and get moving. Boss wouldn’t want you like this.”

Y/n hesitated, then took a small sip of the water. It was lukewarm and tasted metallic, but it was the first thing she’d managed to drink properly in days. She nodded faintly, her voice still weak but determined. “Okay.”

Rocco’s patience quickly wore thin as he watched Y/n take another feeble sip of water and sink back into the mattress. “Alright, that’s it,” he said firmly, straightening up and rolling his shoulders like he was preparing for a task he didn’t particularly enjoy. “You’re coming with us. Boss’s orders.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, panic flickering in them. “What? I can’t–” she stammered, but before she could finish, Rocco leaned down and grabbed her arm gently but insistently.

“You don’t get a say in this, sweetheart,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Boss wants you outta this bed, and that’s what’s happening.”

The other man, Frankie, sighed and moved to the other side of the bed, his expression unreadable but his stance ready to assist. “She’s not exactly in any condition to walk on her own,” he muttered.

“I can tell,” Rocco replied sharply. “That’s why we’re here. Now, up you go.” He pulled her up to a sitting position with surprising care, though his grip was unyielding. Y/n groaned, the motion making her head spin and her stomach churn.

“I can’t…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t even stand.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Rocco said as if it were the simplest solution in the world. “But you’re not staying here, wasting away. Boss ’ll have my head if we leave you like this.”

Y/n tried to protest, but before she could, Frankie slipped an arm under her knees and another around her back, lifting her effortlessly out of the bed. She gasped in surprise, her body trembling from the sudden movement.

“Don’t drop me!” she cried weakly, her hands clutching at his shirt.

Frankie scoffed. “Relax.”

Rocco opened the door, stepping out first to make sure the coast was clear. “Move it, Frankie. Let’s get her to the van.”

Frankie carried her out of the room, his movements steady but brisk. The cool air in the hallway hit her like a slap, and her already fragile state made it hard to keep her eyes open. Her head lolled against Frankie’s shoulder as they made their way outside.

The van was parked at the curb, its engine idling softly. Rocco opened the back door, gesturing for Frankie to set her down. “Easy now,” he said, his tone surprisingly soft.

Frankie carefully eased Y/n into the van’s backseat, her body slumping against the upholstery. Rocco climbed in beside her, positioning her so she wouldn’t slide around during the ride. He reached over to buckle her seatbelt, muttering, “Don’t even think about trying to wiggle out of this. Boss ’ll hear about it.”

Y/n didn’t have the energy to argue. Her head rested against the window, her body aching and weak, but somewhere deep down, a flicker of curiosity sparked through the haze of exhaustion. Where was she being taken?

The van rumbled to a stop in a dimly lit alleyway, the oppressive gloom of the Narrows seeping in through the windows. Y/n barely stirred, her frail body sagging against the seatbelt. Rocco turned to glance at her, his expression somewhere between irritation and concern.

“We’re here,” he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt. Frankie was already out of the van, opening the back door and reaching in to unbuckle Y/n.

“C’mon, girl,” Frankie said, his tone gruff but not unkind. “Boss wouldn’t want you sitting out here all night.”

Y/n blinked slowly, her vision still a blur. She didn’t have the strength to protest as Frankie once again lifted her, cradling her like she weighed nothing. The cold night air nipped at her skin as they exited the van.

The building in front of them was dilapidated, its bricks cracked and stained, with faint graffiti scrawled across the lower walls. The windows glowed faintly from inside, casting eerie shadows onto the narrow street.

“An apartment?” Y/n mumbled weakly, her voice barely audible.

“Temporary safe house,” Rocco said curtly, leading the way to the door. “Boss’s orders.”

Frankie adjusted his hold on her as they climbed a narrow, creaking staircase that felt like it might give way at any moment. Y/n groaned softly, her head lolling against Frankie’s chest. The exhaustion in her body made the journey feel endless, each step rattling through her fragile frame.

On the third floor, Rocco stopped in front of a battered door with peeling paint. He fished out a key, unlocking it with a click before pushing it open. The apartment inside was sparse but clean enough, furnished with the basics, a couch, a small table, a kitchenette, and a bed tucked into the corner of the single room.

Frankie carried Y/n inside, laying her carefully on the couch. She let out a faint sigh of relief as her body sank into the mattress, her muscles aching from the short journey. Rocco lingered near the door, crossing his arms as he surveyed the room.

“Not exactly five-star,” Rocco said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “But it’ll do.”

“Boss said to keep her here and make sure she eats something,” Frankie said, stepping back and stretching his arms. “She looks like she’s about to keel over.”

“Yeah, well, she’s been like that for days, hasn’t she?” Rocco grumbled. “I’ll have a look. Can’t let her starve.”

As Y/n lay on the couch, barely able to keep her eyes open, a thought began to gnaw at the back of her mind. She hadn’t fully processed it before, but now, with Rocco and Frankie’s casual conversation, it became clear.

They were talking about him, Joker, like he was still calling the shots, like he was still in control, even though he was locked up and under 24/7 security. Her heart skipped a beat, a mixture of confusion and curiosity flooding her veins.

The implications of it all settled in her chest, heavy and unsettling. How were they in contact with him? Was he somehow orchestrating everything from behind bars? Was he pulling the strings while locked away, unable to move?

She tried to sit up, her body protesting the movement as if the world around her was spinning. The dizziness from the exertion made her head throb. She let out a shaky breath, trying to focus as she reached for the water bottle beside her. Her fingers trembled as she unscrewed the cap, the cold liquid soothing her parched throat. But the question remained.

How is he still in control? she thought, her mind racing. She hadn’t heard anything about Joker’s escape, nor did it make sense that he could have any influence from inside a high-security facility. So how? How were his goons able to move so freely?

She glanced over at Frankie and Rocco. They didn’t seem concerned, almost like it was business as usual. Rocco was leaning against the wall, checking his phone, and Frankie was off to the side, inspecting the small kitchenette. Neither of them gave any indication that they were afraid or worried about Joker's imprisonment.

Y/n felt a pit in her stomach. Was he that powerful, even locked up? She didn’t know what to believe anymore. The whole situation felt surreal like being stuck in a bad dream.

“He’s always had a plan,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. "He always has a way."

The weight of the situation settled deeper into her chest as she realized that Joker was always three steps ahead. Even now, even when everything seemed to be falling apart, Joker had found a way to keep his reach, his control, intact.

But how much longer could he stay in control from inside a cell? How much longer before something broke? Before she broke?

She closed her eyes, trying to push the fear away, but it lingered. It always did when it came to him.

Rocco reappeared from the kitchen, holding a paper bag that crinkled loudly as he walked toward her. He tossed it onto the table with a heavy thud, then turned back to the cabinets, muttering something to Frankie under his breath. Frankie came over to the couch and crouched in front of Y/n, his gruff face softening just a bit.

“You need to eat, girl. You’re lookin’ worse than a dead man,” he said, pulling out a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a juice box from the bag.

Y/n blinked at the items as if they were foreign. It had been days since she’d eaten anything substantial, and the idea of food felt distant, almost abstract. Still, Frankie didn’t give her much choice.

“Come on,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. He unwrapped the sandwich for her and held it out. “A few bites, at least. You’re no good to anyone like this.”

Her stomach churned at the thought, but she nodded weakly. With trembling hands, she took the sandwich from him and managed a small bite. The dry bread felt foreign against her tongue, and the first swallow was like pushing a rock down her throat. But then the second bite came easier, and the third after that.

Rocco turned back around, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in his hand. “Gotta admit, didn’t expect you to be this far gone,” he said bluntly.

Frankie shot him a warning glare, but Rocco shrugged. “What? She looks like she’s been through hell.”

“She’s been through enough,” Frankie snapped, his voice lower this time. “Just shut up and let her eat.”

Y/n barely registered the exchange, too focused on the sandwich and the juice box that Frankie had handed her. The sweetness of the juice was a shock to her system, waking her up a little more as it soothed her dry throat.

“Better?” Frankie asked after a moment.

Y/n nodded faintly. “Thanks,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“Good,” Rocco said, moving closer to the couch. He placed a bottle of water on the table beside her.

“You’ll need your strength. Don’t know what’s comin’ next, but Boss wouldn’t be happy seeing you like this.” Hearing that sent a pang through her chest. Joker.

Even when he wasn’t there, his shadow loomed large, dictating their actions. And here he was, using that power for her. Joker’s influence reached her even now, in her lowest state, orchestrating everything from behind the scenes. As unsettling as it was, a small part of her, a part she didn’t fully understand, felt comforted by it.

Y/n lay curled up on the worn couch, her body trembling despite the cheap oil heater buzzing weakly beside her. The warmth it offered was pitiful, barely taking the edge off the icy chill that had settled into her bones. Her skin felt clammy, her breaths uneven, and her forehead was hot to the touch. She was clearly feverish, and even in her half-conscious state, she could feel how badly her body was struggling to fight off the fatigue.

Frankie paced back and forth, running a hand through his greying hair. “She’s shivering like a damn leaf,” he muttered, glancing nervously at Rocco. “What the hell are we supposed to do? I don’t know nothin’ about takin’ care of a sick person!”

Rocco sat slumped in a chair at the dining table, his arms crossed. “What do I look like, a nurse?” he snapped, his frustration barely contained.

He glanced over at Y/n, her frail form looking smaller than ever under the thin blanket draped over her. He let out a long sigh and stood. “Alright, let’s think. Fever, right? You’re supposed to–uh–what? Cool her down? Or warm her up?”

Frankie rolled his eyes. “Both? Neither? Hell if I know! You think I went to med school?” He rubbed at his face, muttering under his breath, “Boss didn’t say nothin’ about this kind of situation.”

Rocco grumbled and approached the couch, peering down at Y/n like she was some fragile, alien creature.

“She’s shakin’ like crazy,” he said, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “What if we just...I dunno...get more blankets? Or turn the heater up?”

He leaned down and gave the old oil heater a hard smack, but it didn’t do much besides rattle noisily. “Piece of shit,” he muttered.

“More blankets?” Frankie echoed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, great plan, genius. You wanna bury her in a mountain of old fabric and hope for the best? Real top-tier care there, Dr. Rocco.”

He shook his head and started rummaging through the cabinets, clearly searching for something that might help. “Maybe there’s medicine or some kinda first aid kit around here,” he said, opening drawers with loud thuds.

Rocco scowled but didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed a glass, filled it with water from the sink, and brought it back to the couch. He crouched down beside Y/n, nudging her shoulder gently.

“Hey, girl,” he said awkwardly, his gruffness giving way to something softer. “You gotta drink some water. Can’t let you keel over on us, alright?”

Y/n groaned faintly, her eyes fluttering open just enough to see Rocco’s concerned face hovering above her. “Can’t...move,” she mumbled, her voice weak and barely audible.

Frankie returned, holding up a bottle of aspirin triumphantly. “Found somethin’! Says it’s for fevers,” he declared.

Then he frowned, looking at the label. “Uh...how much do you give someone? One pill? Two?”

“Well, what does the box say?” Rocco grunted.

“I don’t know, the instructions have been worn off,” Frankie said, squinting at the box.

“Just give her one to start. We don’t need to knock her out cold.” He turned back to Y/n and gently pressed the glass to her lips. “Come on, drink,” he coaxed. “It’s just water.”

With effort, Y/n managed a small sip, though most of the water dribbled down her chin. Frankie handed over the aspirin, and Rocco awkwardly placed it in her mouth, tipping the glass again to help her swallow.

When she finally did, Frankie let out a relieved sigh. “Okay, good. That’s somethin’, at least.”

But the two men were clearly out of their depth, and it showed. They stood by the couch like sentries, unsure of their next move.

Frankie scratched his head, mumbling, “We need someone who actually knows what the hell they’re doin’. This ain’t our thing, man.”

Rocco nodded, his usual bravado replaced with a rare flicker of worry. “Yeah, well, until then, we keep her alive. Boss would kill us if somethin’ happened to her.”

He glanced at Y/n, who had already slipped back into a restless sleep. Her shivering continued, even with their clumsy attempts to help. “We gotta figure this out,” he muttered.

Y/n stirred on the couch, her face scrunched up. Frankie, who had been pacing near the window, noticed immediately and groaned.

“Now what?” he asked, throwing his hands in the air.

Y/n grimaced again, her lips twisting in discomfort. “That aspirin…” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “Tasted...weird. Like...really weird.” She made a faint gagging noise and stuck out her tongue, clearly unhappy with whatever lingering aftertaste it left behind.

Frankie narrowed his eyes and turned to Rocco, who was leaning against the wall. “What the hell does she mean, ‘tasted weird’? You gave her somethin’ bad?”

Rocco straightened up, looking offended. “I didn’t make the damn pills, Frankie! I just gave her what you found!”

Frankie stomped over to the kitchen counter where the small box of aspirin sat. Snatching it up, he squinted at the faded label.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” he muttered. “This thing’s...expired! Look at this! Says it went bad two years ago!” He turned the box toward Rocco, jabbing at the tiny print with his finger.

Rocco groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” he muttered. “Who keeps expired meds in their place? Like, throw it out already!”

“Apparently these guys don’t care about restocking the essentials,” Frankie shot back. He threw the box onto the counter with a loud thud. “And now we probably poisoned her on top of everything else!”

“Relax, Frankie,” Rocco said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced himself. “What’s the worst expired aspirin can do? Lose some of its kick? She ain’t foamin’ at the mouth or anything, is she?”

Y/n, still curled on the couch, managed a weak glare at the two men. “You guys…are terrible at this,” she mumbled.

Frankie sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. We suck at playin’ nursemaids. But cut us some slack, huh? This ain’t exactly what we signed up for when joining Joker’s gang.”

Rocco shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Great. Boss is gonna love hearin’ we gave his girl bad pills. Just perfect.”

Y/n, too tired to engage further, closed her eyes and tried to ignore the bitter taste still lingering in her mouth.

Frankie and Rocco exchanged an exasperated look before Frankie finally grumbled, “Alright, that’s it. No more meds until we double-check this crap. I ain’t takin’ any more chances.”

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that,” Rocco muttered, though the jab lacked its usual bite.

Frankie and Rocco stood awkwardly around Y/n, who had drifted back into an uneasy rest on the couch.

Frankie pulled out his phone, scrolling rapidly. “Alright, lemme just Google this fever crap. Can’t be that hard, right?”

Rocco leaned over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. “What’s it say?”

“Uh…” Frankie squinted, reading aloud. “‘Keep them hydrated, plenty of water.’” He gestured at the half-empty glass on the coffee table. “Nailed that one already.”

“Barely,” Rocco muttered, rolling his eyes.

Frankie ignored him and kept reading. “‘Medications to reduce fever.’” He immediately grimaced and shoved his phone in his pocket. “Yeah, no. We ain’t doin’ that shit again.”

“Definitely not,” Rocco agreed, glaring briefly at the expired aspirin box still sitting on the counter.

Frankie pulled his phone back out, tapping on a new link. “Okay, here’s a blog post...‘hot soups help.’ See? We’re getting somewhere!”

Rocco folded his arms, unimpressed. “Hot soup, huh? What’re we supposed to do, whip that up in this dump?”

Frankie snapped his fingers. “Hold up! I saw some canned soup in the cupboard earlier. Gimme a second.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, rummaging through a cabinet, and emerged triumphantly holding a dusty can of chicken noodle soup. “Jackpot!”

Rocco pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Frankie, that thing looks older than the aspirin. You’re not feeding her that.”

“It’s soup! It’s basically immortal,” Frankie argued, waving the can around.

“No,” Rocco said firmly. “You’re not risking Boss’s girl on canned science experiments. Get your ass to the store and buy her some fresh stuff.”

Frankie groaned. “Man, come on! The store’s, like, five blocks away!”

“And?” Rocco crossed his arms, his glare cutting. “Go. And don’t come back with anything cheap.”

Muttering under his breath, Frankie grabbed his coat and stormed toward the door. “This is ridiculous. First a nurse, now a delivery guy. What’s next, a fuckin’ florist?”

Rocco just waved him off, turning back to check on Y/n as Frankie disappeared into the hallway.

Rocco sat down heavily on the chair opposite Y/n, watching her shiver even under the blanket draped over her.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Y/n stirred slightly, cracking her eyes open. She looked at him, her expression groggy and confused.

“Where’d he go?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rocco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Frankie’s gone to grab you some real food. Something to help with the fever.”

Y/n gave a weak nod, closing her eyes again. “Thanks…” The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the oil heater struggling to warm the space.

Rocco glanced at it, frowning. “Piece of junk,” he muttered, standing up to adjust the settings. When it didn’t do much, he huffed in frustration.

The door creaked open quietly, and Frankie slipped inside, juggling several heavy grocery bags. Y/n was finally asleep on the couch, bundled up in blankets. Rocco, who had been sitting nearby and keeping watch, stood up and stalked over, his brows furrowed at the sight of the bulging bags.

“What the hell is all this shit?” Rocco hissed, gesturing toward the bags as he took a couple to lighten the load.

Frankie scowled, kicking the door shut behind him. “I don’t know, man. I went to grab some canned soup like you said, but some old lady saw me standing there and decided to get involved.”

Rocco raised a brow. “What do you mean, ‘got involved’?”

Frankie set the bags down on the counter with a grunt. “She started giving me a lecture about how canned soup isn’t good enough for someone sick, then walked me around the store grabbing vegetables and spices and crap. Kept saying, ‘Make her a proper soup.’ I don’t even know what the hell that means!”

Rocco stared at him, then at the bags now spilling over with carrots, celery, onions, and random herbs. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. “You mean to tell me, instead of just heating up a can, we now gotta make soup from scratch?”

Frankie shrugged helplessly. “Apparently. Look, she was scary, okay? You try saying no to someone’s grandma when she’s lecturing you in the middle of the store.”

Rocco jaw hung open, looking at Frankie. “You have a gun..you’re 6 foot fucking something…and some little old lady scared you into making soup..”

“Hey man, I ain’t never gon’ mess with an old lady…besides, she had a heart of gold,” Frankie pouted, looking absolutely ridiculous.

Rocco muttered a string of curses under his breath as he started unpacking the bags. “Great. Just great. Now we’re chefs.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said to get her the good stuff,” Frankie shot back, grabbing a knife and a cutting board. “Guess this is what the good stuff looks like.”

Rocco glared at the pile of ingredients like it had personally offended him. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. But if you screw this up, you’re eating it.”

Together, they fumbled their way through prepping the vegetables, with a hastily Googled recipe on Frankie’s phone that neither of them could agree on.

“This one says dice the carrots, but what the hell is a dice? Like cubes?” Frankie squinted at the screen.

“Cubes? What are we, making toys? Just chop the damn things,” Rocco shot back, already wielding a knife like it was a weapon. He hacked at an onion, the uneven pieces scattering across the cutting board.

Frankie grabbed a stalk of celery, holding it whole above the pot. “Do you think we can just throw these in as is? I mean, they’ll, like…dissolve, right?”

Rocco stared at him in horror and swatted the celery out of his hands. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t just chuck that in like a log! Cut it into pieces!”

“Okay, okay, relax,” Frankie grumbled, fumbling for the knife and hacking at the celery with no regard for uniformity.

Rocco groaned, snatching the knife from him. “That’s not cutting, that’s mangling. You’re lucky she’s too sick to care what this looks like.”

It took twice as long as it should have, with constant interruptions of “Is this small enough?” and “Are you sure that goes in the pot?”

Eventually, they managed to get all the vegetables chopped into vaguely even pieces. By the time they added everything to the pot, they were both sweating and grumbling.

Frankie stirred the mixture triumphantly. “Alright, that wasn’t so bad.”

Rocco glanced over his shoulder at the recipe still open on the phone. His face fell. “You idiot. Did you even read the part where it says this has to simmer for two hours?”

Frankie froze, spoon in hand. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Two hours. Minimum.” Rocco threw his hands in the air. “We’re gonna be here all night.”

Frankie groaned, slumping against the counter. “How does anyone have the patience for this? I should’ve just stuck with the canned stuff.”

“Yeah, but now we’re committed,” Rocco grumbled, crossing his arms.

He eyed the bubbling pot, already dreading the wait. Despite their frustrations, neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt a little satisfaction in knowing they’d gone the extra mile. After all, they weren’t doing this for themselves.

The soup had finally been left to simmer, and the two men sat at the small table in the corner of the apartment, exhausted from their makeshift cooking adventure. Rocco had his arms crossed, leaning back in the chair, while Frankie tapped his fingers against the table impatiently.

“How long’s it been?” Frankie asked.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

Frankie groaned and leaned forward, resting his head on the table. “We should’ve just bought one of those instant soups. Heat it, serve it, done. Why did I listen to some random old lady?”

Rocco shot him a look. “Because you don’t have a spine, Frankie.”

The soft sound of mumbling caught their attention, and they both turned toward the couch. Y/n was stirring, her eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again. She shifted slightly, curling up tighter under the blanket.

“Think she’s gonna wake up?” Frankie whispered.

“Not if we’re lucky,” Rocco replied, though his gaze lingered on her pale face, still marked with exhaustion.

A faint bubbling noise came from the kitchen, and Frankie bolted up. “Crap, is it boiling over?”

They rushed to the pot like a couple of amateur chefs, Frankie grabbing the spoon to stir while Rocco adjusted the heat.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Rocco muttered, glaring at the pot as if daring it to betray them.

Frankie stirred a few more times before stepping back, looking genuinely relieved. “Okay, I think we’ve got it under control. Now what?”

“Now we wait. Again,” Rocco said, rubbing his face. He glanced toward the couch. “She’s still out, so at least we don’t have to explain why the kitchen smells like…well…that.”

“Yeah yeah,” Frankie muttered, leaning against the counter.

The hours dragged on as the soup slowly came together. They took turns checking the pot and whispering arguments about whether it needed more salt or if the vegetables were soft enough. It wasn’t exactly gourmet cooking, but by the time the two hours were up, the apartment smelled surprisingly good.

Frankie grabbed a spoon and tasted it, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Hey, it’s…not bad. I mean, it’s edible.”

“Edible isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement,” Rocco muttered, but he grabbed a spoon and took a taste as well.

He frowned, then nodded reluctantly. “Alright, it’s decent. Let’s see if she can actually eat it.”

They carefully ladled the soup into a bowl, Rocco holding it steady while Frankie grabbed a spoon. As they approached Y/n, still curled up on the couch, Frankie nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up, we’ve got something for you.”

Y/n stirred, her tired eyes blinking open. She looked up at them groggily, her voice barely above a whisper. “What…is it?”

“Homemade soup,” Rocco said, setting the bowl on the small table next to her. “Don’t ask how we made it, just eat it.”

Y/n stared at the bowl suspiciously, then looked up at them. “You made this?”

“Yeah, and it took forever, so you better appreciate it,” Frankie grumbled, but there was a hint of pride in his voice.

With their help, she sat up slowly and took the bowl into her hands. The warmth of the soup felt comforting, and as she took a small sip, her eyes widened slightly. “It’s…good.”

Rocco and Frankie exchanged a look, both pretending to shrug it off, but the relief on their faces was unmistakable.

“Damn right, it is,” Frankie said, pulling a chair over to sit nearby. “Now eat up. We’re not going through that again anytime soon.”

Despite her exhaustion, Y/n managed a faint smile as she took another sip. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel quite so terrible.

As Y/n slowly worked her way through the bowl of soup, the two men hovered nearby, pretending to busy themselves but clearly watching her every move. Frankie leaned against the counter, tossing a dishrag between his hands, while Rocco pretended to scroll through his phone.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Y/n muttered, her voice still raspy but carrying a faint note of amusement.

Frankie snorted. “Babysitting implies we actually know what we’re doing. This is more like damage control.”

Rocco smirked but didn’t look up. “Just eat. You’ve looked like a ghost for days, and it’s freaking me out.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but continued eating. The soup wasn’t just warm, it felt like it was slowly pulling her back from the brink. Despite their clumsy efforts, the two had managed to create something that didn’t just fill her stomach but soothed her.

When she finished, she set the bowl down on the table and leaned back against the couch cushions. “Thanks,” she said softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Don’t mention it,” Frankie said, quickly grabbing the bowl and heading to the kitchen.

Rocco sat down in the chair across from her, his arms resting on his knees. He studied her for a moment before speaking. “You’ve gotta start taking better care of yourself, you know that, right?”

Y/n cracked an eye open and gave him a weak glare. “Kinda hard when you feel like shit all the time.”

“Yeah, well, feeling like shit isn’t gonna stop the boss from tearing into us if something happens to you,” Rocco muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

The mention of Joker made her heart skip a beat, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she closed her eyes again, letting the warmth of the soup settle over her like a blanket.

Frankie returned from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. “Alright, since you’re fed, it’s bedtime. Doctor Google says rest is key or whatever.”

“Doctor Google?” Y/n mumbled, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, and don’t laugh. It’s the only medical degree we’ve got around here,” Frankie shot back, tossing the towel onto the counter.

Rocco stood up, stretching. “He’s right, though. You need to sleep. We’ll be here, so don’t worry about anything, alright?”

Y/n opened her eyes briefly, glancing between the two. Despite their gruff attitudes and questionable bedside manners, she could tell they were genuinely trying to help.

“Alright,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Frankie grabbed an extra blanket from a nearby chair and draped it over her as she curled up on the couch. Rocco turned the heater up a notch, muttering something about the drafty apartment.

As they settled into their makeshift positions, Frankie lounging in the armchair and Rocco leaning against the wall, Y/n let herself drift off, the sound of their quiet banter lulling her to sleep.

For the first time in days, she didn’t feel entirely alone.

Rocco had just settled back into the creaky chair, giving Frankie a side-eye as he scrolled through his phone. The apartment felt oddly quiet for once, with Y/n asleep on the couch and the sound of the heater humming in the background.

But the silence was shattered when Rocco's phone rang, cutting through the stillness. He stared at the screen, confused by the number.

"Who the hell..." he muttered, before swiping the screen to answer. "Yeah?"

There was a brief moment of silence, then a familiar voice came through the phone, rough and slightly distorted, as if coming from a distance. "Rocco."

Rocco froze, eyes widening. His grip tightened around the phone. "Boss? Is that you?"

A low grunt came from the other end, the voice now unmistakable. “No, it’s Santa. Give the phone to her.”

Without wasting another second, he pushed himself out of the chair, walking over to Y/n, who was lying on the couch, her breathing slow and steady in deep sleep. He hesitated for a moment, looking at her peaceful face before shaking her gently.

“Hey, wake up. Phone’s for you,” Rocco said, his voice low.

Y/n groaned softly, stirring under the blanket, her eyelids fluttering open but still heavy with sleep.

“Mmhmm?” she mumbled, barely registering what he said, her voice thick with drowsiness.

“Take the phone,” Rocco said, pressing the phone into her hand with a small, apologetic smile.

Y/n’s eyes, still foggy with sleep, took a moment to process his words. But when she heard the familiar voice come through the phone, her heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, Bunny.”

Her eyes shot wide open at the sound of his voice, disbelief and relief flooding through her all at once. "J!" she gasped, sitting up quickly despite the remnants of sleep dragging at her.

“That’s right, Bunny.” Joker’s voice came through low, almost muffled. “Now, listen. I don’t have much time, so don’t say anything that’ll get you in trouble. No names, no details. Just keep it simple.”

“Okay...” Y/n whispered, almost in disbelief that she was hearing him. Her pulse raced in her chest.

“How you holding up? They uh..treating you okay?” Joker’s voice was rough, but there was an unmistakable thread of concern woven in, something that made her heart swell.

Y/n paused for a moment, her thoughts racing. “Yes, they’re keeping me good...I had food, water, and sleep,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, not wanting to worry him any more than he already might be.

“They feed you?” Joker repeated, his disbelief clear.

“Mhmm.” Y/n nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

"And you lived?" Joker’s voice became incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“It was really good, actually! I swear!" Y/n chuckled softly, her mood lightening just hearing his voice, even if it was through a phone call. "I don't know what the hell they did, but it was, like...homemade soup or something.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Homemade soup?” Joker’s voice was tinged with amusement. “Jesus Christ, Bunny, what the hell’s going on over there?”

Y/n laughed again, feeling a little lighter as the conversation continued. She couldn’t believe how badly she’d missed him, how much she needed to hear his voice. Even with all the danger and chaos swirling around them, this small moment made everything feel somewhat normal again.

“What have you been doing, Bunny, hmm?” Joker’s voice dropped an accusatory tone, his words sharp yet tinged with concern. “Cause you ain’t been taking care of yourself.”

Y/n winced, guilt bubbling in her chest. “I know…I just haven’t been feeling great,” she muttered, her words barely escaping her lips.

“That’s no excuse to not look after yourself,” Joker snapped, though his voice softened quickly after, as if trying to hide the edge of frustration.

Y/n’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his words sinking in. “I understand…” She paused, looking down at the blanket wrapped around her, picking at the fibers.

“How is everything there?” she asked, wanting to divert the conversation away from her.

“How you’d expect a police station to be like,” Joker replied with a nonchalant chuckle, as if it was just another ordinary day. “No worries, Doll, I’m a frequent flyer here. They’ll ask me questions until they get tired, then send me right back off to Arkham.”

Y/n’s stomach twisted at the mention of Arkham. “What?” Her voice cracked, fear creeping into her chest.

“Don’t worry about it, Bunny,” Joker reassured, his tone light despite the underlying danger of his words. “I’ll be out before that happens.” He let out a chuckle, like it was all just a game, but it did little to ease the knot in Y/n’s stomach.

Her mind raced, trying to grasp the weight of what he was saying, but it didn’t add up. How could he sound so calm about all of this?

“What else is going on?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.

“Well, they keep asking about your car,” Joker said, the amusement slipping into his voice again.

“They just won’t believe me when I tell them the car’s not being used for some heist or whatever, but my dear Bunny’s.” He lingered on the words, a playful hint beneath his serious tone. “They think I’m some kind of Joker.”

Y/n chuckled nervously, though it didn’t fully reach her eyes. “Well, from their point of view, I get it,” she said, rubbing her temple in a half-hearted attempt to ease the headache that had been gnawing at her for days.

In the background of the call, Y/n could hear a voice growling from a distance. "Okay, that's enough phone time for you!"

"Ooh, looks like the coppers want me," Joker's voice rang through the phone, still light-hearted despite the gravity of the situation. "Take care of yourself, Bunny. Get Frankie to go buy you an ice cream, you deserve it."

Y/n’s heart sank a little, knowing the call was ending. “Okay, bye J…” she murmured softly, a twinge of sadness in her voice as she reluctantly let go of the connection.

“Mwah!” Joker’s voice perked up, the sound of a kiss sent through the phone before the line clicked dead.

Y/n stared at the phone in her hand for a moment, her chest heavy. She handed it back to Rocco without saying another word, her gaze wandering over to Frankie, who had been quietly watching her.

“Joker said you have to go get me an ice cream,” she said, almost sheepishly.

Frankie blinked, eyes wide in disbelief. “Come on!” he groaned, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “I’m ain’t your personal ice cream runner, you know that?”

Y/n let out a soft chuckle despite herself, the weight of the situation lightening just a little bit. “He said I deserve it,” she insisted, giving him a small, playful look.

Rocco snorted in the background, clearly trying to hide his own amusement, but Frankie just shook his head, clearly not amused by the sudden ice cream errand he was apparently now obligated to run.

“Fine,” Frankie muttered, clearly out of options, “But only ‘cause boss said so.” He turned towards the door, grabbing his jacket. "Don't expect me to get you anything fancy."

Frankie stormed out of the apartment with a grumble, muttering about how he was too old for this kind of nonsense. Y/n couldn't help but smile a little, even though the sadness still lingered in the pit of her stomach.

Rocco leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he observed her. "You good?" he asked, his tone soft but concerned.

Y/n nodded slowly, though she wasn’t sure how convincing it was. "I will be," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

"Just…it’s hard, you know? Hearing his voice and then having to hang up." She paused, looking at the door where Frankie had just left. "I just feel…I don’t know. Like I’m just waiting for something to happen."

Rocco gave a nod, his expression unreadable. "I get it. But he’s not gonna let them keep him for long. You know how the Boss is." He seemed to try lighten the mood.

Y/n sighed, leaning back against the couch, wrapping her arms around herself. "I hope you're right," she murmured.

She closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts of Joker being locked up, of everything that might go wrong, out of her mind.

After a few moments of silence, Rocco sighed and walked over to the window. "You need to rest. Frankie will be back soon, and when he gets back, you can get some real sleep. We’ve got you covered here."

Y/n didn’t argue. The exhaustion was creeping back in, and the warmth of the couch was almost too inviting. "Yeah," she whispered, sinking further into the cushions, "maybe just for a little while."

Wasn’t long till Frankie finally returned, looking both annoyed and tired, two containers of ice cream in his hands.

"Alright, alright," he muttered, placing the tubs on the coffee table with a huff. "Ice cream, just like the Boss ordered."

Y/n blinked, her exhaustion making her movements sluggish as she looked at the ice cream. "Thanks," she said quietly, trying to muster up a smile, though still tired. "I didn’t think you’d actually do it. But…why do you have two?"

“Like hell I’m gonna do all this work without reward,” Frankie said, lounging back while opening his tub of ice cream.

"Alright, you two. Eat your ice cream, then you get back to sleep." Rocco said, pointing at Y/n.

Y/n finally allowed herself a tiny laugh, something genuine this time, as she took a spoonful of the ice cream. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

It had been only a few hours since Y/n had finished the ice cream and drifted into sleep. The apartment was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that settles in before something disruptive happens. Suddenly, the front door burst open with a thunderous crash, slamming against the wall so hard that it rattled the cheap picture frames hanging nearby.

Y/n jolted awake, heart racing as she instinctively sat up on the couch. Disoriented and still half-asleep, she blinked at the doorway, trying to process what was happening.

“What the hell?” she muttered, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and lingering sickness.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the dim hallway light, was the one and only Joker. His grin stretched wide, his green hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes sparkling with chaotic energy. He threw his arms out, as if putting on a grand show for an audience of one.

“Ta-da!” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with that unnerving mix of charm and madness.

Y/n blinked again, certain she was either dreaming or hallucinating. “J?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat.

Joker’s grin widened as he sauntered into the apartment. “In…the…flesh, Bunny,” he said, spreading his arms wide before giving a mock bow. “Miss me?”

Rocco and Frankie stumbled out of the kitchen, both looking like they’d seen a ghost. “Boss?!” Rocco exclaimed, his voice cracking. “How the hell did you–”

“Details, details!” Joker interrupted, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “Do I look like a man who lets a little thing like prison keep him down?”

He spun on his heel to face Y/n again, his expression softening just a fraction. “But you, Bunny…you’ve been naughty.”

Y/n stared at him, still trying to wrap her head around his sudden appearance. “How are you here…?” she started, but her words trailed off as he strode over to her, crouching down so they were at eye level.

“Now, now,” Joker said, tilting his head as he studied her sickly face. “We’ll get to that later. First, we need to talk about you. You look like you’ve been run over by a bus, Bunny. Frankie and Rocco been slacking on their uh…babysitting duties?” He shot the two men a glare over his shoulder, making them both stiffen.

“Hey, we’ve been taking care of her!” Frankie protested, gesturing toward the empty ice cream container on the coffee table. “She ate, she rested, we even made soup!”

“Soup.” Joker repeated, raising an eyebrow. “My Bunny eating your soup. Yeah, I heard about that little endeavour.” He turned back to Y/n, his gloved hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “But still, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Y/n felt her throat tighten as she looked into his intense gaze. “J, I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Joker leaned in closer, his grin turning devilish. “Bunny, I told you before. I’m gonna come back for you.”

Y/n didn’t have time to process Joker’s words before he stood up, his energy buzzing like static in the room. He clapped his hands together, making both Rocco and Frankie flinch.

“Alright, boys, let’s have a chat,” he said, his tone shifting from playful to commanding. “What’s the state of this little hideout? Security tight? Supplies stocked? Or have you two been playing house while my Bunny’s been rotting away?”

Frankie looked at Rocco, who reluctantly spoke up. “We’ve done everything you asked, boss. She’s been fed, rested, and kept safe. No one’s sniffing around. We’re good.”

“Safe,” Joker repeated, his tone skeptical as he paced the room. “And yet my Bunny looks like she’s one sneeze away from passing out again. Safe doesn’t mean a damn thing if she’s not healthy.” He whipped around to face them, his eyes blazing. “So, what’s the plan, hmm? How are you two fixing this?”

“We’ve been doing what we can!” Frankie interjected. “Soup, meds, ice cream, what else are we supposed to do?”

Joker laughed, the sound sharp and grating. “Oh, Frankie, Frankie, Frankie…You don’t fix her with ice cream and soup. You fix her by making sure she never gets like this in the first place!”

He pointed at Y/n, who was watching the exchange in stunned silence. “You let her get sick, and that’s the problem.”

Y/n finally found her voice. “J, stop,” she said, her tone firm despite the exhaustion weighing her down. “They’ve been taking care of me. It’s not their fault.”

Joker’s gaze snapped back to her, his expression softening slightly. “Defending the little guys, huh, Bunny?” He crouched down again, his gloved hand resting lightly on her knee. “But you’ve gotta take care of yourself too. Can’t have my Bunny falling apart on me.”

“I’m trying,” Y/n said quietly, her cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.

Joker straightened up, his manic grin returning. “Good. Because I didn’t bust out of that hellhole just to find you looking like an inch away from death.”

He turned to Rocco and Frankie. “You two, make yourselves useful. Get this place cleaned up, get some decent food stocked, and find a real doctor. None of this DIY crap.”

“Doctor?” Frankie repeated, wide-eyed. “How are we supposed to–”

Joker silenced him with a glare. “Figure it out. Or do I need to babysit you, too?”

The two men exchanged a nervous glance before scurrying off, muttering plans under their breath.

Joker turned back to Y/n, his expression unreadable. “Now, Bunny, let’s get you feeling better. And then…” His grin widened, full of dangerous promises. “We’ve got work to do.”

The apartment settled into an odd rhythm. Rocco was scrubbing dishes in the kitchen, muttering complaints about how Frankie always left things half-cleaned. Frankie lounged on the couch, flipping through channels, just waiting to jump up if Joker barked an order. Y/n, wrapped in a blanket, sat on a chair by the window, her fever finally subsiding.

Joker was at the table, sketching out something on a crumpled napkin, his gloved fingers moving with quick precision as he muttered half-formed plans to himself.

It felt oddly normal, like a strange little family of sorts. The heater hummed faintly in the corner, its warmth mixing with the faint scent of leftover soup lingering in the air. Every now and then, Joker would glance up at Y/n, his gaze softening before snapping back to his frantic scribbling.

But outside, across the street, perched on the rooftop of a rundown building, someone was watching. The figure was cloaked in shadows, blending seamlessly with the dark sky. Through binoculars, the scene inside the apartment unfolded in perfect clarity.

The faint glow of the heater, the flickering light from the TV, and the exaggerated gestures of Joker as he spoke animatedly to himself, all of it was observed in meticulous silence.

The man adjusted his grip, the faint outline of a gloved hand catching a stray glint of moonlight. A gust of wind ruffled the long edges of their cape, but they remained unmoving, a silent sentinel above the chaos below.

Their focus lingered on Y/n, her eyes closed as she slept on the run down couch. Then it shifted to Joker, who leaned back in his chair, throwing a mocking laugh toward Frankie.

A voice crackled softly in his earpiece, almost inaudible against the city’s distant hum. “Are you going to move in, sir?”

The man’s jaw tightened. No response.

His gaze returned to Joker, whose grin widened as he shoved his napkin sketch across the table for Rocco to examine. The man’s grip on the binoculars tightened, his shadowed silhouette growing even stiller, waiting for the right moment to strike.

A/N: Yep, very much on the shorter side, but got through it, lol.

I enjoyed writing this one, it was a little fun on to write for me, just Y/n getting treated by Joker's incompetent goons

Hopefully it will pick up in the next chapter (considering how I ended this one 👀)

Thank you for reading 💚

#fanfic #joker #joker fanfiction #heath joker #dc joker #health ledger joker x reader #jack and joker #the joker #ledger joker x reader #batman #the dark knight #the dark knight trilogy #joker x reader

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