#I saved it and don’t remember who made it

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Older"

ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.

When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.

That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.

From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.

Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.

So, you pushed your feelings aside.

Or at least you tried to.

You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.

But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.

"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.

You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.

But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.

And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.

It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.

You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.

You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.

You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.

And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.

You were tired, tired of chasing people.

You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.

The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.

College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.

You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.

One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.

You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.

The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.

A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.

You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.

You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.

You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.

You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.

His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.

You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”

Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”

You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."

You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.

"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.

"Business."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."

“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.

You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."

You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.

"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.

His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."

You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.

You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."

A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.

Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.

You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.

And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.

When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.

He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.

This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.

This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.

But you were ready to find out.

The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.

Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.

“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”

There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”

You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.

You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”

For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.

“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.

“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”

The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.

For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.

And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.

As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.

“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.

He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.

“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."

Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.

The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.

But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.

He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.

“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.

You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”

Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.

“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.

“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.

Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.

“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”

He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.

Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.

He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.

His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.

His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”

You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”

Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.

That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.

For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.

Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.

You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.

And he was fun.

And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.

It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.

Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.

No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.

But tonight, something felt electric in the air.

Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.

You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.

You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.

And he was pissed.

He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.

“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. ��Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”

He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”

You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”

Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”

You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”

His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”

The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.

Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”

You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.

Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”

You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”

Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.

His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."

You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”

The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”

“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”

His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.

Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”

He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.

You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”

Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.

You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.

“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.

But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.

“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”

Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”

His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”

Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.

“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”

Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”

He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”

His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.

“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.

OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!

[fangdokja]

🔞“He says he’d do anything for you. But would you believe him?”

❤︎ Synopsis. Beneath his playful smile lies a predator in waiting—muscles honed for control, a filthy mind veiled by charm, and a dark obsession that festers with every glance you give him. You think he’s harmless, but when his restraint finally snaps, you’ll learn just how wrong you’ve been.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Best Friend x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Unspoken Desires - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 5,580

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, fear play, isolation, monitoring, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, depression and mental illnesses, implied suicidal tendencies, unhealthy coping mechanisms, masturbation, hinted needle play, degradation, name calling, implied drugging

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving mental illnesses, self-harm, and suicide, some plot details of the original story were purposefully made ambiguous to fit the platform.

♡ A/N. Actually I was trying to write wholesome, then it went to my usual writing style oop. Though, I wouldn't really say this is explicit. Seems lax for me, but that also has its own appeal.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who grew up with you in a tiny village nestled deep in the heart of a high fantasy world, where magic thrummed beneath the earth like a heartbeat and gods were whispered about in the rustling of leaves. A world where war and peace ebbed and flowed like the tides, and your childhood playgrounds were forests that spoke in riddles and rivers that glowed faintly under moonlight.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who first met you when you saved his life—or maybe he saved yours. You can’t even remember anymore. But you were just kids back then, barely old enough to wield a knife, much less survive a wolf attack in the woods. He’d laughed with bloodied teeth and sparkling eyes, like almost dying was the best day of his life.

"You’re an idiot," you’d muttered as you yanked him out of the beast’s jaws, dragging him behind a tree.

"Yeah, but you saved me," he grinned through bloodied teeth, his grin wide enough to split his face.

"Only so I don’t have to explain to everyone else why I let you die."

"Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that."

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was always a little too much—too fast, too loud, too bright. The kind of kid whose presence filled every corner of a room, whose schemes were impossible to ignore, and whose laugh could somehow make you feel both exhausted and alive.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was the sun, burning at a temperature that should’ve incinerated him, and you? You were the moon, distant and cold, orbiting him only because you didn’t mind the warmth.

"You’re like a puppy," you said once, watching him pace excitedly as he rattled off yet another harebrained scheme.

"Like a what?" He froze mid-step, his eyes wide with mock offense.

"A puppy. Annoying, loud, and too full of energy."

"I am not annoying!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out dramatically. "I’m charming."

"Sure you are."

"And loud? That’s just passion!"

"Passion’s another word for obnoxious, you know."

He gasped, clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him. "Take it back!"

"No."

"You’re heartless!"

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was your partner in everything. You weren’t just two kids in a village—you were an unstoppable duo, a myth in the making. Climbing mountains to see if you could touch the clouds, sneaking into the elder’s home to steal forbidden scrolls, setting traps for monsters that only existed in bedtime stories.

"You’re going to get us caught," you whispered as he crouched beside the elder’s door, fiddling with the lock.

"Not if you keep watch," he replied, grinning like this was the most fun he’d ever had.

"Keep watch? I’m not an accomplice to your idiocy."

"Too late. You’re already here."

"By force."

"Uh-huh. And yet you’re still standing here, helping me."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "I hate you sometimes."

"Only sometimes? I must be doing something right!"

Everyone else thought he was insane, but you always followed. Not because you believed in his harebrained schemes, but because his chaos made you feel alive in a way you didn’t understand.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who was terrifyingly smart in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. He didn’t just think outside the box; he dismantled it, set it on fire, and then asked why it existed in the first place. He could weave together plans and schemes that made grown adults stammer in awe—or fear.

"You’re going to blow us up one day," you deadpanned as he rigged a trap out of nothing but twigs and string.

"Not ‘blow up,’" he corrected, his hands moving deftly. "Just… scare off the bad guys."

"Bad guys? You mean the squirrels?"

"They’re shifty little things."

"You’re insane."

"And yet, you’re still standing here."

"To see how you plan to die this time."

But he was also the same boy who fell into rivers because he forgot they were slippery, or who got stuck in a tree because he didn’t think about how he’d climb back down.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, even as a child, hated the idea of losing you. He didn’t show it in ways you’d notice—he wasn’t clingy or possessive yet—but he’d always insist on being there.

"You don’t have to follow me everywhere," you grumbled one day, watching him trail behind you.

"Yeah, but what if something happens to you?" he said, grinning like it was a joke.

"Like what? Tripping on a rock?"

"You joke, but rocks are deadly."

"You’re impossible."

"And you’re stuck with me."

Wherever you went, whatever you did, he was there. Even when he got mad at you, even when you got mad at him, the idea of being apart was something neither of you could bear.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, as you both grew older, turned your childhood games into full-fledged adventures.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who always made sure you had his back, just as he had yours. It didn’t matter if you were facing bandits, cursed creatures, or labyrinths that seemed impossible to escape—he would always find a way to pull you through.

And you’d do the same for him, even when he tried to stop you. Especially when he tried to stop you.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hated how you always put yourself in danger for him.

Whether it was throwing yourself in front of an attack, volunteering to distract enemies so he could escape, or using the last of your strength to save him, it drove him absolutely insane.

He’d smile through gritted teeth, trying to play it off as his usual carefree self, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started to argue with you more and more because of it.

At first, it was just teasing jabs—“You know, one day you’re going to get yourself killed pulling stunts like that.”

But when you kept doing it, his tone grew sharper, his words harsher. “Do you even care about your own life? Do you think I’d just let you throw yourself away like that?!”

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, despite his frustration, couldn’t stop you.

No matter how many times he argued, begged, or outright yelled at you to stop risking yourself, you always brushed him off with that infuriatingly calm logic of yours.

“If I didn’t, you’d be dead. So what’s the problem?” And every time you said it, he felt like his chest was going to explode—partly from anger, but mostly from fear.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who would never admit it, but the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything else in the world.

He’d rather lose a limb, his powers, even his own mind, if it meant keeping you safe.

And the fact that you didn’t seem to value your life as much as he did made something dark and desperate coil in his chest.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, during one of your worst arguments, snapped. His usual charm and humor vanished, replaced by raw, unfiltered rage.

“Do you think I need your sacrifices? That I’m some helpless idiot who can’t survive without you throwing yourself in harm’s way? I’m not weak, and I don’t want to watch you die for me, do you understand that?!”

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who stormed off after that, leaving you both in silence for hours, maybe even days.

But when he came back, he wasn’t angry anymore.

His voice was calm, his smile soft, but there was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you in case you disappeared.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started to take more control over your adventures after that. He’d laugh and joke like normal, but he always seemed to steer you away from the most dangerous paths, even if it meant taking longer to reach your destination.

And if you ever tried to put yourself in harm’s way again, he’d find a way to stop you—whether it was with words, tricks, or, in the most extreme cases, outright forcing you to stay behind.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who never thought he liked you as anything more than a best friend. You were his partner-in-crime, his constant, the only person who truly understood him. He couldn’t imagine his life without you, but that didn’t mean he liked you like that.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who felt something strange the first time you smiled at someone else like you smiled at him.

It was during one of your adventures—a random stranger you helped along the way. They cracked a joke, and for the first time, you laughed. Not your usual quiet, wry chuckle, but something brighter, something real. He grinned along with you, but inside, something cold and heavy settled in his chest.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t understand why it bothered him so much when others got too close to you.

You’d always been his.

Not in a romantic way—just in the way best friends were.

You were his partner, his moon, the person he trusted more than anyone.

But when someone else tried to share your attention, that bad feeling in his chest twisted into something darker.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started noticing it more and more.

The way you’d listen to someone else’s plans without questioning them, even though you always teased his. The way you didn’t hesitate to step between someone else and danger, even though you knew it would make him furious. The way your expression softened when you thought no one was watching, as if you never looked at him like that.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who told himself it was nothing, just a weird phase.

Maybe he was overthinking it.

He had no reason to be upset.

You were his best friend—you weren’t going anywhere. But the more he thought about it, the more that thought didn’t feel like enough.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started acting without realizing it. His smiles grew sharper when others talked to you, his words more cutting, his presence heavier. He’d laugh it off when you called him out, waving his hand like it was all a joke, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

He just couldn’t figure out why.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who, during one of your adventures, snapped at you for the first time in a way that wasn’t about your safety.

It was something small—someone you met on the road had complimented you, and you’d actually smiled back.

He didn’t know what came over him, but before he could stop himself, he was already muttering, “You’re just going to smile at anyone now, huh? What’s next, inviting them to join us?”

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who immediately regretted it when you frowned and looked away. You didn’t argue back, didn’t tease him like usual. You just stayed quiet, which somehow felt worse than anything you could’ve said.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who started avoiding the subject entirely after that. He went back to his usual carefree self—laughing, joking, pulling you into more wild adventures.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t know why he felt this way until one night, while camping under the stars, he caught himself staring at you. The way the firelight flickered across your face, the way your usually emotionless eyes softened when you stared into the flames, the way you always sat close enough for him to feel your warmth but never closer.

Something in his chest ached, and for the first time, he realized why.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to ruin what you had, didn’t want to think about what it might mean.

But he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. Wondering if anyone else could make you smile the way he did.

Wondering if anyone else could be your constant.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who isn’t stupid—he knows you don’t see him the way he sees you.

He can tell by the way you laugh around him, carefree and unguarded, like you’re sharing a joke with an older brother. By the way you roll your eyes at his antics, always more amused than annoyed.

By the way you lean on him, not like someone who’s in love, but like someone who trusts him to always be there, no matter what.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows he’s just your best friend, the person who drags you on adventures and watches your back.

Nothing more, nothing less.

But that doesn’t stop the knot in his chest from tightening every time you treat him like something so casual.

Like he’s just another part of your world, instead of your entire world, the way you are to him.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who wonders sometimes if he’s being selfish, wanting more than what you’re already giving him. You let him into your life, trusted him in a way you trusted no one else. But it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who pretends it doesn’t bother him, flashing his usual grin and cracking jokes whenever you call him out for being clingy.

“Can you blame me? You’re my favorite person in the world! No one else even comes close.” But underneath the laughter, his mind is racing, twisting, plotting.

Because if you couldn’t love him the way he loved you, then he’d just have to make sure no one else could either.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts pushing the boundaries of your friendship without you even noticing.

Casual touches linger just a second too long, playful teasing takes on a sharper edge, and his protectiveness turns into something almost suffocating. If you notice, you don’t say anything—maybe because it’s easier to brush it off as just him being his usual self. But he knows better.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who tells himself it’s fine.

That he can wait. That you’ll realize it eventually.

That you’ll see no one else will ever understand you the way he does, no one else will ever protect you the way he does, no one else will ever love you the way he does.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who grows darker, quieter, when someone else gets too close to you. The usual charm and humor are still there, but there’s something off about the way he smiles, too sharp and too cold.

He won’t say anything at first, just watching, waiting, calculating.

But if they try to take you away, to pull you out of his orbit, that’s when things start to unravel.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts isolating you without you even realizing it. He’s the only one who can keep up with you, the only one who knows how to handle your quirks and your flaws.

The only one who will never leave you. He plants the idea so carefully, so subtly, that you don’t even question it.

It’s just the way things are.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows, deep down, that you don’t love him the way he loves you.

Not yet, at least. But that’s okay.

Because he doesn’t need your love—he just needs you.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who tells himself it doesn’t matter how long it takes. Days, months, years—it’s all the same to him.

Because in the end, you’ll cave.

You’ll see that no one else could ever love you the way he does. That no one else could ever deserve you.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who didn’t even realize how far gone he was until one day, when you were bathing, he accidentally walked in.

You didn’t scream, didn’t flinch, didn’t even care.

Just stared at him with those cold, emotionless eyes of yours and calmly said, “Door’s unlocked.”

As if it was nothing.

As if the sight of your bare skin, the water sliding down your body, wouldn’t haunt him for the rest of his life.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who felt his breath catch in his throat, his usual wit failing him for once.

He laughed it off awkwardly, muttered some excuse about needing something, and stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

But the image of you was burned into his mind, refusing to fade no matter how hard he tried to shake it off.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hated himself for it, hated how much his body reacted to you.

He wasn’t supposed to think about you like this, wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

But no matter how much he tried to fight it, the memory of you kept creeping back in, setting his skin on fire and making his heart race.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who found himself lying awake that night, your image replaying in his mind on an endless loop.

He could still see the way the water glistened on your skin, the way your hair clung to your shoulders, the way you looked at him so casually, so apathetically, as if you had no idea what you were doing to him.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who you’ve always seen as a goofy, harmless puppy.

Sure, he’s tall and muscular—towering over most people effortlessly—but his easygoing attitude and boyish charm have always made him seem more like a loyal guard dog than anything remotely dangerous. You’ve never thought twice about sharing space with him, leaning on him, treating him like the oversized, overprotective best friend he appears to be.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who knows exactly what you think of him. He plays his part so well: the playful idiot, the one who makes you laugh when you’re down, the one who keeps you safe without asking for anything in return.

And while some parts of that are true, they’re far from the whole story. Because the truth is, underneath that sunshine grin and those puppy-dog eyes, he’s not your harmless protector. He’s something much darker, much more dangerous, and he hides it all so well.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who doesn’t just want you—he wants to own you.

Every glance, every laugh, every little touch you give him fuels something primal inside of him, something he keeps locked away beneath layers of charm and wit. Did you think his broad shoulders and ripped physique were just for show?

That all those hours spent training, honing his body, were just about looking good? No. It was for you. It’s always been for you. To keep you safe. To keep others away.

To ensure that when the time comes, no one—not even you—could stop him from taking what’s his.

———

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who goes home after a long day with you, his head swimming with the way your body brushed against his, the way your apathetic expression softened for just a second when you cracked one of your rare, sarcastic jokes.

It’s unbearable, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his chest, and by the time he’s alone, he’s already burning up with the need for release.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who hates how much power you have over him. Hates how weak you make him feel when he’s wrapped around your little finger, playing the role of your goofy best friend when all he really wants is to pin you down and make you look at him differently—to see him not as your protector, but as something darker.

Someone who could ruin you in ways you’ve never even imagined.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who locks himself in his room, leaning back against the door with a sharp exhale, his muscles tight with tension.

The second his hand dips into his waistband, it’s like a dam breaking. He doesn’t even try to fight it anymore. His mind goes straight to you—how you’d feel, how you’d sound, how you’d look beneath him, your apathetic mask cracking under the weight of his touch.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who starts slow, dragging his hand lazily over his length as he pictures the way you’d squirm beneath him, trying to keep your composure. He knows you’d fight him at first—of course you would—but he also knows how easily you’d give in if he played his cards right.

How easily he could shatter your walls and make you depend on him, need him, the way he needs you.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who whispers your name under his breath, his voice rough with desperation as his strokes grow faster, harder, more erratic.

His mind races with all the things he wants to do to you, all the ways he wants to mark you, claim you, destroy you so completely that no one else could ever have you the way he does.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who bites his lip to muffle the low, guttural sounds escaping his throat, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turn white.

He pictures you underneath him, tears welling in your eyes as you try to push him away, only to melt under his touch. The thought makes his head spin, and his hips jerk up involuntarily as he chases his release.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who finally spills with a choked groan, your name falling from his lips like a broken prayer. The pleasure rips through him like a tidal wave, leaving him trembling and breathless, his body taut with the intensity of it.

But as the high fades, a darker satisfaction settles over him, mixed with a burning hunger that refuses to be quenched.

♡ Yandere! Best Friend who leans back against the wall, wiping a hand over his face as he catches his breath.

He feels no guilt, no shame—only a gnawing desire for more.

Because this isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough.

He wants you for real, not just in the dark recesses of his mind.

———

You lay there, the soft, rhythmic sound of your breathing the only thing that pierced the quiet of the night. The warmth of the small, candlelit room was comforting, a stark contrast to the cold, dark woods outside the village walls.

You were nestled in your bed, the soft fabric of your nightgown clinging to your body as you drifted in and out of consciousness, your dreams filled with the excitement of the adventures you and your best friend had shared throughout the years.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were fixated on your form, his gaze hungry and possessive. He'd been watching you for hours, his thoughts growing darker with every passing minute.

He knew you didn't see him the way he saw you, but that was a problem that could be rectified.

He took a deep breath, his hand moving to the bulge in his pants, and whispered to himself, "Mine. You're always mine." His grip tightened as he began to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving your peaceful face.

The sound of his zipper was the only disturbance in the stillness, and he felt his heart pound in his chest as he grew harder at the thought of you, his untouchable moon.

"Sleep tight, fucktoy," he murmured, a twisted smile playing on his lips, "because when you wake up, you'll finally know who you truly belong to."

The tension grew palpable as his strokes grew quicker, his breathing becoming ragged and erratic. He was lost in his own twisted fantasy, imagining the way your eyes would widen in shock and fear as you awoke to find him there, invading your personal space, claiming what he believed was rightfully his.

"You think you can ignore me?" he whispered harshly, the anger and frustration in his voice barely contained.

"You think I don't notice when you laugh with others, when you let them touch you?" His hand moved faster, his teeth clenched in determination. "You're mine, and you always will be. I'll make sure of it."

His eyes roved over your body, lingering on the curve of your hip, the swell of your breasts, and the delicate line of your neck. The urge to reach out and touch you, to mark you in some way, was almost overwhelming.

But no, not yet.

The anticipation was too sweet.

He sat on the edge of the bed, the soft mattress groaning slightly under his weight. The room was suffocating in its darkness, only the flickering candle on the bedside table casting dancing shadows across your peaceful face.

He could see the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft sound of your breaths echoing in the quiet space. It was a sound he'd become all too familiar with, a sweet melody that lulled him into a sense of security and power.

His hand moved under the covers, the fabric of his own trousers straining against his growing arousal. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his breaths even as he touched himself.

His eyes never left you, studying every curve and line of your body as if he could burn the image into his mind. You were so close, yet so far away. It was infuriating, a constant reminder of what wasn't his.

Yet.

He corrected the thought in his head with a smirk.

You were his, had always been his, even if you didn't know it yet.

He'd make sure of it.

His hand stroked faster, the wet sounds of his self-indulgence seeming too loud in the otherwise silent room. He couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of triumph as he watched your chest rise and fall, oblivious to the dark desires that swirled around you like a tempest.

"Bitchy cumdump," he murmured under his breath, the word a vile whisper that seemed to hang in the air like a curse.

"Rape slut." He liked those names, the way they painted a picture of you that was so much more… palatable than the cold, untouchable moon you portrayed to him.

But you could also be warm, alive, full of passion and fire, and he knew it.

He just hadn't figured out how to make you burn for him alone.

His hand stroked himself roughly, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. You had your back to him, the soft curves of your body hidden beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown.

It was almost translucent, revealing the shadowy outline of your curves, your skin so pale it seemed to glow in the moonlight filtering through the window.

His eyes roved over you greedily, taking in every detail, his mind racing with thoughts of what lay beneath that delicate exterior.

He reached out with his other hand, the one not busy with his own desires, and traced a line down your spine.

You shifted slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips, but you remained asleep. The sound of his own breath grew heavier, his strokes more frantic as he felt the heat of your body through the fabric.

"Mine," he whispered again, his voice low and guttural.

It was a promise, a vow that echoed in the quiet of the room, a declaration of war against anyone who dared to claim you.

His breath hitched as he reached the peak of his desire, his hand moving faster and faster as he thought of claiming you, making you his in every way possible.

With a low, primal growl, he came, his seed spilling onto the bed sheets.

The warmth and wetness of his release brought him back to reality, his hand slowing as he stared at the evidence of his obsession with you.

His heart raced in his chest, a heady mix of longing and satisfaction coursing through his veins. He had never felt so alive, so powerful, so… right.

He leaned back against the headboard, his eyes still glued to your form. You hadn't stirred, hadn't woken up.

It was like you were a doll, a perfect creation made just for his amusement.

He felt a twisted sense of pride that you hadn't noticed his depravity, that his need for you was so strong it could only be expressed in the dark when you were at your most vulnerable.

But that would change.

Oh, how it would change.

As he withdraws his hand from the warmth of his climax, he was careful not to disturb you, his eyes lingering on the soft rise and fall of your chest. He reaches for a cloth beside the bed to clean up the mess he’s made, his mind racing with thoughts of what he’ll do next to claim you fully.

He’s always been the one to watch over you, the one to save you, the one who understands you better than anyone else.

But now, it’s no longer enough to just be your best friend.

He reaches under his bed, his hand brushing against the cold, rough fabric of a hidden bag.

The zipper whispers open, revealing an assortment of morally questionable items: ropes, gags, handcuffs, and a few bottles of clear liquid with handwritten labels. The scent of leather and something else—something darker—wafts out, mingling with the stale air of the room.

His breath hitches as he runs his fingers over the contents, feeling the weight of each item. They're tools of his obsession, tokens of the future he's crafting in his twisted mind.

His eyes flicker back to you, sleeping so peacefully, so utterly unaware of what's to come.

He pulls out a syringe from the bag, the cold metal glinting in the moonlight.

With practiced hands, he fills it with a pink liquid, the viscous substance swirling within the glass tube like a trapped, desperate thing.

It's a potion of his own making, something that would ensure that when the time came, you'd be too compliant to resist him.

He's not a complete monster—he doesn't want to take you by force, not yet at least.

But he knows that the path to your heart is paved with fear and obedience.

He rolls the plunger between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the liquid warm against his skin. The anticipation of using it on you makes his breath catch.

He watches you sleep, the fabric of your nightgown clinging to your body like a second skin. His eyes trace the gentle curves of your breasts and the way your hips dip before flaring out, the shadow between your thighs taunting him with what lies beneath.

The urge to claim you fully is overwhelming, but he reminds himself that patience is key.

Instead, he allows his gaze to linger, his hands straying to the syringe filled with his homemade potion—a blend of aphrodisiac and sedative that would make you pliable in his hands. He imagines pushing it into your soft flesh, watching as the liquid fills you, turning you into a vessel of his desires.

He reaches out with trembling hands, his breath shallow and ragged with anticipation. His fingertips graze the soft fabric of your nightgown, tracing the line of your slit, feeling the heat radiating from your body. You stir slightly in your sleep, but do not wake, oblivious to the violation he's about to commit. He gently parts the fabric, exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the room.

He takes one of the syringes filled with his potion and holds it up to the moonlight, admiring the way the liquid shimmers. "Soon, you'll be mine," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, thick with lust and possession.

He brings the needle closer, poised at the entrance of your pussy, savoring the moment. "And no one will ever be able to take you from me."

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. 🔞Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[littlelamy]

I feel like we need to see a Pouge!Rafe more. The idea of him is just so hot. Perhaps a mehanic, very southern and likes cold beers. More ruggedy as opposed to canon Rafe who is a preppy pretty boy. Maybe something along the lines of a Sweet kind kook Reader being on the cut (for whatever reason) and Rafe saves her when he hears her being harassed by some low life pouges. I love me a resuce situation

lamy's notes: i hope i did it justice!

the humid, sticky air of the cut clung to your skin, the salt from the ocean making everything heavier, thicker. it wasn’t where you usually found yourself, but tonight, for some reason, the universe had brought you here.

not your usual scene, not your usual crowd—your sundress, light and soft, felt like an unintentional spotlight in the dim, gritty chaos of the docks. kooks didn’t belong here, not really, but your heart’d always been softer than the others. you didn’t wear your privilege like armor or weapon; you just tried to be kind, to treat people like people. that sweetness, that humility, made you stand out even more now, though. made you a target.

"what’s a pretty thing like you doin' down here?" the voice was rough, sharp, dripping with a kind of mockery that sent a chill down your spine. you’d been avoiding their stares, their drunken jeers, as best you could, but now, they were closing in. a group of them, older, meaner. lowlifes, the kind of guys who thrived off other people’s discomfort.

"i—i’m just leaving," you said softly, trying to edge past them, but a hand shot out, gripping your wrist.

"not so fast, sweetheart. you don’t just get to waltz in here, lookin' like that, and leave without… entertaining us a little." the grin on his face was all teeth, predatory, and your heart kicked into overdrive, panic flooding your veins.

"let her go."

the voice was deep, steady, and cut through the tension like a blade. the group turned, and there he was. rafe. but not the rafe you remembered from figure eight—not the golden boy in polos and boat shoes. no, this rafe was all rough edges and grease-stained hands, his dark t-shirt stretched over broad shoulders, his jeans worn and scuffed. his hair was messy, his jawline shadowed with stubble, and he looked like he belonged here, like he owned the cut in a way these guys never could.

"mind your business," one of them sneered, but rafe didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. he stepped closer, and you saw the muscles in his arms tense, the faint twitch in his jaw.

"you heard me. let her go. now."

there was something in his voice, something low and dangerous, that made even these drunken idiots hesitate. the guy holding your wrist loosened his grip, and you stumbled back slightly, bumping into rafe’s chest. his hand came up, steadying you, warm and solid against your shoulder.

"you okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, just for you. you nodded, your words caught somewhere in your throat, and he gave you the barest hint of a smile before turning back to the group.

"you don’t wanna make this a thing," he said, his tone calm but lethal, his gaze fixed on the guy who’d grabbed you. "walk away."

they exchanged a few glances, muttered curses under their breath, but eventually, they backed off, disappearing into the shadows of the docks. rafe didn’t move until they were gone, his body still coiled tight like a spring, ready to act if they so much as turned back.

when he finally relaxed, he turned to you, his blue eyes scanning you quickly, searching for any signs they’d hurt you. "what the hell are you doing down here?" he asked, not unkindly, but there was a sharp edge of concern in his voice.

"i got… lost," you admitted, embarrassed. "i didn’t mean to…"

he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "this isn’t a safe place for someone like you," he said, his tone softer now. "come on, i’ll get you out of here."

he led you to his truck, an old, beaten-up thing that somehow suited him perfectly. the interior smelled like leather and motor oil, and the seatbelt stuck a little when you tried to pull it across. he reached over, fixing it for you with a smirk that sent your heart fluttering.

"thanks," you murmured, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

he glanced at you as he started the engine, his grin turning a little cocky. "don’t mention it. but next time you wanna go exploring, maybe stick to places where you’re not gonna need rescuing."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. "maybe next time i’ll bring a map."

he laughed, the sound low and warm, and as the truck rumbled out of the cut, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. this version of rafe—rugged, grounded, still cocky but with a protective streak that made your heart ache—was nothing like the boy you’d known back in figure eight.

and yet, somehow, he felt like someone you’d been waiting to meet all along.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl

[cece693]

Top Priority

pairing: hints of male reader x will graham, hints of hannibal lecter x male reader and hints of hannigram tags: reader is kinda of hannibal's bodyguard, similar to chyron, will falls for reader, reader rejects him knowing hannibal's interest, conflict, prob will be a 2nd part

You do not remember how you first came under Hannibal's quiet, meticulously orchestrated influence. The event was there, crystallized in your memory, but you try not to revisit it often—the basic details were that Hannibal offered a hand when you had been backed into a corner.

Months turned into years, and by now, you serve the dual role of companion and protector in his lavish Baltimore home. Outsiders—neighbors, guests, and even the pretentious socialite acquaintances Hannibal occasionally entertains—whisper about you in hush-hush tones. They assume you are a distant relative from Europe or a longtime friend who has taken up residence under Hannibal’s gracious hospitality. No one suspects there is a debt—one that arose from him saving you so many years ago. Hannibal never forced you to be his protector, but he never made a noise of complain.

You assume it had been his plan all along—his help, the one he rarely offers, is always calculated and only done to serve his own agenda. Perhaps there was some small mercy in his offer—some genuine sliver of kindness—but it is overshadowed by the quiet, methodical way he has woven himself into your life. You came under his roof of your own volition, yes, but with no real alternatives. He never asked you outright to guard his home, never demanded you learn the intricacies of self-defense or the art of combat; he simply made opportunities available. Polite suggestions, guided resources—always a soft nudge rather than a push.

Your loyalty to him is fluid, evolving. Not quite devotion—more like devotion’s stern cousin, obligation. Although at times, in the hush of your own thoughts, you can’t decide if you’re more addicted to Hannibal’s tranquil, cultivated presence than you are bound by any debt.

Life at the Lecter residence might, at a glance, seem serene. You keep rooms on the second floor in a private wing at Hannibal’s insistence; he is gracious in all things, ensuring your space is comfortable, well-appointed. You enjoy a sense of calm—predictable, orchestrated, steeped in the good doctor’s love for structure. You never forget, however, that you are here to protect him. That he is not the type to need overt protection only proves how unusual your arrangement is.

Then Hannibal meets Will Graham.

It begins almost innocently. One evening, Hannibal tells you he’s invited a gifted FBI consultant for dinner—someone with a unique empathy disorder. You can’t quite decipher the flicker in Hannibal’s gaze, as if this Will Graham is both puzzle and prey. Still, you prepare, setting the table meticulously, making certain everything is perfect by the time Will arrives.

When Will steps through the front door and shakes your hand, your breath almost catches in your throat. He’s scruffy, subdued, but there’s a palpable tension to him that you sense as carefully as if you were reading the lines on your palm. He returns your greeting with polite awkwardness, uncertain if you are some close friend of Dr. Lecter or merely hired help. “I’m Will,” he mumbles, voice soft like an apology.

You don’t reveal your status, only responding, “I’m…well, I help Dr. Lecter around here.”

Hannibal, from behind you, smiles and adds, “Yes, he’s quite indispensable.”

You notice the undertone. You are his—a prized, if discreet, possession.

The conversation at dinner flows with surprising ease. Will attempts to navigate small talk with Hannibal, but your presence draws his gaze more than once. As the evening lengthens, Hannibal retreats into lofty discussions of psychology, madness, and classical music. You ask the right questions to encourage Will to share his insights.

Will, in turn, finds himself unexpectedly drawn to you, acknowledging your quiet, observant nature. He seems to intuit you’re more than a houseguest, despite your guarded composure. Over the next few weeks, Will visits again and again for 'non-therapy' discussions and dinners. And each time, he seeks you out in the intervals before Hannibal joins him. Your company, without the heightened tension Hannibal’s unwavering stare provokes, is soothing to him.

He asks about your life. You avoid specifics. You’ve learned well from Hannibal how to dance around direct answers. Yet, you grow fond of Will’s curiosity, his dryness, his flawed humanness. He asks how you met Hannibal. You offer a half-truth about receiving help in a desperate situation. Will’s eyes flicker with empathy, but he doesn’t pry—aware that secrets abound in the good doctor’s home.

In Hannibal’s presence, you catch glimmers of something new. He watches Will with a clinical interest that borders on fascination, while Will’s glance roams to you with unspoken longing that seems to catch him off-guard. The dynamic between the three of you becomes a precarious triangle.

The closer Will grows to you, the more you sense Hannibal’s silent disapproval—even if it is impeccably veiled. Hannibal does not see you as a rival or a threat in a conventional sense; you suspect his interest in Will is not mere academic curiosity but a deeper, stirring fascination. An appetite you have learned all too well. One evening, after Will departs, Hannibal corners you in the study. The firelight illuminates his face, casting dramatic shadows on the walls.

“He likes you,” Hannibal states, voice devoid of accusation. Just observation.

You dip your head, half in respect, half in admission. “Yes. He does. Should I stop him from coming to me?”

He smiles with polite indulgence. “That will not be necessary. I merely wish to know if his feelings are reciprocated.”

It feels like a trap. You’re well-versed in Hannibal’s methods. To lie outright is unwise. To reveal everything is equally so. You choose a measured truth. “I won’t deny that I care for him in some capacity. But my loyalty remains here—with you.”

Hannibal’s lips curl in a small, satisfied smile. “Of course it does.”

Soon enough, Will’s attempts to form a closer bond with you crescendo. He voices it indirectly—asking if you ever want to get out of Baltimore for a weekend, away from Dr. Lecter’s refined dinners and silent stares. His concern is subtle, but you perceive it: he wants to save you from something he cannot fully name or comprehend.

A quiet longing awakens in you. Will is so unlike Hannibal—chaotic, genuine, stumbling. You see he needs a type of closeness that Hannibal cannot provide, not in the same human way. It pulls at you, the possibility of a life free from Hannibal’s orchestrations and unsaid expectations.

But if you leave, if you let yourself care for Will more than you serve Hannibal, the entire, delicate structure collapses. Your debt to Hannibal cannot be cast aside so easily; he saved your life, and your gratitude is not mere lip service. You know, too, that Hannibal’s interest in Will runs deeper each day. It is the first time you have seen him exhibit such unwavering fascination with someone else.

It culminates on an evening where Will lingers behind, after a dinner, waiting in the foyer. He claims he wants to speak with you. You sense Hannibal has retreated purposefully, giving Will the space to confront you.

“I—” Will falters, his gaze flicking around, as though your presence alone is too much. “Are you safe here?” he finally asks, voice hoarse.

Your heart constricts. He sees too much. Perhaps not the full truth, but enough to worry. You try for a small, reassuring smile. “Yes. Dr. Lecter has been good to me.” It’s both truth and evasion.

He takes a step forward, frustration tense in his posture. “I can’t help but feel like you’re…like you’re stuck in a situation you can’t get out of.”

For a fraction of a moment, your resolve shakes. You imagine telling him everything. But the memory of Hannibal’s subtle smile, his unwavering confidence, stops you. You see, too, the bond forming between Hannibal and Will. There’s an intensity there that Will hasn’t noticed yet, something dark and intimate. And if Hannibal has chosen Will, you cannot stand in the way. You owe your life to Hannibal. That is the top line, the unstoppable factor.

You shake your head, stepping back. “I'm here in my own volition, Will,” you say quietly, forcing as much conviction as you can into the words.

And in a way, it’s true. You chose this, when Hannibal presented you with two paths: continue stumbling through a precarious life that might end in a dark alley, or accept his graceful offer of protection and guidance. It was more freedom than you had ever been shown—yet it came with a leash. One you sometimes can’t decide if you truly feel around your throat or if it’s just your imagination.

Will’s eyes track yours, and you can see the doubt flickering there. “If you say so,” he mutters, voice subdued, “but every time I come here, I can’t shake this feeling that you’d be gone the second you got the chance.”

A ripple of discomfort passes through you. The truth, if you dared utter it, is complicated: you owe Hannibal, yes, but there is also something about him that comforts you, a shadow in which you can hide. Will’s concern draws you back into a glaring light you’re not sure you want to face.

You attempt a reassuring smile, though you suspect it falls flat. “I’m not trying to run from anything or anyone. Hannibal has given me a home, and I…I—”

You catch yourself, realizing that finishing that thought—I owe him my life—would only spur more questions, more concern.

Will takes another halting step closer, voice just above a whisper, as though he fears Hannibal might hear. “If you ever change your mind, if you ever need somewhere else to go—”

“Will.” Your tone is gentle but firm, the way you might address a frightened animal. You recognize that tension in him: the wariness, the trembling potential for flight. He’s all frayed edges and empathy, searing himself on your unspoken wounds. You want to protect him from that. “I appreciate it. I do. But don’t worry about me.”

He exhales, shoulders slumping in defeat. The rustle of his coat sleeve is loud in the hush of Hannibal’s house. “Fine. But I can’t turn off my worries. That’s…that’s not how I work.”

A heartbeat of silence passes between you. You meet his gaze, and an inexplicable pang of sadness—longing—flares in your chest. It’s more than you’ve allowed yourself to feel in years.

For a moment, you almost speak the truth: that Hannibal gave you another chance at life, that you can’t even contemplate betraying him, no matter the cost to your own happiness. But speaking those words would mean jeopardizing all you’ve built—and, if you’re honest, all Will has here too. Hannibal’s fascination has taken root deep in Will’s mind. You see it in the way he returns to Hannibal’s office, how he lingers in conversation with him. There’s a gravitational pull that binds them.

You step back, head bowing slightly, and manage the best parting words you can muster. “Please, trust me when I say I’m as safe as I can be.”

Will opens his mouth to speak, perhaps to protest, but you see something flicker in his periphery. You don’t have to glance over your shoulder to know: Hannibal stands in the hallway beyond the foyer, silent and watchful. He forces a curt nod, clearing his throat. “Right. Then, I suppose I’ll be going.”

Your chest aches, but you maintain your composure, nodding in return. “Drive safe.” you offer softly.

He brushes past you, pausing just for the briefest moment as though waiting for you to speak—waiting for you to say something that will break the chains he imagines binding you. When you remain silent, he sighs and steps out into the night.

A heavy hush falls in the foyer. The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. You keep your gaze on the closed door, not wanting to turn around, not wanting to confront the expression you know Hannibal wears. After a quiet stretch that seems to last forever, his voice resonates with gentle amusement. “Will is a fascinating man, is he not?”

You don’t move. “He is,” you manage, your voice sounding thin to your own ears.

Hannibal hums—a soft, musical note of approval. “He cares about you,” he says, with no hint of jealousy. It’s merely another observation, another piece of psychological tapestry he’s weaving.

Your response lodges in your throat, but you manage, “Yes. He does.”

Hannibal crosses the threshold behind you, his measured steps resonating lightly on the polished floor. A moment later, his hand rests with gentle possession on your shoulder. He does not squeeze or hurt, but the weight of it is a reminder of your place, your role.

“You did well,” he murmurs. “I trust he won’t press you further.”

You close your eyes, letting your head dip imperceptibly. Another wave of guilt washes through you—guilt for betraying Will’s concern and a strange guilt for pleasing Hannibal. “He won’t,” you say, each syllable costing you a measure of self-acceptance.

The doctor’s hand falls away. “Good.” His voice is warm, tinged with satisfaction. “Come. I’ve brewed a pot of tea. Let us not waste a perfectly lovely evening.”

He turns, gliding away toward the kitchen, and you follow out of habit, your steps echoing behind him. You keep your head down. You know you chose this—accepted Hannibal’s salvation and everything that followed. Yet Will’s gaze lingers in your memory, leaving you unable to shake the feeling that you’ve just closed the door on a different kind of rescue, one that might have freed you in ways Hannibal never intended.

[pocketmau5]

That’s because there are types of AI.

Hating AI is completely valid, and more people should be against it… when it is generative AI. Generative AI is probably what most of the people on here are familiar with. Simply put, it’s when we feed the machine material and it spits out mangled, recycled parts. Because of its accessibility, and how cheap it is, generative AI is single-handedly killing the entire media industry. Why would anybody pay a team of people when they could just use generative AI for “good enough” quality? I am less familiar with large language models, how it works, or its applications. I don’t know if it’s “bad” because people half ass training them, or if it’s because of the limitations on how it works on a fundamental level. So I can’t really speak on that one. However, I do believe that it is similar to generative AI that upper management is trying to get away with not paying people by using it instead.

If I remember correctly, Predictive AI is what has had the biggest impact on healthcare. It’s is taught to recognize patterns and can make predictions based off those preexisting based off them. So if you train them, you get things that can identify different types of pastries that can be retrained to identify cancer cells.

Which is real actual story, by the way. One of my personal favorites

So, yes, AI used to make any kind of art is bad. From a base starting point, it’s inherently corrupt because its framework is made up of entirely stolen material. So it’s already in moral gray area to begin with! After using these uncredited and stolen work, you can the exact result you want with skill required of being able to type in a google search bar, all for free or incredibly cheap. Why would you hire someone when you could do it yourself in a fraction of the time? And they are!CEO’s are using these tools in order to amass more wealth, and causing an even larger wage gap. In the USA at least, we have already started to see this happening. Entire animation teams dissolved and replaced. Wizards of the Coast used AI art for their DnD books. Storyboard artists not being able to find work in years. The writers strike because people were using their work without permission. The voice actors strike because people were using their voice without permission. College graduates with a CS major not being able to find work because of the listings are just “talk to the computer and poorly train our large language model :)”. And this is all information that I simply gleaned because I follow artists and they talk about it. I haven’t even begun to look into how it might affect other jobs.

However, that isn’t to deminish that predictive AI can be life saving and revolutionary!

AI being dangerous, and AI being helpful can both be true and exist simultaneously.

Personally? I wish that they were called something other than AI. Especially Large Lange Models and Generative AI. People tend to associate them with movie AI’s and fundamentally misunderstand what they are…. It would also help the confusion. And speaking of wishing, I believe that there should be laws in place to protect the working class. LLM/generative AI needs to be more regulated. At the very least, something to make it more difficult to keep these models from using copywritten materials. Not that I see that happening any time soon, since a lot of the people in power are the ones who benefit most.

It's always so weird that like. Fully a third of job listings I see in machine learning are for biomedical research. And easily two thirds of postdocs. Massive, huge family of applications that seems completely absent from the public discourse. From the way people talk about it you'd think half the field works in image generation and nobody does medical research, but in reality only a tiny handful of people seem to be doing image generation, and everyone else is either doing language models or studying cancer and designing novel drugs

[ourwhisperingtorment]

The many times the show made it obvious that the Hwang bros love and care for each other

Inho gave his kidney to Junho because he can’t let his little brother die. If that doesn’t scream “LOVE” I don’t know what does.

Junho in s1. Do I need to elaborate? He literally risked his life going there. He killed ruthlessly. I know that he is aware there’s a high probability that Inho’s already dead (considering he was one of the players) but he still went on. He wanted justice if his brother was really dead. That is DEDICATION. And you can’t have dedication without love.

The Frontman looking at Junho’s ID for too long. I’m pretty sure his brain froze there for a moment before experiencing mixed emotions as to how he can keep his little brother alive. Also the, “bring him to me alive,”—no one is allowed hurt his little brother except Inho himself

The VIP room when that one fucking VIP asked Junho to stay, and Junho replied, “but I must serve the other guests.” We all saw the frontman look their way (it’s only 1 second so it’s a blink and miss it). He recognized his little brother’s voice. (But at that moment, he was unsure so he didn’t do anything.)

Inho shooting Junho on the shoulder but hesitating and shaking before doing so. After shooting him, he looked so distressed. He even hallucinated an image of his brother when he was cleaning his wound. He’s clearly on the verge of crying too. This was the very first time we saw that the frontman still has humanity in him.

I’m pretty sure it was Inho who sent Captain Park to rescue his brother. To ensure he’d make it out of the island alive. But also to keep him running in circles so he wouldn’t find the island again. He wanted his brother away and safe from the games.

Junho’s last word before being in a coma & Junho’s first word after being in a 1 year coma is “hyung.”

Junho continued to search for the island for 2 years after that 1 year coma. We all know he wants to see his brother first before trying to save everyone there. Is he even trying to save the players at this point? When we all know he could ruthlessly kill people who got in his way of searching for his brother? (Well, he has a sense of justice. But I would still say his brother comes first.)

Junho not telling Gihun about the frontman’s identity. His face looking all sad and depressed whenever Gihun mentions “the frontman.”

Remember the snipers who shot the cars trailing Inho’s limousine? The snipers didn’t shoot Junho’s car but instead, there was something attached in his car that only affected one wheel. Inho really couldn’t risk some snipers shooting his little brother.

I’ve said this in another post but I’ll say it again: Their relationship wouldn’t be so complicated if they didn’t love each other.

[ladelinee]

Author’s Note: Hi there! 💕 This was a bit unexpected, but with everything going on in my life right now ( work and anxiety)I felt the need to escape for a bit, and this idea just came to me today! I’m thinking about turning it into a series, but I’m not sure yet. Let’s see where it takes us!

Word count: 2,9K

Warnings: angst, innocent, mention of intercourse.

Summary: Elvis ends up looking after his ex-wife’s niece (18yo) and helps her deal with heartbreak, all while they slowly start to connect.

Dontcha’ think It’s time

The room was still, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the soft clink of ice in a lowball glass. Elvis sat on the edge of an armchair, shoulders slightly hunched, staring at the amber liquid swirling in his whiskey. His brow furrowed, his lips pressed in a tight line, lost in thought.

It wasn’t often to see him like this, especially with a drink in hand. Elvis wasn’t much of a drinker, but tonight, something had pulled him to the crystal decanter on the bar. Something was not right.

Jerry Schilling leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching with quiet amusement. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you cracked open the scotch, E?”

Elvis blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts. He didn’t look at Jerry, his gaze shifting instead to the window where the fading sunlight streaked orange across the glass. “At what damn point… did I agree to this?”

Jerry stepped closer, curiosity piqued. “You gonna spell it out for me, or am I supposed to guess?”

Elvis exhaled, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “This whole thing. Her comin’ here. Watchin’ over her. I don’t even remember agreein’ to it, but I must’ve, ‘cause here I am.”

“Her?” Jerry asked, though he already knew. “Your niece?”

Elvis leaned back, rubbing a hand across his face. “My ex-wife’s niece. Don’t get me wrong, Jerry. I’ve got nothin’ against the little girl, but…”

“But it’s about the divorce, right?” Jerry cut in. “All this was agreed before…”

“‘Fore things went to hell” Elvis finished, his voice tight. “We don’t even talk no more, and still, her aunt’s gonna haunt me till the day I die.”

Jerry chuckled. “Her aunt’s the mother of your daughter, E. You’re not gonna shake that off so easy. Think of it this way: at least Lisa will have her cousin here for a while.”

Before Elvis could reply, the low rumble of a car engine drifted up the driveway. He glanced at Jerry, who was already grinning.

“Well” Jerry said, clapping his hands, “guess it’s showtime. You want me to roll out the welcome mat or grab you a second glass of that scotch?”

Elvis stood, adjusting his shirt with a smirk. “Neither. But you might wanna stick close, Jer. If this goes south, I’ll need a witness.”

The front door opened, and Elvis stood there with Jerry just behind him. Elvis’s signature smile was firmly in place, though his sharp eyes betrayed a hint of impatience.

“Tom” Elvis greeted smoothly. “Y’all made it.”

Tom stepped inside, his expression tight and his tone clipped. “Yeah, we made it. Thanks for takin’ her in for a while.”

Elvis shrugged lightly, gesturing them in. “Sure thing. Anything for family.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, his voice sharpening. “Funny. Didn’t feel like family when you walked out on my sister.”

Jerry let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as his gaze shifted between the two men. “Ouch.”

Elvis’s smile didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed just slightly. Before he could answer, Tom’s wife stepped forward, her tone bright and full of forced cheer.

“Elvis, thank you so much” she said quickly, glancing nervously at Tom. “We really had no other option. This business trip is going to be tough on her, and we’re so grateful you’re helping us out.”

Elvis nodded, glancing around. “Where’s my little one?” His eyes narrowed in confusion when he looked further. “And what’s this about bringin’ a babysitter?”

Tom smirked, stepping aside. “That is your little one.”

You stepped forward, and Elvis blinked, staring surprised. You were taller than he remembered, with a striking presence that didn’t match the childish dress you wore, like someone old enough for teenage clothes but still stuck in something meant for a little girl.

“Well, I’ll be damned” Elvis muttered, his tone quieter now.

“Hi, Uncle Elvis” you said softly, your voice polite as your gaze flickered between him and the floor. You were excited to see him after such a long time, he was someone you’d always admired, but your mind was occupied with other thoughts.

Tom added, his tone clipped. “She grew up, Elvis. Happens to kids when you don’t see them for years.”

Jerry tried to contain his feelings, muttering under his breath “This just keeps gettin’ better.”

Elvis ignored Tom’s jab, forcing his easy grin back. “Well, guess I owe ya an apology, darlin’. Thought you’d still be about yay tall.” He gestured low with his hand, trying to lighten the moment.

You let out a small, polite laugh, still feeling the weight of his gaze.

Your mother, trying to avoid any more confrontation said “Alright, sweetheart, behave yourself, okay? Listen to your uncle.”

Your dad gave your shoulder a firm pat. “No trouble. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir” you murmured softly.

Without lingering, your parents turned and walked out the door. You felt a mix of relief and shyness settle inside you.

You stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, holding your bag tightly, unsure of where to go or what to say. The grandeur of the place was almost overwhelming, plush furniture, and the faint scent of leather and cologne lingering in the air. It felt surreal being here, in his house.

Elvis watched you for a moment, tilting his head slightly like he was trying to figure you out. He offered a warm smile, the kind that could put most people at ease, but it felt out of place against the silence in the room. “Well, darlin’, you don’t gotta stand there like a statue. Make yourself comfortable. Couch don’t bite.”

You nodded, cheeks warming, and murmured, “Okay.” Setting your bag down carefully, as though it might shatter, you perched on the edge of the couch, stiff and uncertain.

Elvis leaned slightly toward Jerry, who had wandered around him. Lowering his voice, Elvis whispered, “Why’s she like this?”

“You know” he muttered, gesturing subtly toward you with a flick of his fingers. “All quiet, like she’s waitin’ for permission to breathe.”

Jerry sighed, crossing his arms. “Her parents. They’ve been overprotective, man. Think about it, she’s tied to you. They didn’t want her gettin’ dragged into all the attention. You know how people get about anything connected to you.” He gestured vaguely toward the house. “They tried to keep her away from all that. She’s only just started going to a private school, so she’s probably still tryin’ to figure out where she fits.”

Elvis looked over at you again, noticing how you sat so rigidly, your hands clasped neatly in your lap. “That ain’t right,” he murmured to himself, then spoke up gently, “Go ahead, lean back, put your feet up if you feel like it. Nobody’s gonna mind.”

You blinked, startled, then nodded as you shifted slightly against the cushions. “Thanks,” you said quietly, though you still couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Elvis watched as you finally started to settle into the couch, your posture less stiff, your hands no longer clutching your lap. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“So, uh…” you said quietly, glancing up at him. “Do you have a place to watch a movie? Maybe?”

Elvis’s grin widened, clearly pleased to see you starting to come out of your shell. “Do I have a place? Darlin’, we’ve got a TV room downstairs. Go on down, pick whatever film you want.”

You hesitated for a moment, then stood, the thought of escaping into a movie making you feel a bit lighter.

“And don’t you worry,” Elvis added, his tone playful, “Jerry makes the best popcorn in Memphis.”

Jerry’s voice cut in. “Since when?”

Elvis didn’t miss a beat. “Since now.”

The quick back-and-forth made you laugh, a soft, genuine sound that caught even you off guard. Elvis’s grin grew warmer at the sound.

“Go on” he said, nodding toward the stairs. “TV room’s all yours.”

With a small smile, you nodded and headed toward the stairs, feeling a little more at ease than you had all evening.

As you disappeared down the hallway, Elvis stayed rooted in place, his gaze lingering on the spot where you’d just stood. His jaw tightened slightly, and his usual easy expression faded into something more thoughtful, almost uneasy.

“Jerry,” he said after a moment, his voice low but carrying a weight that made Jerry look up immediately.

“What’s on your mind, boss?” Jerry asked, leaning against the counter where he was rifling through the cabinets.

Elvis turned to face him, his tone quiet but firm. “I want you to stick close. Be her shadow while she’s here.”

Jerry straightened, raising an eyebrow. “Shadow? She’s watchin’ a movie, Elvis. What kinda trouble you think she’s gonna get into?”

Elvis gave him a pointed look. “I ain’t talkin’ about trouble. She’s been through somethin’, I can feel it. If she needs somethin’, you handle it. I don’t care if it’s popcorn, a blanket, or a damn flight outta here. Just make sure she’s okay.”

Jerry’s smirk faded as he saw the genuine worry in Elvis’s eyes. “Alright” he said, nodding. “You got it.”

As you curled up on the plush couch in the vast TV room downstairs, the soft glow of the screen bathed the space in a warm, colorful light. The bright yellow and black paint on the walls seemed to bounce off the screen, adding to the comfortable, almost cozy feel of the room. You scrolled through the movie options, ultimately settling on a light, romantic comedy that promised to be nothing but harmless entertainment.

At first, the lighthearted humor and goofy antics brought a small smile to your face. You even laughed at a few of the absurd scenes. But as the movie shifted into its tender moments, something inside you twisted.

The couple on screen smiled at each other, sharing quiet, meaningful words, and your chest tightened. Their affection and understanding were a cruel contrast to what lingered in your mind.

“You’re not enough,” the voice echoed in your memory, sharp and cold. “You never were.”

You tried to brush off the weight of those words, to redirect your attention back to the movie. But the knot in your stomach tightened, expanding into your chest until it felt like you were suffocating. The tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unwelcome, and before you could stop them, they began to trickle down your face one by one. At first, they fell silently, but soon they came faster, your breath hitching as those words kept echoing in your head like a broken record.

You felt ridiculous, crying over a romcom, but the feelings refused to be buried. You hugged your knees closer to your chest, letting the tears spill out, the ache in your chest too much to contain.

Meanwhile, Jerry was still in the kitchen, distracted as he refilled the popcorn bowl for what felt like the fifth time. “Best popcorn in Memphis? Goddammit” he muttered. He finally headed downstairs with the bowl in hand.

“Got your…”Jerry started as he entered the room, but his words caught in his throat when he saw you.

You were curled up on the couch, shoulders shaking as silent tears streamed down your face. The sound of the movie barely masked the hitched breaths you tried to suppress.

Jerry froze, the popcorn bowl wobbling in his hands. His usual easy demeanor cracked into something anxious and awkward. “Uh… hey,” he said softly, his voice uncertain. “You, uh… you okay?”

You quickly wiped at your face, shaking your head as if dismissing him would make it all go away. “I’m fine,” you croaked, but the crack in your voice gave you away.

Jerry’s eyes darted to the stairs, his panic rising. “Alright. Just… stay put, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Before you could argue, he bolted, taking the stairs two at a time.

“Boss!” Jerry called out, bursting into the hallway where Elvis was still pacing, clearly waiting for something to go wrong.

Elvis turned sharply, his expression immediately serious. “What is it?”

Jerry took a breath, his words rushed. “It’s her, man. She’s cryin’, like, full-on cryin’. Somethin’s wrong, Elvis.”

Elvis’s jaw tightened, worry etching lines into his face. “Cryin’? Over a movie?”

Jerry shook his head. “It ain’t the movie. It’s somethin’ else. You need to get down there.”

Elvis didn’t wait for another word, brushing past Jerry as he strode toward the stairs. His steps were quick but steady, his heart heavy with concern. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t going to let you face it alone.

Elvis steps inside, rushing, his footsteps deliberate yet soft. He pauses when he sees you, his face immediately shifting from casual curiosity to gentle concern. He moves closer, lowering himself onto the couch beside you.

“Honey,” he begins, his voice as smooth as velvet, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You shrink into yourself, embarrassed, but his presence is steady and calming. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face.

“Alright, sugar,” he says in a lighter tone, a flicker of humor in his expression, “who do we need to kill?”

You blink at him, startled. “What? No! Don’t kill him!”

Elvis raises an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, so it is a ‘him.’” He shifts to sit back, resting an arm along the couch. “What happened? Let me help ya.”

You hesitate, but the way he looks at you, patient and open, makes it impossible to hold back. “It’s my boyfriend… well, my ex-boyfriend. He broke up with me this morning.”

Elvis’s relaxed posture stiffens slightly. “Go on.”

You swallow hard. “He said I’m boring, that I’m not a woman, and that he can’t have fun with me.”

Elvis’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, his expression darkens. “This little…” His lips part as if to let out a string of curses, but he catches himself, muttering under his breath, “Coward.” Then he takes a deep breath, forcing his temper to settle before he speaks again.

“Sugar, listen to me. You are not boring, and you are a woman. That boy’s a damn fool who doesn’t know what he had.”

“But…” you sniffle, wiping your face with your hand. “Then why would he say those things? I don’t understand.”

Elvis exhales, leaning forward again. “Alright, sugar,” he says carefully, his tone soft but serious. “Listen…what that boy said to you was cruel and unfair. You are a woman, no question about it. But…what he probably meant is that he’s lookin’ for somethin’ you weren’t ready to give. And that’s not on you, darlin’, that’s on him.”

You tilt your head, your brows furrowing. “Something I wasn’t ready to give? What do you mean, Uncle Elvis?”

Elvis shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. His usual composure falters, and he clears his throat. “Well, uh…sometimes, men think bein’ a woman means…y’know, bein’…uh…” He coughs, clearly struggling to find the right words. “…more grown-up in a physical sense. Like…closer than just holdin’ hands.”

You blink at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “Closer? Like kissing?”

He chuckles nervously, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, darlin’. Like kissin’. And…uh…other stuff that comes after that.”

“Oh…” you say, thinking it over. Then your face brightens with sudden realization. “So you know what men need, Elvis?”

Elvis freezes. “Uh…well, I reckon I’ve got a little experience in that department ” he says cautiously, trying to steer the conversation away from the cliff he feels it’s headed toward.

You lean toward him, your expression is full of hope. “Then can you make me a woman?”

The silence is deafening. Elvis’s face turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before, and he jumps up from the couch so quickly you think he might trip over his own feet. “Wha-What?!” he exclaims, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Can you make me a woman?” you repeat, completely earnest.

“Whoa, now! Hold on a second!” He raises his hands as if to physically stop the conversation. “No! No, no, no, sugar, that’s not how this works!”

You blink, genuinely confused. “Why not? You just said you know what a man needs.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m about to… Lord, have mercy…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, his other hand gripping his belt as he mutters to himself. “This is not the conversation I thought I’d be havin’ tonight.”

You look at him with pleading eyes. “But you said you’d help me.”

He groans, burying his face in his hands for a moment before taking a deep breath. Finally, he sits back down, knowing you don’t mean what he’s dreading and that you don’t fully understand.

“Alright, listen,” he says, his tone softer but still tinged with exasperation. “I can’t make you a woman, alright? But here’s what I’ll do. Tomorrow, we’ll sit down, and I’ll give you some tips.”

Your face lights up with gratitude. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. But it’s about you feelin’ confident in who you are. Deal?”

“Deal!” you say, throwing your arms around him in a big hug.

Elvis stiffens in surprise for a second before relaxing, patting your back gently. “Alright, sugar,” he murmurs with a faint smile, relieved that he could cheer you up and that you’re feeling a bit more comfortable opening up to him. “You’re gonna be just fine. That boy didn’t deserve you anyway.”

When you pull back, he gives you a strained but affectionate smile, muttering as he grabs the remote, “You’re gonna kill me, sugar, you really are.”

[lillaydee]

Head Over Heels Part 7

Jackson!Joel / Reader

Special Guest Appearance by a Certain FBI Agent who may or may not look a lot like Joel.

You left the loneliness of your home and headed to Jackson with Joel and the teenage girl he was with, hoping your new life would be less lonely. You should've stayed alone.

WARNING:

Non-canon Compliant, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Joel Lives (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy, Loneliness, Trauma.

MEGA WARNING: Descriptions of Attempted Sexual Assault.

@copperhalfcent @joelalorian @vickie5446 @peelieblue @nandan11 @liciafonseca @senoratess @denisanoemi @lovefreylove @heartpatch

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 6

---

***WARNING*** Allusions to r**e and death.

You ran to the doctor’s house, as well as Ike’s, telling Lucy Maria’s water broke. You ran home to change, going back to Maria’s to help in any way you could. You were excited. The last time you held a baby in your arms was when your cousin Julie gave birth, years before the outbreak. But at the same time, you couldn’t help feel scared for Maria. You lived in a world where medical equipment were scarce. Anything could happen, and there would be no hospital to go to. No ERs to visit. No specialist doctors and no NICUs if the baby had complications.

You spent hours boiling water. You had no idea why so much boiling water was needed, but you boiled away, wanting to be useful, helpful in some way. Lucy berated Maria for not saying anything – she had been having contractions for two days, it seemed, and at the party, the frequent bathroom visits were apparently to bite a towel through contractions from what she vehemently insisted were pre-labour pains.

She just wanted to have a tea party, she told you. That was all. It wasn’t as if she gave birth while sipping her tea.

Tommy was beside himself. Nothing he did seemed right. For the first time since you met him, he was quiet. Whenever he was not holding Maria’s hands, he was massaging her back.

The minutes crawled by. You walked past the nursery about five hours in to see Joel assembling the crib he made, having trouble keeping the parts upright as he tried to put them together. You remembered Tommy telling you the two of them were supposed to put the crib together today. So you knocked on the door a little, asking him if he needed help holding the pieces together. He nodded, holding up a piece for you to hold. Neither of you spoke throughout the assembly, save for when Joel asked you to hold things a certain way. The nursery was across the corridor from the master bedroom, you and Joel were in full view of the expecting parents, the doctor and Lucy, as well as Liv and Diana.

Joel’s voice giving you instructions was unlike anything you’d heard whenever he addressed you before that day. It was soft, gentle, and you felt your heart weep at the thought that he could’ve spoken to you like that all this while, he had the capability to be gentle with you but chose not to.

It must’ve shown on your face. He kept looking at you, regret clearly written all over his face. Once he finished assembling the very sturdy crib, you placed the mattress and in it and helped him move it to the spot Maria had pre-approved.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his gentle voice bordering on pleading.

“I don’t think this is the right time, Joel.”

“Elena!” Maria called out to you. You took three of the biggest steps you’d ever taken in your life to get to her as fast as you could. Just then, Maria had another contraction, holding on to Tommy as her breathing went into a pattern you remember seeing on medical TV series way back when. You stood there patiently, waiting to hear what she needed from you.

“Elena, go talk to him. Hear him out. Please.”

“Maria, now? Really?”

“Last I checked I’m the one in labour, not you. Go!”

She went through another contraction and ended her extremely painful scream with a huge glare thrown your way you got scared and went downstairs, Joel following behind. You went straight into the kitchen, making yourself a cup of coffee, realizing you hadn’t slept the whole night. Oh well, at least you were not in pain on a bed trying to get a baby out of you. You asked Joel if he wanted some, and shockingly, he nodded.

He stood awkwardly in the kitchen while you boiled the water, finally settling by leaning on one of the counters, his hands behind him. He straightened when one of his hands touched something.

The dices.

He turned around to pick them up, studying them.

“Yeah, they broke last night,” you told him. “Snagged it on something and they just broke. It’s been a while since Tess gave me that one,” you said. “I miss her.”

“Me too,” he said.

The two of you leaned on the counter, nursing your hot coffees. Maria’s scream echoed through the house. Both of you looked towards the stairs, worry enveloping both of you.

“She’ll be alright, right?” he asked you. “If anything happens to her, I don’t know if Tommy…”

“She’ll be fine, Joel. Women used to give birth while farming, you know? Just squatted, pulled their babies out and carried on farming.”

He looked horrified by the notion. “Really?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I saw that in a movie somewhere.”

He laughed. A belly laugh. Pure and true. For a moment, you forgot you and him were not speaking.

“She said her contractions started two days ago? I didn’t know labour could take this long,” he said, sipping his coffee.

“How long was the labour for Sarah?” you asked.

You could see him stop sipping. Shit. You shouldn’t have asked. Did he even know you knew about Sarah? Fuck!

“Erm… I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” he said, playing with the mug, his massive hands making it look like a tea cup.

“You weren’t?”

He shook his head.

“Her mother, Jen, was someone I had a one night stand with. We went to the same college. Hooked up at a frat party. When she told me she was pregnant, I offered to marry her. We were young, I was 20. She said no. She needed me to prove I can take care of them financially. So I got a job, part time, but she shut me out. I went to all the appointments, I was there for her, but she was not really interested in being with me for real, so we sort of agreed to co-parent, I guess? Sarah came a week early, she didn’t call me. Didn’t let me know. Baby was out an entire day before word got to me she was born. I rushed to the hospital. Jen was already packing her bag then. She let me hold Sarah and told me she was going to get the birth certificate. I was so in love with that little girl I didn’t notice.”

“Didn’t notice what?”

“That she took her bag with her. She never came back. The hospital attorney came to find me after, told me she signed away her parental rights. Just like that.”

You were at a loss for words. You had never had children, but you couldn’t imagine leaving the child you grew in your belly for nine months a day after she was born.

“I had to drop out of college, got a full time job, my parents helped, Tommy helped. We were doing okay. Saw Jen again when Sarah was maybe eight? She was with a man, married, successful, judging by the rings on her finger and the way she was dressed, didn’t even look at Sarah. So, that was that. She really didn’t want her.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.”

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “Sarah was the best thing to ever happen to me. When she died, I almost… I didn’t see the point of going on. The world was in chaos, Sarah’s gone…” he took a deep breath. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

You smiled a little, nodding. “Ellie,” you said.

“Ellie,” he nodded.

The two of you continued sipping your coffee.

“Why did you move out, Elena?”

Maybe it was the fact that he finally opened up to you about something, but you were not as angry as you were when he first asked the night before.

“I just… didn’t feel like being somewhere I am not wanted.”

His calm expression changed. “You think I don’t want you around?”

Just like that, the less than anger feeling you felt earlier flew out the window.

“I don’t know, Joel. You don’t speak to me, you don’t eat the stuff I cook, you don’t drink the coffee I make, you don’t let me do stuff around the house, you avoid me like I’m the plague. What the hell was I supposed to think?”

He went quiet for a second, as if contemplating what to say next.

“I don’t… there are things you don’t know, Elena, I need to explain things to you. It’s just, all this while, the time was not right. I want to explain, I swear, but…”

“Explain what, Joel?” you asked him, exasperation clear in your tone. You were so tired. “Joel, you’ve known me 16 years. All those time in Boston, that last night we were there was the most you’d ever spoken to me. Heck, you hardly even looked at me before that. It wasn’t a secret you hate me, Joel. Fuck, we travelled for almost a year together, and you hardly spoke to me. But oh… if I didn’t do things your way, you had no problem letting me know how wrong I was, how badly I screwed up. You’re all chatty then. And don’t get me started on…”

You had to stop. The hurt was welling up your chest, coming out of your eyes, of all places.

“Started on what?”

“You left me to die, Joel. In Salt Lake City. I nursed you back to health, and you just left me to die! Stupid me, I actually thought you would come back for me once you got Ellie. But nope. You were just gone. I waited three weeks, Joel. You didn’t even try, did you? Did you tell Ellie I died? Was that why the two of you went straight to the hospital and not bother to come back for me? Well, guess what, you want to have your little family alone with Ellie? You’ve got it. I’m gone. I’m out of the house. You could live your dream life now, without me in it. I know I’m the last person you want to spend your life living with, Joel, but we live in an apocalypse, and I don’t have the resources to get myself an extra thick set of skin to put on. I know I’m not wanted, so I left. Go get Esther or Vanessa to play house with you instead. And feel free to shove how much you prefer their slutty companies rather than…”

He got in front of you, his movement so fast it knocked the wind out of you, your words, your thoughts, all stopped. Your breaths came out as if you had just ran a marathon. His body was so close to yours your knees were touching. He loomed over you, his eyes looking down on yours, his hands caging your body on either side. His face was… something… you didn’t recognize that expression. You didn’t think it was anger, but… what was it? His chest heaved, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time you were letting it all out and now, he’d had enough.

“You think I want Esther and Vanessa rather than you? Hmm? You think I hated you all these years? You think I don’t want to share a life with you?”

His questions snapped you out of your shock. You huffed a laugh, shaking your head a little. You gently pushed his hand out of the way, shocked at how easy it was for you to do that; he put up zero fight in it, so different to the hard demeanour he had shown you in the past five seconds, placing your now cold cup of coffee in the sink.

“I heard you talk to Tommy, Joel. I know you don’t want me around. That you would never, ever, want me around. Anyone but me. So I know I’m not wrong in thinking that, Joel. But, those conversations I heard aside, let’s not just breeze through the fact that you left me to die, Joel,” you said, defeat in your voice as he stared at you with regret in his eyes. “Like I said, I know when I’m not wanted, so I left. You don’t get to act shocked. You don’t get to act all regretful. You got what you wanted. Now you can ignore me in peace.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but Liv knocked on the kitchen entry wall, telling you Maria’s crowning. You’re needed upstairs. You left right away, leaving a flustered Joel in the kitchen as Liv boiled more water.

“Tell me something, Joel.”

Joel turned to look at Liv, who was now placing the pot of water on the stove.

“Why’d take you seven weeks to realize she moved out? How do you sleep across the corridor from someone and not realize they’d moved out?”

“Our schedules are different, I tried to see her, but she’s never at the greenhouse… I saw her at the hall once, but she disappeared on me. I always figured she was asleep whenever I got back and left before I woke up.”

“You don’t think knocking on her door on the off chance she was still awake would help?”

“She put a latch on her door, she obviously didn’t want to be bothered.”

Liv’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know she put a latch on her door?”

“Erm… I installed it for her.”

“No you didn’t, she did. I helped her.”

Joel’s insides went cold. Damnit. Caught.

“So… how did you know she put a latch on her door? Unless… you tried to open it when she wasn’t around… or after she fell asleep, perhaps?”

Joel went quiet. He was suddenly very interested in the mug he was holding.

“Joel, I know you don’t know me well, or at all, even, and you’re probably not gonna want to hear this coming from me, but I’m gonna tell you this anyway,” Liv said. Joel stood up straight, preparing himself for the lecture he knew he deserved.

“The only person who doesn’t see the truth about how you feel about her, is her. And that’s because you acted like she didn’t exist, and now, it’s too late for you to prove otherwise. In my opinion, there are two things you could do now, to make up for your behaviour. One, is to leave her alone. Let her be. Let her have a life again. Let her be happy. Men in town are interested in her, you know. She’s gorgeous, kind, funny, smart, she’s definitely not without interested parties. They’re just worried you might run amok if they tried. Like I said, everyone could see how you look at her, except her. You’ve blinded her to that privilege. She’s had enough of you ignoring her to the point that she no longer sees you, everything you do now is just another form of rejection for her.”

“What’s the second thing?”

“Grovel, Joel. On your hands and knees. Like your life depended on it.”

**********

Jacob Joel Miller was born at nine in the morning, almost three days after Maria felt her first bouts of contractions, named after his grandfather and uncle. Tommy looked like he was floating on air. Maria managed to look happy despite her exhaustion. Mother and son doing really well. Ellie cooed at her new cousin, excited at the prospect of babysitting and teaching him to say Ellie as his first word.

Joel held his nephew for hours, eyes just fixed on his, happy tears falling from his eyes. He told her he would tell him all about his cousin Sarah one day. Jake had Sarah’s eyes, he kept saying. Tommy agreed.

You, on the other hand, were about to topple over. You went down to the kitchen to pour yourself yet another cup of coffee. You drank it greedily while Diana was blearily going around the kitchen making breakfast for the new parents, telling you that you could go home and sleep if you wanted to. She’s going herself in a few minutes. You downed your coffee and went to pick up the dices off the kitchen counter. Maybe you could figure out how to fix them, and if you couldn’t, you’d like to save them. You made a mental note to take the necklace off for safekeeping. You were not going to lose one more thing Tess gave you.

But they were no longer there.

You searched the kitchen, looking for them, even checked the trashcan. Nothing. You were seriously on the verge of tears. Those dices meant the world to you. They were proof that Tess was in your life, a friendship you would treasure forever. You finally sat down on the couch and laid your head back after searching for hours, disappointed that you had left them out like that in the first place.

You must’ve fallen asleep. When you opened your eyes, you were lying down on a couch. You had that dream again. That dream where Joel was caressing your face, tucking your hair behind your ears, placing a blanket around you. Except, this time, you also dreamt that he carried you.

You sat up, feeling a bit disoriented. What time was it? How long had you been asleep? Fuck, you were hungry. Fuck! You had to work! You jumped up, going for the door, only for Ellie to pull you back and tell you that you didn’t have to go to work that day. They knew you were up all night with Maria. You’re okay.

It was only then you realized that you were at Joel and Ellie’s, not Tommy and Maria’s.

Erm… how did you get here?

“Come on, Joel got you lunch,” Ellie said, pulling your hand to the kitchen. 

“Ellie, how did I get here?”

“Erm, you walked. Joel and I helped you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, she busied herself plating the food from a Tupperware container for you. She pushed it towards you, telling you to eat.

“Where is Joel?” you asked, shovelling the tater tots into your mouth.

“He went to send Tommy and Maria food. I think he’s gonna stay there a few hours. Help them out.”

You nodded, eating your food like you might never eat again ever. Ellie watched you eat, filling the time gushing about how cute Jake was. When you finally pushed the empty plate away from you, she got up and placed the plate in the sink. She asked if you had some time to talk. It’s important, she said.

The two of you got comfortable on the couch.

“Elena, Joel told me you thought he left you to die in Salt Lake City.”

You didn’t answer, just busied yourself folding the blanket you found wrapped around you.

“Elena, that’s not true. He couldn’t tell you, because it involved me. And I asked him to not tell you yet. I wasn’t ready. I am now. I want you and Joel to be okay again.”

Your entire body morphed into concern as you saw the previously happy teenager made herself smaller, he knees up against her chest, her chin on them, her eyes averted from you. So concerned, you forgot to tell her the two of you were never okay in the first place.

“When I went to distract the men, they caught me. Shot my horse. They kept me in a cell. Elena these men were cannibals. They eat people. There was this man, David,” she brought her knees closer to her body. “He was like their leader or something, he was the one who asked his men to give me the penicillin. He… uh… he wanted to make me his wife.”

You couldn’t hide your mortification from your face.

“He… uh… he tried to… you know… but I managed to… kill him,” her tears fell involuntarily as she started to rock herself forwards and backwards. You rushed towards her and took her in your arms as she sobbed in your chest.

Oh dear God.

Oh, my sweet BabyGirl.

My sweet, sweet, Ellie.

Took her a while to calm herself down. She’s okay, she assured you. She’s okay now. You could only nod, thick blobs of tears falling down your own face now.

“Anyway, Joel found me. He tried to take me back to where you were. But Elena, I was catatonic. I couldn’t function. I was in shock. And Joel, he had reinjured himself trying to get to me, he wasn’t really healed in the first place, so it took us longer than it would’ve.”

You listened, still wondering how was it that you were alone for three whole weeks, and still managed to get the hospital at the same time as they did. Even if they were slow at it, they had a three-weeks start over you.  

“When we were about a couple of days away from the housing area, there were bodies on the ground. Burnt bodies. One was a bit farther from the rest, a lady. The body was badly burnt, but… we found your scarf, Elena. And the blanket we used to cover Joel. We thought…” her face scrunched up and she began to sob uncontrollably.

“We thought you died, Elena.”

She lunged at you, crying into you again, repeating her statement over and over. We thought you died. We thought you died. We thought you died.

“Joel was devastated. We both were. He buried you. Cried at your grave. We stopped at this gas station and Joel couldn’t function. He was gone, Elena. His wound was bleeding, he didn’t want to eat, I had to force feed him, I begged, pleaded, I think he only took what I gave him to shut me up. He didn’t want to sleep, he just gave up. We were there for about two weeks. He didn’t want to go anywhere, didn’t want to do anything. I found a bottle of whiskey in a car a few streets away, I thought we could use it to clean his wound, you know? But he drank it all, mumbling to himself, talking about you over and over again. He fell asleep for a whole day straight after that, and when he woke up, he just said, let’s go. So we went. He was different after that. Like he had a new lease on life. But we thought you died. We made peace with it. That’s why we were so shocked to see you.”

You waited until her sobs lessened, finally understanding why they didn’t come back for you.

“He wouldn’t let me tell you about the lady he buried. I don’t know why. But trust me, Elena, we didn’t leave you to die. We thought you died. And judging from how devastated he was when he thought it was you, I don’t think he hates you, Elena. When Tess… went away, he was quiet… he didn’t speak… he mourned, but when he thought you had died, he… I don’t think he hates you, Elena.”

You stayed quiet, not really knowing what to do with this information. But knowing that he didn’t leave you to die, your heart felt lighter.

The front door opened and an exhausted looking Joel walked in. He stopped when he saw the two of you wrapped around each other. Ellie told him she told you. He nodded slowly, closing the door behind him and sitting himself down on the couch across from you.

Ellie got up and went into her room, mumbling she was giving you two some time to talk.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You should’ve told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He took a deep breath, running his hand over his face, looking like he was about to cry.

“Story for another day? A less exhausting one, perhaps?” you asked.

He laughed a little, nodding.

“Story for another day.”

**********

You, Liv and Diana were helping Jessie get his house straight. Three men had come in the night before, now in quarantine. They were healthy, uninfected and skilled with combat and survival. Tommy dragged himself away from his week old baby to handle the situation, Joel by his side as usual. They decided the men would stay, their skills and manpower would be extremely useful for the town. They would be staying with Jessie, seeing as he had the room to accommodate them.

As you finished, a knock came at the door. Joel was there to pick you up, walk you to the hall for your shift. He had been doing that since that day Jake was born. Things were better. Much better. Of course, you never told him about your crush. You figured, being friends for the first time since meeting him 16 years ago would be wiser. You were not going to move back in with him, but perhaps you could hang out a bit more? Just friends. You thought you saw a glint of disappointment when you told him that, but he composed himself and nodded. That sounds nice, he said. Let’s hang out. Just friends.

Ellie joined the two of you as you approached the hall, the lunch crowd starting to gather. As you walked into the hall, a familiar voice called out.

“Elena?”

You looked around. Two men stood from their table, staring at you as if they had seen a ghost.

Two very familiar looking men.

No, it couldn’t be.

Could it?

“Will? Benny?”

The two men got in front of you, the older man placing his hands on your face, teary eyes checking your entire body as if looking for injuries. Their faces blurred from your sight as they enveloped you in a bear hug. Words failed the three of you.

Your two big brothers. They were here. They were alive. They found you.

When they finally let go, you introduced them to Joel and Ellie, Joel shocked that they were related to you. He knew about your brothers, of course, Tess had told him. But last night, as he took their names as William and Benjamin Miller, he only smiled when Tommy joked about the similarity of their family names. He didn’t think that they were ‘the’ Will and Ben, your big brothers. Ellie was excited, having heard a lot about them from you on the road.

You felt as if your life couldn’t be better right now. Your big brothers were back, and they were going to live here with you, in Jackson.

“Hey, we’d like you to meet our friend…”

“Elena?”

You looked at the source of the voice. The third man. The one who arrived with Will and Benny last night. A familiar face was staring back at you, eyes disbelieving.

“Marcus.”

---

Part 8

[wchswift]

hii hii HEHEHEH this is so brain rot but i need a story where logan is a big time cuddler (i know he gives the best hug ever 😭) maybe he keeps that only to reader!!

ଓ IN HIS ARMS

pairing: logan howlett x reader

summary: logan is a big time cuddler, but he saves all his tender, comforting affection just for you.

word count: 1.3k

content: fluff, established relationship, implied sex, post-sex cuddles.

a/n: hiii, sorry it took me so long to write it 😭 I may have changed a little from what you asked, but I hope you like it <3

── english isn't my first language :)

Everyone around the mansion was well aware of Logan's grumpy reputation. He was the gruff one, all hard edges, and sharp looks, the not-friendly and indifferent expression to keep people not so close. To most, he's the Wolverine—reserved, intimidating, and always prefers little interaction. But of course, he had his exceptions, like you. You knew better.

Because behind closed doors, Logan was yours, and he’s the most touch-hungry man you've ever met. You know the man beneath the scowl who would hold you close until the rest of the world disappeared if he could. Deep down, he was the type who wouldn’t readily admit it, but he absolutely adored cuddling.

No one would believe it if you told them, but Logan is the best cuddler in the world. There’s something about the way he wraps his arms around you, how his broad chest and strong shoulders make you feel so small and completely safe. It’s like being surrounded by pure strength, and yet it’s soft, too—his touch careful, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that only you get to see. God this man knew how to hug.

Right now, his arms are wrapped around you as you settle against his chest, his warmth seeping into you like the coziest blanket. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of life outside and the sound of his steady breathing. Nights like this—peaceful, undisturbed—are your favorite.

You let out a contented sigh, your head resting against the solid strength of his chest. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear, soothing and grounding in a way only Logan can manage.

“You comfy, princess?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, snuggling closer.

Logan’s hand drifts lazily up and down your back, tracing slow, soothing circles. He’s always touching you like this, his hands finding you almost instinctively, whether it’s to ground himself or to comfort you. Maybe it’s both.

“You’ve got the best hugs,” you murmur, your voice muffled against his chest.

Logan chuckles softly, the sound a deep, rumbling vibration against your cheek. “Yeah? Don’t tell anyone. Gotta keep my image intact.”

You laugh lightly, shifting to look up at him. His lips quirked in a rare smile, the kind only you ever see. Before you can say anything else, he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he’s savoring the moment.

Logan doesn’t say it, but you know this side of him—the warmth, the tenderness, the way he holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world—is something he reserves only for you. Around the others, he’s all scowls and clipped words, but in private, he’s the kind of man who craves touch like it’s air.

He didn’t always show it, though. Logan wasn’t the kind of man to give away pieces of himself so easily. It took a while to get that part of him. You vividly remember the first time he hugged you like this, back when he still had walls up, back when you weren’t sure what you meant to him.

You’d been having a rough day—a hard mission that made you doubt yourself, leaving you shaken and overwhelmed. You tried to hide it from everyone, retreating to the quiet safety of your room. But Logan noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he appeared in your doorway, his expression softer than usual but still guarded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you nodded, trying to brush it off, but when he stepped closer and gently touched your arm, the dam broke. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him.

For a second, you thought he’d pull away—this was Logan, after all. But instead, his arms came around you, steady and sure, pulling you against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was the first time you felt the magic of the Wolverine hug. His hold was strong but not overwhelming like he was shielding you from everything bad in the world. His hand ran soothingly up and down your back, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. From that moment on, you realized that Logan wasn’t just a good hugger—he was the best. There was something about the way he held you like he could take all your worries and crush them with his strength. He didn’t need to say much; his arms said it all.

Now, it’s second nature. He doesn’t wait for an excuse to hold you—he pulls you into his lap while you’re reading, tangles himself around you when you’re in bed, and presses his face into your hair after a long day. His hands are always on you, whether it’s a comforting palm against your back, his fingers laced with yours, or his arm slung around your waist like he needs to keep you close. And you dare to say he loves it more than you.

After the sex, he’s especially clingy—not that you mind. Pulling you into his arms as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, he will wrap himself around you completely. His lips leave lazy, soft, lingering open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, hair, collarbone, cheek—anywhere he can reach. Each one feels like a promise, a reminder that you’re his. He let his hands roam lazily, tracing patterns on your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You feel so damn good, princess” he’ll whisper, his voice rough but tender. And the way he holds you in those moments like he never wants to let go, makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

And the way he looks at you in those moments? It’s enough to make your heart stop. His usual sharp, guarded gaze softens, filled with a quiet devotion he doesn’t show to anyone else.

Around the others, he’s all grumbles and scowls, pretending he’s not the same man who just kissed you senselessly an hour ago. He keeps his distance—at least, as much as he can.

Even in public, though, there are cracks in his armor. His hand will brush yours under the table or he’ll rest his palm on your thigh. Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s paying attention, you’ll catch him watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

The others might tease him for being overprotective, for always keeping an eye on you, but they don’t see the real Logan. They don’t see how he softens when he holds you or how he presses his forehead against yours like you’re the thing that saved him.

“Love you,” he murmurs now, his lips brushing against your hair. His voice is quiet like he’s not ready to say it too loudly, but the words hit you like a warm rush all the same.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, those dark, stormy eyes soft in the dim light. “Love you too,” you whisper, brushing a kiss against his jaw before settling back into his arms.

Logan presses another kiss to the top of your head, his hand slipping under the blanket to pull you closer. He holds you like you’re his anchor, his steady presence in a chaotic world.

And as you drift off in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and strength, the rest of the world feels small and far away—because with Logan, you’re home.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[nordicfiord]

Do you have any other dynamics between the voices that you like,besides Cold and Contrarian?

Love your art,by the way,especially Contrarian!I love how soft and puffy he looks!

Ohhh, thanks for the question! And thanks for the kind words!! Have another Contrarian – he is pretty sure his friendship with anyone would be good!

it also would consist of bullying half the time but if everyone is content that it can lead to some of the best friendships out there!

And now… IT’S RUMBLING TIME!!

tldr: I am semi-interested in most dynamics, but am currently obsessed with just one. Crossovers and AUs make dynamics more fun for me to think about because of backgrounds.

So! Voices, huh? What a wild bunch.

I love those little guys. I love that mostly here at the stp fandom we are just interpreting them through our own lenses of understanding – through our own perspectives. It is very fitting, and it allows all of us to view these dynamics in many, many different situations.

Honestly, my brain is a mess. It is a giant cauldron, where everything at once is boiling and twisting and turning. That’s why everything is mixing up into lots of crossovers and weird ideas. 

Can I say that I like voices dynamics in canon? Sure! I like that one Adv-Fury route with Stubborn and Contrarian having the “I may not have a brain, gentlemen, but I have an idea” moment. I like that Hero tried to stand up for us in Cage and Paranoid helped Skeptic to insist on his solution by “physically” restraining him?? What a power move. Pretty much every interaction between voices is something interesting to think about, honestly.

But, uhh…

My brain just chose two random clowns and said “Them. I wanna rotate them.”

Honestly I don’t even know why he (my brain) did it. Maybe he just projected my favourite dynamic (clown and clown enabler). But I like other dynamics too??? Why not them???

Genuinely don’t know.

BUT!

Remember I talked about AUs, crossovers and stuff? Those are bigger dollhouses for my brain. There he can assign some dynamics to characters and watch them unfold.

Examples? Sure!

Skeptic being “the mom friend”. Originally it went from the need to have anyone that could control ContraColdChaos. But when I thought about putting voices in my old Steven Universe AU (I will talk about it here I swear it is just too much to unpack….), it all just made so much more sense. Because there Skeptic was the one responsible for revolution and leaving their home world, ended up on an unknown planet with some very troubled teammates (traumatised disabled leader, “I-died-so-many-times-I-can’t-be-stable” general, repeated killer of said general, army refugee and a high-quality spy) and he HAD to take responsibility and make sure nobody dies. Also that created a very interesting dynamic with Hero, because Hero is basically a young abused ruler who doesn’t believe he has any autonomy… and here Skeptic is, his subordinate, who literally is making all the decisions. Like, it’s clear that Skeptic cares and wants the best for Hero… but he is pretty much adding to a family emotional neglect.

And there’s more. Opportunist feeling like he owes Smitten for saving his life. Cold and Skeptic trying to process that they’ve killed and revived the very same person. Smitten being this person and trying to live a normal life with his murderer and resurrector in the same home.

I guess I just… Can’t operate inside of the canon universe with the little outside influence there is?

Maybe in my head-universe, when TLQ left, he left the voices a big fun playground, where they can put various masks and play many, many different stories. They need something to occupy their “forever” too, after all.

Anyway thanks if you’ve read this far!! I appreciate it, really. Sorry if it’s not uhh… organized? Like I said, my mind really is a mess, haha.

Have a nice day everyday!~

[sailor-hufflepuff]

I’m going to answer in good faith that you are actually curious as to our rationale, and not trolling us.

I never said he saved the world. His priority was, and always has been, to turn Ravka into a refuge for Grisha, so that they had somewhere safe to come.

Two, “expanding the Fold” didn’t mean “plunge the whole world into shadow”. It meant “expanding it into enemy territories as a threat, to get them to stop invading Ravka constantly so the country can get a freaking break.” If he had the power to move it where he wanted to, that gave him leverage to bring other governments to the negotiation table.

Next, in the show we are blatantly shown that Novakribirsk is a military town, at that time mostly filled with a rebel faction that were ready to declare war on Ravka (and also were working with the druskelle to sell Grisha to Fjerda). Were there civilian casualties? Yes. But if that attack prevented a full on Ravkan civil war, then the body count would arguably be worth it.

Stealing Alina’s power was where he really messed up. In him mind, he was basically putting her in time out - he made it obvious that he planned on them eventually being equals, but at that point she was too young and impetuous to be trusted with her powers (especially since she had complained CONSTANTLY about wanting them to be gone). Was it wrong? Yes. Can I see his logic? Also yes. In his mind, the two of them had eternity to figure things out between them, he was just making sure she didn’t screw up his plans in the meantime.

This is where it starts to get complicated. Honestly, nearly ALL of the Darkling’s actions from S&S on are nonsensical, and a total contradiction to everything we know about him before that. The Watsonian explanation is usually that the merzhost he used to survive the Fold after Alina abandoned him there drove him insane.

The Doylist explanation is that the Darkling got popular, and LB got too much push back from the puritanical side of the fandom, so she started making him do All The Evil so they readers would understand He’s The Bad Guy (Really, Don’t Look at the Monarchy).

That being said.

If by “hurt Genya” you mean the scarring in S&S, she was a soldier under his command who actively worked against him in a combat scenario. If you’re referring to her serving in the Grand Palace… that is 100% on the King and Queen, not him.

Attacking Alina’s home and killing her mother-figure (honestly a laughable concept, nothing about Ana Kuya before that implied any such relationship): he was trying to stop Alina. She was fighting a WAR against him, and was the only person with a chance of stopping him.

What should he have done? She’s the one who brought Keramzin into it by sending Grisha there. He didn’t harm the children, whatever he claimed, but he executed her allies.

He is a General. Fighting a War.

Those people he was taking from her? Abusers. Monarchy supporters. Turncoats. In his mind, he was freeing her from their influence. They were the ones holding her back.

Again, I don’t agree with these actions, I think they were not the correct way to handle things - mostly because he SERIOUSLY underestimated Alina’s selfishness and desire to fade into obscurity with Mal regardless of what that meant for the world - but if you remember that these are two military leaders in a war where thousands are dying, and not a YA couple going through a bad breakup…

The logic isn’t hard to understand.

“Heroes” and “Villains” exist in context. If there were someone who was better for Ravka, who helped people and made the world a better place, then yes, he would be an example of an anti-hero becoming a villain in his extremis.

But there isn’t. Literally every other character on the “Hero” side does things just as bad - and usually worse - for the country.

Meaning when you tally the actual outcomes of characters actions, for good or evil… he comes out as the greatest force for good in the entire narrative.

How can you call that person a villain?

Apparently I need to say it again:

While other people may ship darklina because they enjoy seeing the heroine with the villain, I ship them because I DON’T think he’s a villain.

In fact, all things being equal, he did more good for Ravka and the Grisha than all the “heroes” combined.

[flightfoot]

Do you have any good fic recs on Ladynoir. Them just hanging out or being angsty? They don’t have to be long either

Hopefully these fic recs work out for you!

Veritas by writer_slk

The latest akumatized villain is filling the mouths of its victims with criticisms and complaints. If left unchecked, every relationship in Paris will be put at risk. While Ladybug and Chat Noir are trying to stop the villain, Ladybug learns something about her partner that she didn’t want to know and then says something she didn’t mean to say.

---

Imaginary Friend by Engineerd

Alya went back to typing on her screen. “You’re right,” she agreed. “All that pressure? No wonder Ladybug made herself a boyfriend.” “Chat Noir is not her boyfriend,” Marinette scoffed. In which Ladybug summons Chat Noir as her lucky charm one day. (She keeps summoning him.)

---

The Son of my Enemy by Saccha

Cat Noir never wanted to be a villain, but he doesn't have a choice. Ladybug wishes she could save him. A reverse love square, villain!Cat Noir AU.

---

you deserve to be loved and you deserve what you are given by thescuttlebug

Marinette is terrified, suddenly. She’s not like this. She’s not this kind of alpha, to get her head turned by any pretty pheromones she trips over. She’s not--she’s not disloyal, she’s not inconstant. Chat smells like moonlight, like the sudden shock of night air and the terrifying rush of leaping out into the empty dark, like deserted city sidewalks and unfamiliar corners: something midnight-metallic, something strange, something wild. Nothing like Adrien. Not a single note in common. She’s not like this. She’s not like this. He smells-- He smells-- “Ladybug,” Chat croaks, still staring at her. He smells stray.

---

Evergreen by tanyatakaishi

Everything was gone. The entire cityscape had been obliterated, leaving them in a valley of trees. Blue mountains, peaks dressed in snow, stretched tall in the distance and at their foot lay an array of vineyards, miles wide with no civilization in sight. AKA: two heroes lost alone in the woods with no cheese.

---

As the dust settles by Pengirl91

After Ladybug lost everything and yet her partner stood by her, she realized what she had been trying to lie to herself about for months. She is undoubtedly in love with him. The only problem is that she's terrified of what that could lead to and there's a monumental task ahead of them before it might be safe to act on her feelings for him... more than she already has. Post Strike Back with my hopes, wishes, and predictions for season 5 as I wait with great impatience. Now complete.

The meat of this story is mostly a SentiAdrien fic. Adrien discovers that Gabriel is Hawkmoth, so Gabriel orders him to stay silent about what he found out, as well as giving orders to help him with plans to obtain the Miraculous he needs. Luckily, he doesn’t know that Adrien is Chat Noir...

---

I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier. If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

---

To Have Loved by @trishacollins

Adrien struggles with the loss of children he never had, with a life he remembers living but that wasn't real. The only person who understands him is Ladybug, his wife and his children's mother. Sleeping alone is such an empty feeling. Together, they might make a start at healing. Or they might just make a new disaster.

I love Jubilation angst. Depending on how "real" that timeline felt, waking up could be devastating - and Chat WAS certainly devastated in that episode. It's akin to the Pevensie kids in Narnia growing up, becoming rulers, and then tumbling out of the wardrobe a couple decades later, the same age at which they left. Of course Ladybug and Chat Noir would cling to each other afterwards, the only other person who remembers that imaginary timeline.

That's not all this story entails, however. Gabriel isn't too happy about Adrien sneaking out as much as he has been, and he WILL get answers, one way or another...

---

in which chat noir comes up with an awesome gift for ladybug by @mixelation

If his Lady wants ultra rare Adrien Agreste merch, then that’s what his Lady will get! Written for the Miraculous Ladybug Secret Santa exchange.

This was really sweet and I love how mixelation wrote Adrien's internal narration! You really viscerally understood his thoughts and feelings. It had some of the intimacy of a first person perspective, but well, in third person.

---

Mamma Mia! by @ladynoirfanao3

When Marinette discovers she is pregnant, she is distressed to realize any of the three men she slept with in the recent past could be the father; Chat Noir, Ladybug’s partner and ex with whom she had gone through a tearful breakup - the mysterious Cat Walker, Ladybug’s rebound - or Adrien Agreste, Marinette’s current boyfriend. Bit of a twist on the base concept of Mamma Mia, where she doesn't realize all three potential fathers are, in fact, the same man.

So this is a fun little fic. I loved seeing Adrien and Marinette independently wrestle with the situation - Adrien, with maybe being the father of his former girlfriend's children (but maybe not), and Marinette, with needing to tell her former and current boyfriends that they might or might not be the father, and having to deal with a potential change in their relationship because of that.

Oh yeah, this fic is rated M, but the sexual content is relatively mild. The foreplay is detailed, but the actual sex is just implied.

---

Bend the World Around It by @kasienda

“Tell me it was real." She can’t look at him. She can barely stand the pain in his voice. She definitely can’t face it. “It wasn’t.” He shakes his head, and turns to her - his eyes swirling in their intensity. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Tell me that you were there. We were there together, having the same dream.” She squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to lie to him. She needs to lie to him. But she can’t. Lying would be like it never happened. But it did happen. And if it’s all they get to have, she wants him to know it. “I think we were having the same dream,” she whispers, unable to meet his eyes.

So this is an adorable Jubilation aftermath fic, with Ladybug and Chat Noir both mourning the loss of what only they remember, of a dream that never was. And them deciding that screw it, it may not have been real to anyone else, but it was real to them. They remember those years together, and they want to live together, if only during the times when they can afford to be missing from home. They remember being happily married, and crave that life.

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(Drag) Kings And Queens by @entity9silvergen

Marinette sees one of her commissions on drag performer Chat Noir and a friendship is born. If only she could get her girlfriend Adriana to go to one of his performances… Adrien plays with a new side of himself through drag with some help from his new online friend Ladybug. If only his newfound confidence could help him work up the courage to tell his boyfriend Marino about it… Closeted T4T Drag AU based on buggachat’s tumblr post with lots of extra identity shenanigans.

So like entity says, this fic is based on one of @buggachat's tumblr posts.

Though it actually manages to be even MORE queer since both Adrien and Marinette are trans.

It's an utter delight! The drag performances are a treat, and I love the identity shenanigans XD. It's just a lot of fun.

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Phantom Pains (and other hints of you) by @buggachat

She couldn't remember anything. Not where she was going, where she'd been, why she was in this stairwell, or even her own name. But as she watched the blood pool at the base of the steps, she at least knew one thing for certain: the corpse was hers. Getting used to being dead was going to have its growing pains. — “Well, unlucky lady,” Chat Noir greeted with a bow, “Can I get your name?” “Didn’t we just talk about this? I told you, I don’t remember it.” “And I told you,” he reminded, “that you can just pick whatever fits you best.” — Ladybug and Chat Noir may not remember who they once were, but at least the two lost souls can find comfort in each other's company. But as Ladybug starts uncovering more and more memories of her life, letting the past go doesn't seem as easy as Chat Noir claims it to be.

So this is a beautiful, sweet, tragic love story of two lost souls wandering around with each other, yet with Ladybug still desperately wanting to be found, to remember who she was - and wanting to know why Chat so adamantly wanted to stay amnesiac. It's got some neat worldbuilding, and some fantastic prose. It's just a really nice little story!

[gennianydots]

Happy April 24th, fellow PatPraners!

[illegally-downloaded-skeleton]

[pinkfey]

me when the boy savior the boy saved everyone: 🤯🤯🤯

[jomeimei421]

GYAAHHH people are reblogging ANCIENT art of mine