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muldermuse · 4 months

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Guardian Angel (Gator Tillman X F!Reader)

this was based on a prompt i recieved!

18+ only!! mdni!! warning: reader is briefly knocked unconscious in the fic! not by Gator but by an anonymous male who is never named/identified. mentions of bad childhood/abusive parents. mentions of police brutality. mentions of smut. being in a hospital/back of an ambulance. Gator and Roy are threatening in this and mean about reader. Angst!!! lil bit of fluff! more angst?? Unhappy ending (no character deaths tho do not worry)

I’m sorry :/

Part of the two sinners works! Read more here!

Gator Tillman had no choice but to become a Sheriff, he idolised his Father and saw the respect that surrounded him. No one ever questions Roy Tillman; at least, not if they value their own life. Gator had witnessed firsthand the brutality that his father inflicted on his community when wearing the badge. One of Gator’s happiest childhood memories was his daddy letting him wear his cowboy hat and his Sheriff’s badge. Roy Tillman’s eyes were full of pride as he looked as his young son, “you’ll make a fantastic Sheriff one day, boy”. Any other dreams that young Gator were quashed in that moment, ever since that day when his Father looked at him and saw the potential Gator could grow up to have- he knew he had to be a Sheriff.

Unfortunately, Gator Tillman never wanted to be a good Sheriff. He didn’t actually care about helping people or being a beacon of hope for his community. Gator, like his Father, loved the power that came with the badge. Without it, he was some loser daddy’s boy but with it; he felt he was unstoppable. As much as Roy Tillman ignored his son, he knew him too well and he knew what little ability Gator actually had. So, Gator was always on the quietest shifts and he was always paired with an older colleague who could actually do the job. In his father’s eyes; Gator was still a little kid playing dress up. So here he is, browsing the disposable vape collection in his local gas station to fill the time until he can clock out. The clerk looks away and Gator slips a watermelon mango flavour into his pocket. He throws a few dollars on the counter and takes a bag of Takis before heading back to the patrol car. Maybe he can convince his patrol partner to drive him to a diner to get a coffee to kill a few more hours or maybe he’ll have an uncomfortable nap across the back seat.

Then a call comes in.

“Dispatch, please respond. We have a call for assistance at The Outpost Bar about 4 minutes from your current location. Seems that an altercation between two men has escalated and a young lady has got hurt, ambulance is nearly there as she’s knocked out”.

Gator picks up the radio as his colleague starts speeding to the bar, “Heard- name of victim?”.

Bile rises in his throat and he feels his stomach drop.

It’s your name.

Before he can even process what has happened; the patrol car arrives on the scene and sees the ambulance outside the front of the bar.

He knows his job is to find the guy who’s done this and get him in the back of the car. He knows the ambulance and the paramedics are there to help you. But he also knows that you’re currently unconscious on the floor of a shitty dive bar and that’s all he can focus on. His heart is thundering in his ears as he runs into the bar, his colleague is shouting his name after him to try and discuss a plan before entering the bar. He needs to see you, what if the call was wrong? You never mentioned that you’d be heading out tonight. You never really tell him anywhere you’re going though. He wishes you would but he can’t think about that now.

The inside of the bar is nearly empty, the lights are up and there’s a group of women stood around someone lying on the floor. The shoes he can see are a pair of black boots- has he ever seen you wear those? Would you wear something like that? The thought in his head are moving too quick for him to comprehend. He tries to make his way over to the huddle of women on the floor but he sees a familiar face first. It’s Jenson Ackerley, the guy you brought to the church pot luck, the guy that you’d told Gator you never planned on seeing again after blowing him off for him. Gator had seen a few texts from Jenson pop up on your phone but you were seemingly quick to ignore them. He’s stood at the bar, he’s holding his head in his hands and looks relieved when he sees law enforcement come in.

“Thank god you’re here, they fuckin’ ran off after they shoved her. She hit her head and then they fuckin’ ran off. She’s breathin’ fine so sh-“ he sounds relieved as he speaks, the words tumbling out of his mouth as if he’s a concerned partner. You’re not his partner, Gator isn’t either but he’s closer to it than this fucking guy. A rage flushes across his face as Gator grabs Jenson’s plaid shirt in his fists and pushes him against the concrete wall of the bar. He spits at Jenson’s feet before speaking to him, “What the fuck happened? Why the fuck didn’t you step in? Some fuckin’ quarterback huh?” He shoves him harder; feeling rejoice in the nerves filling Jenson’s eyes "Lettin’ her get hit while you just fuckin’ stand there holdin’ your fuckin' dick?”. Jenson’s face contorts in confusion, he tries to respond before Gator punches him hard in his lower stomach. He grabs Jenson’s cheeks and pushes his head further into the cold, hard concrete of the wall as he whispers low in his ear “I fuckin’ swear on my fuckin’ Dad’s life- if something happens to her, I’ll fuckin’ kill you”. The hard grip of his hand gets tighter on Jenson’s face, Jenson’s face would be flushing red if it were not for the fact that all blood seems to have drained from his face with nerves. Gator’s smirk is predatory, “‘m a fuckin’ Sheriff y’know- I can make it look like an accident”.

He can hear your voice, it’s mumbled and strained- but it is distinctly you.

Gator turns that quick he feels a bout of nausea hit him, it’s doubled when he sees you being moved out of the dingy bar on a stretcher. You look confused but a flash of recognition and reassurance flutters through your expression when you realise it’s him.

“Gator?” Your voice is slow as if your wading through thick molasses to whisper his two syllable name. He grabs your hand, it’s ice cold and he knows that it’s the shock your poor body has been through this evening. Your hand meekly trembles in his and it occurs to Gator that he’s never seen you as vulnerable as this.

“Yeah-yeah it’s me, hi” His voice is the softest it’s ever been with you as he tenderly presses a hand to your face. This isn’t the same man who two days ago called you a whore as you rode his cock in his Daddy’s bed and this certainly isn’t the man who’s last text simply told you to fuck off and leave him alone. This isn’t your Gator. But right now, this isn’t you. When you look back, you both won’t recognise the other in this moment.

But fiercely, you’ll both take the tenderness right now. You both desperately need it.

Gator will come to always crave it.

***

He insisted to his colleague that he’d go with you in the ambulance. The paramedic was too preoccupied with checking your vitals to notice that Gator held your hand the entire way. When tears filled your eyes due to pure confusion about your current situation, he’d press a soft kiss to your under eyes and mumble to you that it was going to be okay. He wasn’t leaving your side until it was all okay- he promised.

“I swear on it, okay baby. Me and you” he brings your hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to it. Tenderly, he moves your hair out of your face as you nod in agreement. You wanted to believe him with every ounce of your body and soul but your mouth is too dry to beg him to stay; you’re not sure if you’re asking for tonight or for forever.

Gator’s watching you intently, he’s memorising the different parts of your face- just in case. Of course nothing’s going to happen to you, he’s sure of it. But just in case, he’s logging to his memory the soft curve of your lips, always a little pouty and so fucking pretty when you wear that lip gloss that drives him wild. The little furrow in your brow, always more prominent when you’re worried or plotting how you can try and fuck up Gator’s week by saying something calculating.

Your eyes flicker shut as the paramedic rests a hand on Gator’s shoulder, “you’re a good boyfriend. Half the guys don’t even want to come in the back and the others usually try to calm themselves rather than their partners. You’re a good man”. The irony isn’t missed on him, he is someone’s boyfriend but he’s not yours. His girlfriend has never received this tenderness from him. Gator Tillman is a lot of things but he is definitely not a good man. In this moment, however, he is trying to be.

He doesn’t thank the paramedic, he just nods and keeps your small hand in his. He doesn’t want his mind to wander and consider how things would be if you were in a relationship. You’d drive him mad, he’s sure of it but with Glenda; he feels nothing. He considers that at least anger is an emotion. Better than an emotionally vacant relationship.

The ambulance comes to a sudden stop and he feels your hand grip his tighter, your eyes are open and as the paramedic works to open the door; Gator is reassuring you that everything’s going to be okay.

“Promise that you’ll stay?” your voice is hesitant and soft. You feel emotionally exposed right now and it’s a deeply uncomfortable feeling.

Gator presses a kiss to your forward quickly, conscious of the paramedic trying to get your stretcher out of the vehicle and onto a ward. “Of course baby, as soon as they find you a room- I’ll be there. Okay? I swear it”. You begin to cry as you nod and Gator desperately wants to kiss you more to console you but you’re wheeled out before he gets the chance.

Your hands are pulled apart as your stretcher gets wheeled into the hospital. He’s lost in his thoughts until a familiar authoritative voice booms behind him.

“Gator?”

It’s his father.

Gator feels the blood drain from his body and he tries to stop his hands trembling before he turns around.

Roy’s hands are on his hips as he glares at Gator. He’s dressed in his usual cowboy hat and denim jacket. His father’s presence always makes Gator nervous. With one look from Roy Tillman, Gator is transported back to being a four year old meek child who had accidentally broken a vase, terrified of his father’s reaction but simultaneously in awe of the authoritarian berating him for his mistake. He’d seen them holding hands, Gator takes a second to thank the lord that that is all his father had seen.

His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, he can’t speak and if he could; he doesn’t even know what he would say. There’s no reason for it. Why would he be holding your hand? Why would he travel in the back of the ambulance with you? It isn’t protocol and, for all Roy knows, Gator does not like you. He isn’t even supposed to know you. His father had warned Gator about you from the first time he had seen you.

“She’s a sinner that girl- I don’t want her corrupting you. Showing you her worldly ways, you are not to speak to her- y’hear me?” What Roy didn’t know is by that time, you’d already started sleeping together. Both of you taking the time to learn each other’s bodies intimately. You made Gator feel things he never had before but that didn’t matter- you were a dirty sinner. It never crosses Gator’s mind that he could be a sinner too.

The paramedic reemerges from the hospital and before Gator can intercept, she tells him that ‘his girlfriend’ is on ward 6.

“I’ve told her that you’ll be up soon to see her. She’s still a bit upset so maybe head up after you’ve finished speaking with the Sheriff” the paramedic is kind. Her words are soft and considered and her eyes look up at Gator as if he’s a great man. He hopes that this paramedic will keep Gator in her mind as an attentive and considerate partner. She may be the only person who would ever think of Gator Tillman in that way. Roy smiles at the paramedic but it doesn’t meet his eyes; Gator realises that his smile never does.

After she leaves, there’s a moment of silence. It feels too long and uncomfortable.

***

“I don’t know what’s happenin’ with you and that girl b-“

“Dad” Gator scoffs, as if the idea is ridiculous “nothin’s happenin’. I answered the call so I was there and y’know, I’m the Sheriff- it’s my job to make sure she’s safe. Well, not ju-“

Roy takes Gator’s shirt in his fists and slams him against the wall of the hospital. The thud of Gator’s head hitting the concrete echoes across the vacant space. Roy spits in Gator’s face as he whispers sternly, “Do not fuckin’ lie to me. You’re a worse fuckin’ liar than your fuckin’ mother”.

He can’t speak, as hard as Gator’s mouth tries to form words, it lets him down and makes him look weak in front of his father. Just as he did when he was younger; Gator takes the emotional beating from his father.

“You got a good christian woman at home and I don’t think that Glenda would want to hear about you in the back of an ambulance with her- agree?”

He nods, his mind is empty as all he feels is blind panic. Will Roy tell Glenda? As soon as he loses her, he loses his father’s approval- something he’s spent years cultivating. He can’t lose her; it’s not a choice. Roy robs him of the chance to speak.

Roy’s hand is firm on Gator’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the flesh. “What have I told you from day one about that girl, son?”. His eyes are unwavering on his son’s, Gator realises he has not seen his dad blink throughout this entire interaction.

“That she’s a sinner” it comes out too easy and Roy smirks in response. He’s made his father happy and he feels he can speak again. His chest not as tight as it felt a few moments ago.

Roy’s hand gets tighter on Gator’s shoulder and it begins to feel uncomfortable. “Tell me what you think of her” he nods to prompt Gator to speak. Gator briefly imagines if he could tell him the truth, how would he describe what he thinks of you? He’s unsure if he even allows himself to think about you when you’re apart. The thought of you living unfiltered in his mind is far too much. You need to be a box locked away in Gator’s depraved mind. There’s no key because it never needs opening.

He stutters as he goes to speak, “well…we all know what she’s like right? She’s a fuckin’ whore” Roy nods in encouragement as a shy smile breaks across Gator’s face. “Yeah, I mean, she’s probably dating about 10 different guys- right? I mean, I saw her with Jenson and then with some other fuckin’ guy like two days later. Glenda doesn’t like ‘er- thinks the same as me”.

Roy is content, his grip on his son’s shoulder eases as he smiles brightly at Gator. “We’re not gonna look for the guys that did this- didn’t happen. You were doin’ a routine check at the bar and that’s it. I’ve already told Williams that that’s what’s happened- I’ve sorted it for you, son”

Son.

That one syllable word is a warm blanket on a cold night. A ice cold glass of water in the hottest desert. A three course meal after a day of raw hunger.

Roy leads Gator away from you, he sits him in the patrol car and drives him home to Glenda. Glenda kisses his cheek softly at the doorway. She’s made a home cooked meal for her hardworking man. The meal tastes like ash on Gator’s tongue. He drinks whiskey to help him sleeps more than usual.

Meanwhile, you are laid alone in a hospital bed. Holding out hope that Gator will return, hopefully with the affection from the ambulance. But of course, Gator doesn’t come back to your room.

You don’t see him again whilst you're in the hospital.

He doesn’t text you for two weeks.

He turns up one late night when you’re back home, he asks if you’re ‘all good’ and you reply that you’ll be fine. You have sex that night and never acknowledge how tender he was to you in your time of need. You’re both rougher than usual, both craving to dominate the other and fuck them into submission. You have to make up for the unjustified kindness.

***

You never see how Gator spends his time off work. When he’s not with you, or with Glenda, or working- he’s trying to find out who did this to you.

He won’t stop searching until the person who did this is found in a ditch.

But you will never know.

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running-with-kn1ves · 11 months

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Hi! Could you write something about a yan!best friend but this time he's the one who's the virgin instead of reader and reader is the one who is teasing him etc. Like your other yanbsf fic but the roles are flipped. Maybe he's flirty and teasing so reader assumed he got around but he's actually only that way around them and a huge dick to everyone else. And as they're having sex, he's rough because he hates that reader slept with other people before. Thinking of it now, this prompt also fits yan!bf because of the insecurity but I'll leave it to you. Thanks! Your writing always helps me get though a tough week :)

A/N: this prompt got me too interested for me to pass it up; I'm so glad my writing is helpful to you anon, and i hope this was what you were looking for:)

TW: Literally just smut, hardly proofread, possessive behavior, experienced! reader, virgin! Yandere, handjob,

“Don’t start.” Your best friend threatens, giving you a “i'm done with your shit” glare.

His seemingly upset gaze passed back and forth from your eyes, to your hand. But despite his disagreeable tone, his hands stay limp at his sides, and his legs are still open at a leisurely position.

“Why? I thought you were so confident in your… skills.” You scoff at the end of your sentence, watching your friend writhe uncomfortably as your hand caresses him. “Don’t tell me you’ve been lying this whole time….?”

You grin at seeing him frown, seeing his unhappy glare that really seems to hold a hidden bit of excitement, especially as you feel something begin to grow more shapely within your palm.

“I haven’t lied about anything!” He blurts out suddenly, “I just-- I didn’t, say that I’ve actually.. DONE anything…”

“Don’t tell me--” You begin to cackle, unable to hold back your laughter as you watch his face morph into an expression of sheer embarrassment.

“Don’t laugh at me!” He shouts, grabbing the hand that thats been touching him so intimately.

“Why not, you’re a virgin who’s lied about sleeping with more than half of everyone we know!” You snicker, laughing into your opposite palm while your other has ceased its sensual movements.

Forcing your hand back down, your best friend jerks you close.

“If I’m really just some loser, why don’t you see how well your so-called “experience” works on me, huh? Or are you too much of a wuss to try,” He watches you try to hold back another laugh, angrily frowning. “Maybe you’re not as good as you think; not as good compared to a virgin, anyway.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” You ask grinning, reading his nervousness as he licks his lips in anticipation.

“Its.. its whatever you want to take it as.” He says stubbornly, looking away. “And I haven’t lied about anything, I just… stretched the extent of things I may have done… with some people….”

You try to hold back another laugh, resuming your experimental touches on the front of his jeans. You’ve noticed how increasingly hard he’s gotten since you started, how tight his pants have gotten around his thickness; though its not like it took very much to get him excited, having only ever received the touch of his own hand.

Your best friend licked his lips again, letting out a huffed breath through his nostrils as you cupped his crotch.

“So a liar and a virgin… Turns out you’ve been hiding quite a few things from me.” You cut him off before he tries to refute you again. “But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? Because you won’t be either, once we’re finished.

“But I-I,” He stutters, watching you look him up and down, seeing how his hips have begun to lift forward in an attempt to meet your hand.

“You’ve bragged about so little… I’m sure we can manage to bring some truth to your fabrications.”

You get close, watching his desperate lips part in an attempt to call in yours. You lean in just close enough to keep him trying to close the gap, creating a bit of distance each time. You almost catch him in a kiss but lean upward, brushing your nose against his as he pants in frustration.

“Stop-- teasing me..” He grunts, trying to keep his mouth shut. You pull away from his grinding hips, tip-toeing your fingers up to his pants buttons. You try to open them slowly, unzipping his pants zipper as he watches you. But your best friend doesn’t have the patience that you hoped. He unbuttons himself before you can, the bulge in his boxers coming to rise and push against his pants.

“So needy for being an untouched virgin, are we? I thought you were more patient than that.”

He looks away in embarassment, hiding behind his forearm. Your hand slides from his soft, warm tummy to the thickness in his boxers. The moment you grab it, he lets out a guttural moan, pushing his lips in his arm to avoid from getting too loud.

You reach for his jaw with your free hand, pulling him away from his hiding spot. He looks at you with a parted, heaving mouth, watching as if you had the key to everything he could ever want. You give him a sweet kiss, one that he easily accepts, pressing up against your mouth with an insatiable fervor, gently bringing his hand down to push yours under his boxers.

You pull away his hand from yours,pushing it against the backside of the couch with your free hand.

“Rule one you have to learn, don’t touch the master while they’re working.” You grin, giving a slow pump to his delicate, untouched cock.

But instead of the submissive, lust-hazed look you were expecting, your bestfriend hardens his gaze. Pulling you by your hips, he forces you from your knees on the couch to his lap, letting them straddle him and keeping your hand down his pants.

“Its not fair,” He murmurs, gripping the fabric around your thighs. “T’s not fair someone else got you fuck you first…”

He ruts up against your clothed crotch, allowing your hand to slide against his member. His thrusts into your hand grow harder, rougher as he watches you through hazy eyes and fallen hair strands.

“You're as desperate as any virgin…” You smirk, watching him lean his head back after you brush your thumb against his tip. “But you’re as stubborn as a mule.”

That action and your confident words only seems to spur him on, his heavy thrusts growing violent as his hand moves to grip the back of your shirt, the other coming up to meet your crotch.

“I only learn from the best.” He says, gritting his teeth and trying his best to unbutton your shorts. “Now, I thought you said you’d teach me everything that I “fabricated”?”

You lift an eyebrow, hearing him let out another groaning huff, getting close to his release.

You lean in to satisfy his need to kiss you again, watching as bites his lip at a thought.

“Besides, I need to fuck you hard enough that you forget about those before me.”

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dysfunctional-doodle · 6 months

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TMNT FIC RECS

I got someone asking to recommend some angst TMNT fics so I decided to make a list of my own! I’ll recommend some of my favourite fics then a few of mine for those that haven’t read them :)

NOTE - I’m such a Mikey fan that almost all of these are Mikey-centric angst, my bad. Still very very good. Top tier shit:

Ok so I’m going to cut this because this list is massive, please keep reading!!

NOT MY FICS:

Feed Me Poison ‘Til I Drown (TMNT 2007, All Media Types)

Summary: Mikey’s tired of not being taken seriously by his brothers. Karai is very persuasive. As such, Mikey joins the Foot clan…mere months after Leo is sent away for training.

Notes: This is wonderfully written. A what if based on a cancelled TMNT 2 sequel where Mikey joins The Foot due to him feeling unappreciated and a burden. I personally love a unreliable narrator, and this captures that perfectly - you don’t know whether Mikey is being manipulated, or whether his actions (and how antagonistic they get) are of his own free will and not brainwashing. Chefs kiss. (Ao3)

All works by Justalittleobsessed.

All of them are perfect angst ranging from mild injury to absolute gut wrenching angst. Please check all of them out, they are some of my favourites for sure. (Ao3)

Radio Silence (All Media Types)

Summary: Mikey isn’t answering his shell cell, which isn’t like him, prompting his brothers to go look for him; Mikey has no idea what’s going on, but the rain is making nice sounds and moving hurts and there are noises coming from his shell cell that he should probably pay attention to.

Notes: Less angst and more hurt in this one, but still brilliant on capturing exactly how it feels to wake up from a serious injury, alone and confused. Perfectly describes shock and has a decent dosage of comfort after. (Ao3)

Missing Comedic Relief (TMNT 2003, All Media Types)

Summary: Michelangelo is the light of the family, he's always cracking jokes no matter what situation they're in. His family doesn't realize it, but his jokes help keep up the team moral. They always break the tension and make it easier to do what they need to do. So when Mikey isn't part of a mission, his family can't help but notice how empty their team felt. To make matters worse, the reason Mikey isn't part of their mission was because he was missing.

Notes: I love this one because the amount of emotional angst from the brothers not knowing where Mikey is and missing what he means to each of them is just amazingly written. The brothers don’t know where Mikey is but know he’s hurt and in trouble, and it largely follows their point of view as they search everywhere for him. Mikey himself suffers quite a bit too (cage fighting against a bunch of Purple Dragons, not fun) and it ends with comfort! Huzzah! (Ao3)

The T Subjects (ROTTMNT)

Summary: Mikey and Don face their worst fears when they're separated from their brothers by ruthless scientists.

Notes: If you want angst, this is the place to go, seriously. Explores the terrifying reality of what would happen when any of the turtles get captured by scientists who want nothing more than to study them. It’s heartbreaking reading about how Donnie is trying to keep it together for Mikey, but ultimately fails when he is separated from his youngest brother. And Mikey - god, he goes through it too much. His childlike faith in Donnie and genuine fear is written so well.

I will note that this is private, so you can only read it if you have an ao3 account.

I’ve Been Afraid of Changing (TMNT 2007, though can be read as general)

Summary: “You can’t make me go,” Mikey blurts, too loud. “I won’t. I don’t want to.”

“Jesus,” Donnie mutters, rubbing his forehead. He’s already so fed-up with Mikey after like three seconds of conversation that Mikey can feel his eyes start to sting. “The last thing I want to do is fight with you, Mike. I thought you liked Cowabunga Carl.”

It’s not fair. Donnie’s so smart. He’s tired and overworked and unhappy, but he’s smart. How can he get this one thing so wrong? How can he not know Mikey as well as he used to, like all of those years of being each other’s best friends and co-conspirators and secret-keepers from where they were relegated to the “B Team” aren’t as intrinsic and important and fundamental to him as they are to Mikey? How can he look at Mikey, right in the face, and not understand him at all? Something breaks.

Notes: a kind of AU of the TMNT 2007 movie where Mikey develops depression/has a mental breakdown due to how the other brothers have drifted apart. His birthday is forgotten, Donnie and Raph keep fighting, he hates his job - and he can’t take it anymore. It’s horrible reading Mikey’s breakdown, but it ends on a much happier note! If you want emotional angst this is FULL of it. (Ao3)

Nothing is Ever Simple (TMNT 2003, All Media Types)

Summary: When breaking up an arms' deal goes bad, Mikey is taken and Raphael is on the trail of his brother's kidnappers. You don't mess with family.

Notes: Mikey gets kidnapped and Raph is left following a small trail to find him. This fic is one of my favourites because of the way it focuses a lot on Raph and his own personal demons, and how much Mikey means to him. Also, Mikey gets tortured in a twisted way, and seeing him never give in is always a plus in the old angst book. Overall, though it seems it’s about Mikey it’s mostly about Raph. His own reflections, fears and loyalties to family. (Ao3)

Never Really Over (ROTTMNT)

What appears to be another routine Purple Dragons bust takes a devastating turn when one of the brothers gets infected with leftover krang sludge. Or; kraangified Mikey

Notes: what can I say about this one apart from Mikey gets kraangified. It’s peak angst, I promise. Absolutely amazing, read it. (Ao3)

That’s where the blood is supposed to be! (ROTTMNT)

Summary: Sometimes, you just get hit a little too hard (aka: mikey blames everything on low blood sugar for ~4K words)

Notes: Mikey is seriously injured but doesn’t tell anyone due to the high tensions between Raph and Leo. Come on - physical and emotional angst? Sign me up! Very good and accurate descriptions of injury and gore, and the build up of this one is just perfect. You know something is horribly wrong, and it’s torture. Poor Mikey. (Ao3)

A Change In Outbreak (TMNT 2003)

Summary: Shredder showed us that there are there infinite number of realities, thousands of dimension and each of them differ from the last when it came to the turtle brothers. This one is no different then the one we've known our Turtles to be part of, however there is one little detail, one small thing that's different. Instead of Donnie getting mutated, it's Mikey.

Notes: long time fans probably all know about this fanfic, it’s a classic! Based on the original idea that Mikey would be double mutated in the Good Genes arc rather than Donnie, it retells the events if Mikey had indeed been infected. It keeps it fresh by adding new elements and plot points, as well as a lot of angst surrounding the brothers after seeing their youngest and heart be reduced to a monster. Plenty of emotional and physical angst all round, it’s perfect. (Ao3)

Heated Arguments Don’t Warm a Frozen Family (TMNT 2003, All Media Types)

Summary: “He’s gotta be around here somewhere, I just kno-“ he suddenly tripped over an object buried in the snow.

“GaH!” Leo shuddered, pulling himself up quickly and brushing off the cold substance.

“Leo???”

Looking back to see what it was that caused his fall, his heart nearly launched into his throat. “Oh no.”

“Leo, what’s wrong?!” Raph’s voice echoed again from the phone.

Leo got onto his knees, ignoring the cold snow that he initially was avoiding. He anxiously brushed away a few inches of loose fluffy snow to see the familiar pattern of a shell. “Shit-“ He muttered under his breath “Get Donnie and come to my location now!”

“What’s going on?! We’re on our way now!” Raph sounded like he was already running.

“I found Mikey.” Leo’s voice cracked as he hung up the phone before Raphael could respond.

Notes: one of the first fics I read on this fandom and still one of my favourites. Lots of emotional and physical, Mikey centric angst in this one! (Ao3)

Everything by BrightLotusMoon

Seriously, they got me into this fandom from a casual watcher to artist and fanfic writer! Full of Mikey angst, and creator of the Empath! Mikey head cannon that lives rent free in my head and has inspired many of my own material! Read them all, they’re all bangers.

Revenge Always Tastes Sweet (But the Aftertaste is Bitter (ROTTMNT)

Summary: Actions have consequences and they come back with a vengeance when it's least expected. A trip to the Hidden City gives one of the brothers a taste of just how deadly making enemies with a yokai can be.

Notes: What, not Mikey angst?? Not this time - Donnie gets the full angst attack when he gets poisoned from an unknown enemy. Lots of well described hurt, end it has a happy ending! (Ao3)

Hyperactive Hyperthermia (ROTTMNT)

Summary: Snow day ruined for the second year in a row! They had expected a break, but they really couldn't ever catch one. How could they have known mystic fire was so uncontrollable?Maybe standing on the ice lake was the first bad idea.

---

OR: The brothers go out for a snow day, but it quickly goes south after multiple avalanches and other shenanigans leaves Mikey without any winter clothing and trapped with Donnie under the snow.

Notes: this one…this one is heartbreaking, honestly. You have to read about Donnie being trapped with a freezing Mikey, and he knows this but is helpless to do anything but watch it happen. The emotional angst in this kicks you deep in the gut, it’s terrible I love it. (ao3)

Nowhere Boy (TMNT 2003, can be read as general)

Summary: He was twelve years old, and he realized that his dreams were always the same. Every single one. "We need you. We'll find you," those indistinct figures would say, their eyes glinting in the darkness, shadows stretching out to him like hands. But he always woke up before they reached him.

Notes: I LOVE this one. It has lived with me ever since I read it, something about it is so heartbreaking. It explores the feeling of being lost despite not knowing why, and how much you miss someone despite never knowing them. It actually inspired a fic of my own, which I will link in my own fics list. I don’t want to spoil it, but please read it. Mikey centric angst heaven (ao3)

Unfamiliar Familiar (ROTTMNT/TMNT 2012 Crossover)

Summary: What the hell is Michelangelo supposed to do? Having woken up in a strange world with new brothers? Why is everyone here so nice? Why won’t they let him leave? The Rise brothers stumble upon a traumatized Mikey, and when they learn the reason behind all that trauma, there is no way they’ll let him experience that again.

TLDR: Rise brothers adopt 2012 Mikey

Notes: I am a sucker for slight 2012 bashing and this one fulfils it without being overly mean. 2012 Mikey has been traumatised by his brothers and his enemies, and finally gets the chance to heal and start again when he is thrown into the rise universe. Very popular fic, I highly suggest you read it despite it not being complete. So much emotional angst I swear. (Ao3)

Going under (ROTTMNT)

Summary: “Have a pleasant swim, little turtle!” they snicker.

Mikey’s eyes widen.

“NO!”

Then, he feels weightless.

He’s falling.

And falling.

And then —

His body hits the water with a loud splash and his vision flashes white.

Notes: Mikey almost drowns. Peak angst. (Ao3)

Sunshine in the Rain (ROTTMNT)

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Michelangelo is taken by a government scientist named Bishop, how will he respond to this new environment, and more importantly, will his brothers be able to save him before he breaks? Let the game begin.

Notes: Mikey sacrificing himself to save his brothers from Bishop? Yes please, and thank you author. Seriously, this has it all - introducing Bishop in the rise universe, and Leatherhead! Of course, lots of angst in the form of experimentation. But that’s what we’re here for, right? (Ao3)

Quicksand (All Media Types)

Summary: Trapped in darkness, no one can hear you, no one can see you, no one knows where you are. The cold lingers, the fear rises, who will help us? Who even knows we are down here? The only people who might know are probably dead. Help us, someone please help…

Notes: Mikey and Donnie get trapped in a collapsing lair when earthquakes year apart their home. Leo and Raph are the only ones that can get to them, but the snow storm is stopping them. This is so brutal in the way NO ONE gets a break, the angst just keeps coming. Everyone gets it. I love it. Read it (fanfiction.net)

Ghosts of New York Past (TMNT 2003)

Summary: The turtles and Splinter have been transported 100 years into the future through Cody Jones' time window. Future New York is a lot to take in. But when the dust settles and the sun goes down, the big unanswered question is still there: how are they supposed to fit into a time that doesn't belong to them?

Notes: light angst, exploring the more emotional and wise side of Mikey that we don’t see often in the show. (Fanfiction.net)

Questioning Choices (TMNT 2003, All Media Types)

Summary: A fun family trip to the beach turns ugly when Michelangelo is injured and his brothers have to make difficult decisions that go against their morals in order to save him.

Notes: I don’t know why but I love this one too much. Mike’s slowly getting worked whilst the brothers have to go against their morals and steal from an ambulance? Perfection. (fanfiction.net)

Suffered to Slumber (All Media Types)

Summary: "Breathe quick, breathe slow, put the gun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Any way you like, you're gonna die down here."

Notes: this one is also BRUTAL. Mikey getting buried alive? It’s all the angst you think and somehow more.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year (TMNT 2003)

Summary: What was supposed to be a pleasant Christmas Eve with family and friends suddenly turns to one of terror and uncertainty for the turtles. Will they make it through this Christmas together? Or will one fall?

Notes: one of my favourites. Mikey can’t keep out of trouble on Christmas Eve, and ends up paying the price this time. (Fanfiction.net)

It’s Much More Complicated (All Media Types)

Summary: After a late night patrol, Mikey falls ill. At first it's nothing to worry about, but something that seemed to be harmless turns into a race of life and death.

Notes: we love our favourite character getting deadly sick

An Agonising Secret (All Media Types)

Summary: Mikey tries to hide an injury from his brothers, but soon discovers that it wasn't as harmless as he thought it was...

Notes: more hidden injury? Yes please. I highly suggest look at this authors other works as well, lots of angst

Underdark (TMNT 2003, can he read as general)

Summary: He's hanging upside down in the middle of the great underdark, weighed down by a half hysterical turtle in the middle of a bunch of pipes and water and rock that are conspiring to kill us both off, and Leo still manages to sound like he Has A Plan.

Notes: do I need to even introduce this classic? Everyone knows it, it’s amazing.

MY OWN FICS

Helpless (TMNT 2003):

Summary: “No one comes. No one swoops in at the last second, nor does he manage to break the cuffs at the perfect moment. Instead, there is a collective shriek from the beasts below him as they all lunge forward in a hungered wave, their curled claws scraping against his scales and hideous jaws dripping with froth and drool.

Heart racing, Michelangelo hisses at the rodents. However, his warning is ignored by their destructive hunger. The hiss cuts off into a yelp when the first rat bites down on the exposed area between his skin and his shell, its grimy paws digging the pink flesh underneath away.”

What if, in the episode I, Monster, Mikey didn’t get out of the restraints in time? What if he was left, helpless against hoards of rats with no one to help?

TLDR: Mikey gets attacked by rats. It doesn’t end well. What can I say, I’m in a horror mood.

I’m Lost (But I Don’t Know Why) (TMNT 2003)

Summary: “He is mourning the loss of someone he never knew, doesn’t know, but it hurts all the same. He thinks back to the nunchucks, and the orange tape wrapped around them. The comic books hidden under the couch. The extra plate that he sets up everyday, has been for the past three weeks. The gap in their formation.

Missing, missing, missing, his mind chants, but he can’t know what. He’s lost, and can’t remember why.”

There have always been four of them - Donatello, Raphael, himself and his father. Or at least, that’s what Leonardo had thought. But something is missing. They are mourning the loss of another they have never even known. They are lost. But why?

TLDR: a curse makes everyone forget Michelangelo. Leonardo knows there’s something missing, but he doesn’t know why.

All I Ever Wanted (TMNT 2003)

Summary: Donatello vowed that the future he had seen would never occur. He wouldn’t let it. But he’s failed. He’s failed, because Mikey is bleeding out beneath him, his arm severed under a stormy sky. And no help is coming in time.

TLDR: Perhaps the future will not repeat itself, but it can rhyme. How Mikey, despite Donatello’s efforts, loses his arm in the cannon timeline.

Hunted (TMNT 2003, can be read as general)

Summary: What starts out as a late night adventure in the woods beside the farmhouse turns deadly when a group of hunters catch Mikey off guard. Alone and wounded, Mikey struggles to find his way to safety.

TLDR: Mikey is chased by a group of hunters with no way to contact his brothers.

The Shoebox (ROTTMNT)

Summary: Post “Snow Day”, Mikey tearing his coat has drastic consequences that result in him freezing and slipping into brumation.

TLDR: Box turtles, when hibernating, can have no detectable pulse or heartbeat. None of Mikey’s brothers are aware of this and believe that they have just watched their youngest brother die.

Don’t Wander Off (Stay Where You Are) (ROTTMNT)

Summary: Box turtles will keep walking in attempt to find their home if they ever get lost, even if they die doing it. Mikey shares that same instinct.

When he gets lost, he keeps walking. He finds home.

TLDR: Mikey centric angst where he keeps walking despite growing weaker.

Promise (ROTTMNT)

Summary: After the events of the movie, Mikey discovers that, with the increase in his mystic power, he gains the ability to see the future. However, every time he does, he forgets some of his present.

Year after year, a gift twists into a curse, crumbling the relationships between brothers and ultimately ending in a terrible price. But Mikey made a promise all those years ago, and intends to keep it.

TLDR: Mikey sees the future until he forgets everything of his present.

Vs The World (ROTTMNT)

Summary: The Kraang almost-invasion has been hard on the entire family. Michelangelo knows this, and knows he needs to be the one that keeps them all together, like stubborn orange glue.

But his brothers aren’t talking. They aren’t leaving their rooms, trapped in their own traumas. Mikey tries - so, so hard - but the silence is suffocating. He leaves the lair, only to find a stray cat left for dead. And suddenly, he isn’t alone anymore. But he is still breaking, slowly.

TLDR: Mikey find Klunk in the Rise universe whilst dealing with trauma and depression. I am bad at summaries, so give it a quick read if you want.

Wow, this is long. Happy reading @nat06cas, @brightlotusmoon and @sparklingsunkissedsoul and everyone else!

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wiseatom · 9 months

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i tried for a well thought out post. instead you get this mess that i’m begging you not to twist:

the outraged cries of “cliques” are people being actual friends with each other. the people complaining about certain blogs or creators being on pedestals are usually the same people putting them there. i’m not one to belittle feelings - i understand where the upset is coming from. i even understand my place in it! but at the end of the day, we’re working ourselves up over what? notes? followers? hits on a fic? things based on luck and timing??

i can only speak for myself, but i work a full time job and i’m hard scheduled 45 hours a week. all of my free time goes towards fic writing, because that’s For Me and that’s what’s important for my mental health, and even then, i am usually too exhausted to do that. i would love to read fic and interact more! my to-read list is a mile long! it is just genuinely hard for me to find the time. i prioritize my friends because they are my friends — real, actual people i know beyond tumblr mutualship, who i talk to about more than just fic writing — and even then i am late getting around to it. i’m not saying this as a “woe is me, my life is hard” moment, but moreso trying to offer a perspective that is not even being thought of. and i get it, no one wants to hear it, because you’re frustrated, and being vocal about frustration feels nice (i know, bc here i am)!!

someone is going to come for my throat for making this post as a “big author” and “part of the clique we’re all vagueing” and maybe it’s juuuuust me but like. if you’re that unhappy, log off. if seeing a friend group you’re not part of interacting makes you unhappy, log off. if seeing the engagement other people get on their posts or fic or art makes you unhappy, log off. you cannot force people to interact with you or your creative work, and aggressively posting about it when they don’t is not inviting them to. i am begging you to stop having expectations of people you do not know, because at the end of the day, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

#i will be the first to recognize my quote unquote privilege when it comes to this topic lol #but it’s like. idk. you’re welcome to reply to this or rb with thoughts or tear up my ask box lmfao #i’ve been trying to word this more eloquently for hours and this is all i’ve got #but yk. whatever. i still can’t even word what i’m trying to say #know that this comes from a place of genuine concern and kindness i really am not trying to sound like a bitch here lol #again feel free to ask for clarification or whateva cheddar but the hostility has been Poppin #and i know y’all gonna be like IF YOU THINK THE POST IS ABOUT YOU IT PROBABLY IS!!#and it’s like ok well i think it’s interesting that i made a silly blog for a silly fic and made silly promo stuff with my silly friends #and suddenly we clique posting again. like i’m not being so conceited as to say OBVIOUSLY this is abt me but the timing is interesting lol.#believe me i would love to have time to read more things so like. tell me what you want fr lol #i know this is abt to get me into a mess lmfao hitting post anyway

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prinxlegolass · 3 months

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Smut War Fic: Exit Wound

Well, this wasn't a war I was going to sit out. Please enjoy my 6th fic. First attempt at smut, but as you have already seen from my TrAuMa meme, it also has a lot of angst in it. I hope you enjoy it x

Rating: Explicit

CW/TW:

These are expanded upon further in the summary if you'd like to also read that for context, but take care of yourself :)

- Demon in Snake Form / Goddess in Human Form Sexual Encounter. Both are aware of what the other is, and both can consent

- Slight dubcon due to magic, feeling highly connected to someone and a sense of not being in control as a result, more so due to an inherent primal instrinct. All beings are acting on free will and are able to consent for the smut bits

- In the epilogue, a character describes a murder he witnesses without gory detail (the victim is not Aziraphale or Crowley). The nature of the murder is patriarchal and of spiritual colonisation in nature, but there is no sexual assault / motive. The fic can be read without the epilogue if you're curious but want to skip this subject.

-Angst ending

- Snake bite, snake sex and descriptions that could trigger claustrophobia

Summary

Hell sends Crowley to 5th Century Ireland, much to his chagrin, to investigate a mysterious source of power. Uphill from a deep rainforest he finds an ancient structure with something far more ancient and far more powerful than any blessing or curse he’d seen before.

This is a story of love, of loss, coming home, and everything that never was. Join me for a re-telling of an Irish Celtic Myth that has been sanitised and long-forgotten. Taking place in one hundred years into Early Christian Ireland, it weaves themes of spiritual colonisation with the ineffability of a great plan and the parts of us that are never truly lost.

But this is a smut war - and you can expect a sexy divine being, human sex and snake sex; not just hemi-penes, but hemi-clitorae! Sex magic rituals being used as a sensual tool for transformation and rebirth; and plenty of vulva pleasure and gratification.

There are three (because it’s a magic number) sexual configurations - demon in snake form / Goddess in human form, Snake / Snake, Human / Human. That culminates in a healing and surrendering love.

The epilogue features angst with an unhappy ending. As you can imagine, the resistance to Christianity did not end well for the Irish Pagans. In the epilogue, one character describes witnessing the murder (no sexual assault) of another. But the story stands well enough on its own without the epilogue if you want to skip this part.

5,014 word count

Excerpt:

“I’ve been waiting for you, Crowley.”

“Who are you?” Crowley hissed. His aggressive exterior betraying the powerlessness he felt to draw nearer.

“I am many things, Crowley. I am one of many mothers; both death and rebirth. I am the inhale and the exhale; the dawn that rises after the cold, hard winter; I bring joy and I am feared; and soon, none will remember…”

Crowley inched forward, concertina twinings marking the dirt, barely sensing the heat of the fire in the woman’s lure.

“Your name!” He growled insistently.

“You already know it, Crowley. Look deep inside you, my beloved serpent,” was her soft response with kind eyes. Crowley flicked his tongue at the fingers of her extended palm. The woman’s skin was steeped in the essence of her words; the taste of finely plucked sycamore seeds carried lovingly by the wind to pre-destined soils. Tears doomed never to fall filled Crowley’s heart as the thread that connected him to this woman tugged him closer on her arm; the most he had ever touched or been touched by a human in his snake-form. Only she wasn’t human, was she? A foreign name Crowley had always known moved from the back of his mouth to dance on his tongue.

“Caoira…”

Green eyes smiled through tears at the demon’s whisper.

“Yes my dear. It’s me. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Crowley’s thought-form longed to ask questions. About knowledge, that began before words; curiosity, that existed before symbols; and meaning, established before sounds. But he had already found his answer in her eyes. Another Almighty; new and much more ancient. A Goddess.

Crowley’s body took over once again, unable to resist the draw to her. Climbing her arm and shoulders, his tongue could not cease flicking, planting forked kisses on her neck. Quivering, he meandered down her shoulder, elongating his form to drape around her. Powerless over the compulsion to place his chin on every part of her body, Crowley’s tail vibrated in her lap and Caoira breathed sighs of joy in his scaled ministrations.

Fingers that had borne the very wells of the earth stroked the obsidian pearls of Crowley’s back, before coming to delicately caress the ridges of his snout and brow. Crowley flinched in the touch, haunted by memories of the fall; of centuries spent curled around the cooling magma of igneous rock. Curled around any form of connection to replace the Almighty’s as his wings burned.

Coos of Caoira’s attunement honeyed Crowley’s ears, and with no way of crying, sweating or spitting it out; his serpent-form became fevered with fury for what had happened to him. His body flailed in twisted, hissing reverberations in the centre of the Goddess’s crossed legs. In his uncontrolled anguish, Crowley felt his jaw unhinge and his fangs hook into Caoira's thighs, breaking her skin. Punishment for his other mother, who had placed a similar hook in his heart only to cut the cord in the end. This time, he was never letting go.

Read more on AO3

Thank you:

Goskiagarkowska2 on pixabay for the image. A huge thank you to @sohoscribblers who have been amazing friends since I joined their group. Big thanks to @azeutreciathewicked @aidaran-alha @playdohangel and @rhosmeinir for the Betas x

#good omens smut #ineffable smut war #good omens #crowley and aziraphale #because smut without angst feels like nothing #celtic mythology #good omens au #irish paganism #newgrange #good omens fanfiction

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 months

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"Cut!"

Hi! I was remembering how some of your fics have Roman practicing conversations with the other sides in the Imagination over and over. Now, I tend to be one of those people that is almost always in my head (been mildly dissociating near constantly for almost a year now which uh- probably should get that checked out actually) and a lot of the time when I do stuff I get deja vu even if I've never done something like that before. And it's kinda gotten to the point where I'm not entirely sure if something has actually happened or not sometimes. So I was thinking maybe Roman references a conversation what he'd had with the Imagination!Sides in passing on accident, and everyone is kinda like "Princey wtf are you talking about??" And Roman panics and hides, and the next time he sees the sides he thinks that they don't wanna see him and this is a scene in the Imagination. So he gets really confused when the words he's learned will get the fake sides angry at him just are met with more concern and worry from the real sides. And they're trying to comfort him and he doesn't know what's going on and yells "CUT!" but obviously it doesn't work and now everyone is really worried and Roman can't tell between what's real and what's fake anymore and just. Has a mental breakdown. and then they comfort :D because I cannot leave this poor guy with an unhappy ending. – anon

hiii !!!! idk if you’re taking requests, and if not please ignore me, but if you are, i’m legit in love with how you write rociet with roman angst, and i would love to see more of it !!!!!! thank you !!!!!!!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: unreality/roman having trouble remembering things and figuring out what's real, self-doubt

Pairings: dlampr, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 4976

It begins so slowly that they don't think anything of it at first. Roman will say something that they don't remember, or he'll reference something that never happened, or he'll forget something that happened just a few days ago as though it happened several months back. Things...escalate, and soon they figure out the problem is far, far worse than they could have ever imagined.

Remus doesn't bother with asking or knocking, he just sinks into Roman's room right over his bed.

There's no yelp or screech, which means Roro's not in the bed, but he does get a surprised little squeak when he turns around from his desk.

"Ro-bro!"

"Re? I thought you were—you went—aren't you feeding Ollie right now?"

Remus frowns, sitting up. "No, that's not for another week. And you're supposed to come with me."

Roman furrows his brow, toying with his pen. "Really? I thought you said…"

He trails off, staring into nothing and Remus's frown deepens, sliding off the bed and walking over. Roman's pen stills, his grip a little too tight, and Remus nudges his shoulder. "Roro?"

It's like someone electrocuted him—Roman clicks and suddenly this wide grin that looks almost painful settles on his face and Remus blinks in surprise. "Sorry, don't know what came over me. Must've been lost in thought."

"Are you—hey!"

Roman leaps up and tackles Remus through the door into the Imagination, summoning his sword and swinging it before Remus has a chance to catch his breath. His morningstar clangs against the blade a moment later and he grins too—he's been waiting for Roman to start one of their fights for ages!

"Come on," Roman taunts, spreading his arms, "or are you just gonna lie there all day?"

"Oh, you asked for it, Roro."

Their sparring shakes the ground, yells and laughs ringing out as their weapons clash over and over and over. Remus throws back his head and howls and the Imagination responds, the sky growing dark and thick with clouds as thunder booms in the distance. Roman's sword grazes his arm and he shoves Remus hard in the chest, knocking him over.

"Do you yield?"

"Never!" He springs back up and they're off again, but Roman keeps dancing out of the way. "How're you so fast? Have you been practicing without me?"

Roman falters and Remus jams his elbow into the soft part of Roman's ribs, knocking him off-balance just enough to swat the sword from his hand. The first raindrops start to fall as Roman lands on his side, Remus's morningstar about to aim for his chest when a leg trips him and suddenly Roman's got his sword back—how did that happen?—and Remus's weapon is flying across the field.

"How the fuck—?"

"Do you yield?"

Remus snarls playfully and jumps up, tackling Roman and knocking his sword away again. Roman responds instantly, grappling across the slowly-muddying field until they end up on their backs, Roman's arm holding Remus in a chokehold as the rain pours down on them.

"Do you yield?"

"Yeah, yeah," Remus gasps, "I fucking yield. Leggo."

Roman chuckles and lets him roll off, landing face first in a mud puddle. His muscles ache but only in the good way and he flops onto his back, smiling breathlessly at the sky.

"That was fucking amazing, Roro," he gasps, "you have been practicing, haven't you?"

"Just trying to keep up with you," comes Roman's answer, just a little too quickly.

Remus doesn't think anything of it.

"Roman?"

"Hm?" Roman looks up from his spot in the corner of the living room, curled around his notebook. "Oh, hey, Padre. Is everything okay?"

Patton tilts his head. "Yeah, kiddo, why wouldn't it be?"

"Sorry, it's just, you know, everyone's been a little tense recently, what with…" Roman makes a vague gesture. "Everything. I shouldn't have assumed, though, I'm sorry."

Before Patton can ask if Roman's okay, Roman's settling his notebook to the side and standing up.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was going to ask if you wanted to help me with dinner?"

An expression flickers across Roman's face, too quick to name, before he's smiling and bowing. "It would be my honor, lead the way."

At least he's alright enough for that. Patton goes over to the kitchen, Roman behind him, and reaches for the large pot at the back of the stove. "I was thinking we could try that new pasta dish that Virgil's been asking about? The one Thomas saw on that YouTube video?"

"The one with all the spices and garlic and stuff?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"I don't remember if we have all the ingredients we need, but I'm definitely down to try." Roman opens a cabinet and starts taking bottles down from the shelf. "We can also definitely tweak the recipe to make sure that we can do the important parts, we just have to be careful that—"

"Uh, Roman?"

Roman pauses, turning to look over his shoulder, still holding a jar. "Yeah?"

"I, uh, I did this last week, I know what spices we have. I figured this out, you don't have to tell me how to do it."

Again, that expression flickers over his face and he quickly sets down the jar and takes a big step away from the counter. "Right, right, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted to—no, I'm not gonna make an excuse. I'm sorry, Patton, I'll listen."

"It's fine, kiddo, I know you didn't mean it." Patton holds out the pot. "Can you fill this with water?"

"Of course!"

They start prepping, Patton providing little instructions and Roman carrying them out. He chops the shallots, the green onions, and sets the sausage to the side to be cooked first. By the time they're ready to start the actual cooking, Patton's got the water boiling for the rice noodles when Roman looks over his shoulder.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Cooking the noodles, that's it."

"But they're—sorry, aren't they supposed to be cooked later?"

"We need them ready to add to the rest of the stuff near the end, kiddo, so they have to be ready."

"But they only take a few minutes." When Patton frowns, just thinking Roman's words over, Roman hastily continues. "Sorry, I'm sure you know that already. Here, I'll, uh, would it be helpful if I got a bowl out to put them in once they're done?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

He catches that expression on Roman's face again, and again it vanishes too quickly for him to ask about, but the rest of the cooking goes off without a hitch. They get a lot of compliments on how good everything tastes and Patton makes sure Roman gets as much of the praise as he does.

"I just listened to you," Roman demurs, "it's really all you."

"It seems not only have you cooked a spectacular dish," Logan observes, "but you've also taught Roman some humility."

Virgil snorts. "'Bout time."

Roman smiles as the rest of them laugh. Patton takes another bite. "This is even better than last time."

"Last time," Roman says quietly, "sorry, can you—when was last time?"

"Sheesh, Princey, how bad is your memory getting? It was just last week?"

"Last week, right."

Patton opens his mouth to ask why Roman still sounds unsure about it, but then Remus throws one of the prawn shells at Janus and he doesn't think about it anymore.

"Easy, now," Roman murmurs, still stroking his hand up and down Virgil's spine, "that's it…you're doing really well, shadow-ling."

Virgil closes his eyes, resting against Roman's solid chest as the last of the panic attack bleeds from his veins. His breathing has yet to even out, but he can start to smell some of Princey's shampoo again, so he takes it as a win. He'll deny it later, but he turns his head to nuzzle into the crook of Roman's neck. Roman doesn't say a single thing, just shifting his grip to hold Virgil more securely in his lap.

"Hey," he says gently when Virgil headbutts his chin, "you here with me, bud?"

"Mmpf."

Roman's chuckle thrums warmly through his head. "I'll take that as a 'sort of.'"

Half of Virgil expects Roman to gently prod him into taking care of himself the rest of the way: getting him water, making him try and eat a little, getting him out of the gross and sweaty clothes into clean ones, even trying to talk him into taking a shower. And he'd do it, putting up his cursory protests, but that would mean that Roman's getting ready to leave and right now, in the last of the panic, he really wants Princey to stay.

He'd deny it if Roman ever asked him, of course, and he'd throttle Janus before he could chirp how much of a lie that was.

But Roman doesn't do that. Instead, he wraps his arms even more gently around Virgil and tucks him half over his shoulder, almost straddling his lap as one of his hands begins to card through his hair. Pressed chest to chest, he has to stifle another hitching gasp as Princey starts humming. It's a low and gentle tune, almost melancholy, and he swears it's some kind of magic as it reaches into the exhausted heap of emotions still swirling in his gut and starts coaxing it out of him.

Yeah, that means he goes back to crying into Princey's shoulder, but it's a softer cry that feels like he might actually feel better when it's over and he has no idea how Roman knows exactly what to do.

He's not gonna question it though.

There's no way the song Princey's humming is as long as he holds him for, so he must be doing it over and over, which just makes Virgil cry more because Roman is choosing to stay with him right now, he's choosing to let Virgil be a puddle of mess on his lap, and he's still running his fingers lightly over Virgil's back and yes, actually, Virgil would like to stay here forever.

When the tears eventually run out and Virgil's just floating there, in a really pleasant haze, he realizes that Roman isn't going to move until Virgil decides he wants to move. Not when he's just shifting so it's easier for Virgil to breathe, and he's still scratching gently along the space between his shoulder blades.

"…Princey?"

"Hm?"

"How'd…how'd you know what to do?"

Roman turns and noses Virgil's hair. "You told me, remember?"

Virgil's tired brain tries to figure out when he gave Roman the step-by-step on how to give him the best, most indulgent comfort ever and draws a blank. "No. I—when'd I do that?"

Roman's hand stutters for a moment, just a moment, but a moment nonetheless. "Maybe I just figured out why it took me so long to realize what you needed, then."

Talking is hard, and so Virgil doesn't do it, but he does think about it.

"It's not that bizarre of an opinion, to be sure, but the way it's phrased speaks more of an incomplete understanding of the topic than they intended."

"No, I see your point. I mean, I know I'm definitely biased and reading sentences like that tends to make me defensive, but I know that, and I'm trying to work on it." Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think it's just hard because when you make such sweeping generalizations that imply that you really don't know what it is you're talking about, it's hard for me to not be super defensive and stuff, does that make sense?"

"It's another area for you to work on—"

"Yeah, I know."

"—but I see your point. If someone doesn't come to the table in good faith, it's difficult to have good faith yourself." Logan sits back, still pondering the opinion piece in front of them. "Though it is clear they lack the same kind of expertise and knowledge that you do."

"I think that's also why it's hard for me—I can list, like, four different examples offhand that would disprove their point, and at least half a dozen more that show the contradictions they've made in the last paragraph alone—like, I'm not alone here, that part contradicts their point about pacing, doesn't it?"

"Not entirely, but yes, it lends an ambiguity to their earlier statement."

"Right." Roman rubs his forehead and flips through his notebook, brow furrowed. "I swear I remember when we talked about academic continuity, I just need to find that page."

Logan frowns. "When we what?"

Roman looks up, brow furrowed. "When we talked about…you know, the importance of making sure your argument—or your point, sorry—carries through your entire piece?"

"I don't recall that conversation."

"You, um—" Roman starts flipping through his notebook, his movements taking on an increasingly frenetic pace— "you brought one of my papers to me that we talked about and you started going through the um, the problems with the layout and we started talking about the importance of—I swear it's in here, I just need to find it."

Logan sits forward, his brow increasingly furrowing as Roman almost tears a page trying to turn it. "Roman, it's—"

"Here." Roman runs his finger down the page, still not meeting Logan's gaze, "we talked about how it's important to have a coherent theme that the reader can follow and how to acknowledge conflicting viewpoints without placing them in a hierarchy."

Logan blinks. That does sound like a conversation that he and Roman would have—one that he believes he'd rather enjoy—but he has no recollection of it. Roman's expression flickers when he says as much, something almost like panic rising in his gaze before it's quickly stifled.

"Well," he says, forcing a smile onto his face, "perhaps I was just reading it back over and imagined what you'd say."

"I quite like this imaginary version of me, then," Logan jokes, "he makes excellent points."

Roman's reaction is not quite a flinch, but his smile squeezes for a moment too long before he nods.

"Would you mind having it again," Logan asks, "for the sake of—?"

"Oh, I couldn't do it justice," Roman says a little too quickly, "but you, um, you can read it? If you want?"

Logan blinks again, surprise coloring his voice. "You'd let me read your notes?"

"…if…if you want to?"

Waiting for Roman to retract that invitation at any moment—he has never seen Roman fiercer than when something touches his notebooks—Logan reaches out and carefully starts to read. The conversation's transcript—or summary—is fascinating. He finds himself almost mourning the fact that this wasn't a conversation he'd actually had. Although some of the comments that he can tell are his are a touch more callous than he'd prefer, he finds himself engrossed in their dialogue until he gets to the latter half.

Roman's handwriting grows sloppy, as it is wont to do when he gets caught up, but there are occasional splotches of discoloration where it looks like something wet.

"Oh, I was drinking something," Roman says offhandedly when Logan asks, "must've spillled."

"I'm surprised you'd drink around your notebooks, you take such care of them."

"Well, you know me."

Before Logan can point out that he does, that's why he's confused, Roman's saying that he's sorry, but he's a little worn out, would Logan mind terribly if they cut this short a bit? Logan shakes his head and watches Roman pick up his notebook, walking out of his room. That moment of panic lingers in his mind and he frowns, wondering why Roman had panicked.

He thinks about that and the drops of liquid that had obscured a line in Roman's handwriting that just said cut.

Janus hears Roman lie over and over again and he's about to break something.

Every time, he has to hold back his visible surprise that one, Roman is lying so readily, and two, that he's getting away with it. The little prince is a better actor than Janus gave him credit for—than any of them gave him credit for, as it's turning out—and the more times it happens, the more Janus thinks that something right under their noses is going terribly, horribly wrong.

The lies aren't big enough for them to be problems on their own, but they stack on top of each other like pebbles until it feels as though Janus blinks one day and there's a wall between Roman and the rest of them that seems insurmountable. And each time another adds to the mass, he thinks about calling it out, but they're never for something so serious as to warrant a full interrogation and the last thing he wants to do is let Roman know he's suspicious of him.

…it sounds much worse than it is.

It's just that if Roman is this good about keeping everyone off his tail right now, with almost no baseline suspicion or cause for concern, he has no desire to see what would happen if Roman was intent on keeping it a secret. And if he is going to succeed in uncovering why Roman feels so fundamentally scared, something Virgil only admitted after Janus had poked and prodded him for far too long, then he needs all of the rest of them on his side too.

His opportunity comes unexpectedly.

They're having a meeting—not a meeting meeting, they're just talking about what they want to do this weekend—and Roman brings up a conversation they'd had about making sure movie nights were comfortable for everyone. Talking about possible triggers beforehand, making sure everyone had equal access to whatever snacks they wanted, even down to making sure everyone behaved considerately while the movie was playing to ensure everyone was having a good time.

A perfectly reasonable thing to bring up, except that conversation never happened.

"What?" Roman looks around. "Are—it did, I swear. We were—we were getting ready to watch the second Venom movie and Remus brought up the body horror and gore that happens and we started talking about—"

He looks around at them all again.

"Do…do none of you remember this?"

"No, kiddo."

"Not really."

"It would be a good conversation to have, but I don't remember this instance of it."

Remus and Janus just shake their heads, Janus keeping his eyes on Roman as he fiddles with his hands.

Don't lie, Roman, please.

"Sorry," Roman says, flashing a bright smile, "must be getting lost in my Imagination again."

Janus narrows his eyes—not technically a lie, but Roman's leaving something out. For a moment, it seems like the conversation will keep flowing and he'll have to wait for a better time to ask Roman what's wrong, but then Patton's speaking up.

"Kiddo?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Roman laughs. "Yeah, of course, Padre, why wouldn't I be?"

Lie. Janus hisses softly and Roman's head jerks around.

"What's the matter," Logan asks, and Roman jerks again at the gentle tone, "will you talk to us, Roman?"

"You've been acting a little strange for a while now," Patton agrees, taking a step closer, "is everything okay?"

"Yeah, like I said," Roman tries, a smile still sort of on his face, "everything's fine, why are you—"

Janus hisses again as Virgil sits up. "Princey, you don't have to be scared, you can—"

"I'm not scared!"

The stronger lie sears across Janus's tongue as Roman winces at the force of his own shout. He pinches the bridge of his nose. No one dares move for several long seconds. Just when Logan looks like he's about to say something, Roman takes a deep breath and lowers his head.

"I'm sorry," he says in a voice that sounds so mournful it makes Janus's chest ache, "I didn't mean to shout or snap at you. You didn't deserve it, I'm sorry. I think I—I've just been spending too much time in the Imagination again."

As soon as he finishes talking, he braces. Like he's expecting to get hit. He hears Remus make a worried noise next to him, starting to reach out.

"Little one," Logan says gently, "we're not angry with you, there's no need for all of that."

Roman's eyes snap open and at the look of pure confusion on his face, a few more of them let out little sounds. Virgil stands up and Roman turns too quickly to face him.

"Hey, Princey," Virgil soothes, his hands up, "I'm not moving, okay? I'm just worried. You're—I can feel you freaking out a little that's all."

"Sweetheart," Patton calls next and Janus winces at how much Roman's neck keeps snapping back and forth, "sweetheart, it's okay, you're safe, it's gonna be okay."

"Back off a bit, we're crowding him."

All of them—except for Remus—take a step back. Remus edges closer and closer to Roman until he can rest a hand on Roman's shoulder. Roman just trembles and Remus cups the side of his face.

"Hey, Roro. Look at me. Just at me, okay?"

"I don't—this wasn't—"

"Breathe," Remus bids softly, and Roman draws a few gasping breaths.

"This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't?"

"This—I—I don't—"

Remus opens his mouth to say something else when it morphs into a wordless sound of surprise as Roman sinks out abruptly, leaving him scrabbling at the empty air as the rest of them rush forward.

"What happened?"

"Where'd he go?"

"Did we do something to upset him?"

"What's going on?"

Janus doesn't say anything, still staring at the spot where Roman had been. He thinks about all of the lies he's heard, all of the things Roman hasn't said, and how out of all of the things Roman lied about, he'd never lied about being lost in the Imagination.

A conclusion starts to take shape.

+1.

"No wonder you've been so off, your head hasn't been attached to you since you lost it."

"It's a bad idea to spend so much time in the Imagination, Roman, you know that."

"That sounds really irresponsible, Roman. You should know better."

"Quit hogging the Imagination, I need to use it too."

"Oh, of course you were, Roman, did you honestly think we'd expected anything different?"

"You need to be better disciplined, if you can't get the work done you need to before deciding to go off and play."

"Sheesh, Princey, are you really that selfish?"

"If it's getting so bad that you're having delusions, then you need to stop, kiddo."

"Oh, no, Roman's having trouble understanding what's real again."

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

"You're being dramatic, pull yourself together."

"Your crocodile tears aren't convincing anyone, you know."

"Stop crying, you're not a baby."

"Do you think that if you throw a big or pathetic enough tantrum, it'll get us to spoil you? Grow up."

"Stupid."

"Ridiculous."

"Pathetic."

"Annoying."

"Worthless."

"You can't do anything right."

"You're being ridiculous."

"We should never have relied on you."

"I knew you couldn't handle it."

"We're better off without you."

Roman curls up around his pillow, wedging himself deeper into the corner. He jams his face between it and the wall. He tries to keep his hands out of sight. He counts in his head as he breathes, trying to keep it as even as possible. Eventually it will be over. He just has to last until then. Then he can go to his room and cuddle his plushie dragon and be upset there, out of the way, and hurt all by himself. It's safer that way.

He keeps his breathing nice and steady, letting the hurt course through him. The voices keep going, taunting, mocking, yelling, scolding, until they start to just say his name over and over. Roman, Roman, Roman, Roman—

"Roman!"

Something like a frenzied scream comes from behind him and he turns his face deeper into the wall.

"What the fuck are those things?"

"Shit, how long have those been here?"

"Are they—are they supposed to be us?"

"Yeah, fucked up and cruel versions of us, not on my fucking watch!"

Several wet splats come from behind him and then there are hands on his shoulder, running through his hair, and someone that feels like Remus is murmuring in his ear.

"Hey, Roro, it's over. I destroyed them, they're gone, it's the real us. We're here, we're really here, just—just come out of there, okay?"

Oh. It's this one.

He always finds this one the cruelest, where they lure him in with promises of comfort and safety only to turn on him when he reveals what he's actually upset about. No, thank you, he's hurting just fine on his own.

"Roro, please, come out of there, it's okay, it's all gonna be okay."

"Let me try," he hears Logan's voice say, and then the Remus is moving away and there's another hand on his shoulder, "dear, it's alright. You're going to give yourself neck pain if you stay like that, come here…"

Despite his chest howling at him not to, Roman lets Logan coax him out from the corner. Each word of gentle praise just makes it worse—it's going to hurt so much when they start being mean again.

"Princey—" and there's Virgil— "hey, stay with us, okay? Just focus on us, Pat, do you want to—"

"I got it."

Despite himself, a wounded noise leaves Roman's throat as a blanket gets draped over his shoulders. Careful touches smooth it down, more hands helping to secure it in place, and he just curls up so small under it so he doesn't get used to the warmth.

Just get it over with. Just get it over with. Just get it over with.

"Sweetie," he hears, and flinches at the touch of a smooth hand and a scaled hand on his face.

Wait, what?

Janus never takes his gloves off. Not here. Not like this. They can't—they can't be this cruel to him, not today, not when everything already hurts so much.

"Cut," he manages, "cut."

But the hands don't leave and he looks up to see Janus, actual real Janus looking at him and then he smiles softly and calls him sweetie again, and then Logan is appearing over his shoulder and Patton's adjusting the blanket and Virgil and Remus are keeping watch at the corners of the room and—and—and—

"Come here, sweetie," Janus murmurs and he's falling into his chest and there's a kiss being pressed to his temple and it's warm and soft and—

"Shh, Princey," Virgil says as a thread of panic starts to wind its way around his chest, "it's okay, you're okay," and—

"Come this way a little," Logan coaxes as something soft appears under him, "come lie down, you're alright," and—

"There you are," Patton's voice says as something starts to cuddle him, gently yet firmly and it's so surreal and—

"Oh, Roro," Remus mumbles as his brother's arms wrap firmly around him, "this is real, I promise, I promise we're here with you, everything's gonna be okay, okay? We're here, we're real, you're real, everything's gonna be okay now," and—

—and then Roman doesn't think anymore.

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#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman sanders angst #roman angst #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deciet sanders #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders

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venus-haze · 2 years

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I’m On Fire (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: As soon as you moved into the apartment across from the Presleys in Lauderdale Courts, Elvis knew it was love at first sight—or it would have been, if not for your husband. Elvis clings to every interaction with you, finding indications that you’re unhappy with your marriage in anything he can. As his career takes off, he sees less of you, though you’re always on his mind. Just before he and his family move into Graceland, he figures it’s the perfect opportunity to convince you that he can be more than just the guy next door.

Note: This is somewhat based on an anonymous request and Bruce Springsteen’s infamous song I’m On Fire (if you listen to any of the songs I recommend with my fics, please listen to this one). I know some people have been wanting to see a yandere fic from Elvis’ perspective, so this is my attempt at that. Reader is a woman and implied to be the same age as or a little older than Elvis who’s in his 20s in this, but no other descriptors are used. You can imagine any DILF you want for the husband. Please look at the warnings before considering whether or not to read this fic. Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as delusional and obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, and stalking. Sexually explicit content that involves coercion. Significant age gap, but not between Elvis and Reader. Elvis is a charming, homewrecking creep. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Elvis told himself it was the summer heat that made the sweat drip from his brow when the preacher gave his sermon on the seventh and tenth commandments the Sunday after you and your husband, almost twenty years your senior, moved into the apartment across the hall. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s—but you were perfect, heaven sent, surely the Lord could make an exception.

His head spun as the preacher continued, shouts of “amen” punctuating every word: Fornication. Adultery. Lust. And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee—and never see your perfect face, your dazzling smile, your captivating eyes again. He jolted when a woman behind him yelled, “That’s right, preacher!” Normally he loved going to church, but today, the service couldn’t end soon enough.

He returned home from church without his mama, who went to get lunch with some of the other ladies from the congregation instead. As soon as he pulled up to Lauderdale Courts, he made a beeline for his apartment, hoping to run into you. Just his luck, your front door was wide open, and you walked out upon hearing him approach.

“Hi, Elvis,” you smiled, leaning against the doorframe and fanning yourself with the funny pages of Saturday morning’s paper. “How was church?”

“Great,” he lied. “You should come sometime.”

“Oh, I would, but I’ve got so much to do while he’s home on the weekends,” you said, nodding toward your living room, where your exhausted husband was lounging on the couch, looking as if he were about to fall asleep. “His health isn’t always good, him working nights and all.”

Your husband was in his late forties and worked the night shift at a nearby factory, the two of you moving into Lauderdale Courts from a two-room house just outside of Memphis after being on the waiting list for nearly a year. At least, that’s what his mama told him when he came home from work on Thursday, informing him to his chagrin that she’d invited you over during the afternoon, talking for a whole two hours. You were in his home for two hours, and he wasn’t even there.

From the three times Elvis had seen him, including then, your husband looked at least a decade older than he actually was. His worn appearance, with his crow’s feet and graying hair made him look more like your father, which was what he originally assumed when he saw you moving in, nearly falling over when you said that he was your husband of almost a year.

He wondered what you could see in such a man, surely you couldn’t be happy with him. Your husband had the hands of someone who’d been working his whole life, calloused and rough, while you were so soft and sweet, it made Elvis almost sick to think about that man’s hands on your skin.

As the next three years went by, Elvis only fell harder for you. While you never expressed so directly, he knew your marriage was strained. You and his mama were close, to his delight, and he’d listen attentively as she’d divulge whatever gossip and updates she had on you. In that time he learned that you had met your husband in New York, a boxing star in his prime and your estranged brother’s former coach, who you naively married in hopes of an exciting life. Instead, his health and finances took a downturn not long after you married him, the two of you moving to Memphis for the lower cost of living. Elvis admired that you stuck by your husband, truly in sickness and health, for rich or for poor, but he didn’t deserve that kind of devotion from you, not when Elvis could treat you so much better. Your husband still worked nights since it paid more, and Elvis’ mama would rant how it wasn’t right for a wife to see so little of her husband.

Some weeknights, they’d invite you over for dinner, since you were usually alone, and Elvis relished every second of it. You’d sit right next to him, where he caught the scent of your perfume every time you moved. He tested the waters with small gestures, his fingers brushing yours, his hand ‘accidentally’ grazing your knee and then your thigh under the table, pretending you had something on your mouth that he’d wipe away with his thumb, resisting the urge to slip it between your lips. You never objected to any of this, which he took to mean you wanted it, welcomed it even.

One night, around nine, there was a knock at the door, and Elvis got up to answer it. He thought he was dreaming, he had to be. There you were, standing in his doorway in your satin nightgown, your robe hanging off of one shoulder, revealing one of the straps. His breath hitched in his throat when he noticed your nipples poking through the tauntingly thin fabric.

“Elvis, thank goodness, I’m so sorry to bother you this late,” you said bashfully.

“No, you’re no bother, Y/N. Never,” he said, clearing his throat as he tried to keep his gaze on your face.

“Well, I think there’s something wrong with one of the wall sockets in the bedroom. At first I thought it was the lamp, but I replaced the bulb and plugged it in somewhere else and—“

“I’ll take a look at it for ya.”

“Thank you, I know it’s late,” you repeated. “I’d ask my husband to take a look at it, but he’s obviously working.”

So you turned to him. Your husband wasn’t home, and the first person you thought to ask was him. His chest filled with pride at this, at being the provider for you, the man in your life you’d go to when things went wrong. You returned to your place across the hall as he got his toolbox, hastily informing his mama that he had to help you with an electrical problem.

Your apartment was similar to his, except it had one bedroom instead of two, which you led him to. He got a dirty feeling when he stepped into your bedroom, seeing where you and your husband undoubtedly shared your intimate moments. He stared at the unmade bed, imagining what it’d be like to take you in it, fulfill his husbandly duties to you, his beautiful, devoted wife.

His attention was soon drawn to you bending over to point out the socket next to the nightstand that was giving you issues, his focus on how good your ass looked even covered by your robe. It took all his willpower to keep his hands balled up in fists at his side instead of reaching out to slap your ass and throw you onto the bed. He’d never felt an urge so primal before, and for the first time in his life, he understood why lust was considered a deadly sin.

“Think you can handle it?” you asked, looking back at him as you were still bent over.

Good Lord. “Yeah,” he nodded, fumbling with his toolbox as he set it on the dresser.

“Alright, I’ll be in the living room,” you said, standing back up. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He mumbled to himself as you left, taking deep breaths to pull himself together. It wasn’t fair, you were perfect, his dream woman, never more than a few feet away but always out of reach. As if your looks weren’t enough, you had similar taste in music and books as him, got along great with his mama, and knew how to keep up a home.

He could hear the radio playing from the living room and got to work on checking the outlet by the nightstand. It was a simple fix that just required him tinkering with a few wires, nothing he hadn’t done at work before. Still, he had this once in a lifetime opportunity to be in your bedroom, and he knew he had to make it count.

Biting his lip, his gaze landed on your dresser. He made his way over and grabbed the handle of one of the drawers, opening it slowly, his eyes on the door in case you suddenly came back in. The radio was too loud for you to hear anything, though, as you didn’t notice when he opened a second drawer that squeaked as he pulled it. To his disappointment, the top drawers were mostly filled with junk, but when he opened one of the middle drawers, he hit the jackpot, finding it full of your neatly organized panties.

The longer he stared at the variety of fabrics and colors in the drawer, the more shallow his breathing became until he reached out, grabbing a pink satin pair and shoving them in his pocket. His fingers grazed the other pairs of panties as he made the drawer look as undisturbed as possible before shutting it. You did it on purpose, you had to have–leaving him to his own devices in your bedroom, subtly dropping the hint that you wanted him too.

He double-checked the socket before gathering his tools, making his way into your living room.

“How’d it go?” you asked, getting up from the couch.

“Building’s old, is all,” he said. “Wires short out sometimes, but you might wanna call the super and get that replaced.”

You nodded. “I don’t have any kids sticking their fingers in sockets to worry about, but I just wanted to be safe.”

“You got plans for any? Kids, I mean?”

You smiled ruefully. “He doesn’t have the energy for that.”

“Havin’ kids?”

“Trying for them.”

Elvis couldn’t come up with a response to your confession. Anger and disbelief blinded him at how ungrateful your husband was. If you were Elvis’ wife, you’d hardly leave the bedroom, he was sure of that much.

“I’m sorry,” you said in response to his silence. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s alright, Y/N.”

“Um, how much do I owe you for fixing the socket?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Please, I can’t let you leave empty-handed.”

Your panties practically burned through his pocket as he gave you a boyish smile, “Really, Y/N, I’m just glad I was here to help.”

“Okay, well, good night, Elvis. Thank you again.”

You stood on your toes to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and he practically floated across the hall to his apartment. As soon as he set his toolbox down, Grandma Dodger asked what the issue at your apartment was that he spent so long over there, but she seemed satisfied enough with his answer.

He quickly retreated to his bedroom, shoving your panties under his pillow for safekeeping until he went to bed later that night. Of course you never objected to the small touches he gave you, your husband never gave you the attention you needed, emotionally or physically. The next hour or so, all he could think about was you and getting his hands on those panties again. It seemed to drag by until it was late enough for him to not raise suspicion when he bid everyone good night and locked himself in his room.

Grabbing your panties from their hiding place, he sat on his bed, allowing himself to really feel them since he grabbed them from your drawer–silky, smooth, the satin catching the dim light from his window. Did you wear them often? Would you notice they were missing? He spent the rest of the night chewing on his bottom lip or biting his fist, doing anything he could to keep his whimpers soft and low as he came with one hand pumping his hard cock, your stolen panties in the other.

If anyone noticed that he’d been making strange noises all night or had bruised his lower lip, they didn’t say anything when he sat down for breakfast the next morning, thankful he had the day off.

“That was good of you, helpin’ Y/N out last night, Bewbie. Lord knows she’s got a lot on her hands,” his mama praised as she dished out breakfast. “I don’t know how she does it.”

“Her husband’s a hardworkin’ man,” his daddy said over the morning paper. “Got a lot on his plate too.”

“He leaves the poor thing by her lonesome all the time. It ain’t safe,” his mama insisted. “Lucky I raised my boy right. What if it was some pervert livin’ across the hall over here instead? I don’t even wanna think about it.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and his mama walked over to answer it, her demeanor brightening upon seeing you standing there with a covered dish.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” you said.

“Not at all. You hungry? I was just finishin’ cookin’ up breakfast for everyone.”

“Thank you, but my husband should be home in a few minutes. I just wanted to bring these over to thank Elvis for helping me last night.”

“Bewbie!” his mama shouted, making him cringe as he’d requested multiple times for her to not call him that in front of you. “Y/N’s at the door for you!”

He got up from the table, making his way over to the front door. You smiled brightly at him, handing him the plate.

“These just came out of the oven. I hope you like them,” you said as he lifted the tea towel you’d placed on top of the pile of heart-shaped cookies.

“You didn’t have to, Y/N. I’m happy to help.”

You giggled, and he nearly melted. “I wanted to.”

You wanted to make him heart-shaped cookies, even after he stole a pair of your panties. Surely it was a sign that you felt the same way. He just needed to make a move. His elation was crushed when your husband shuffled in from work, muttering a greeting to Elvis and his mama before retreating into the apartment across the hall. You gave them both apologetic smiles, following your husband inside.

When he got signed to Sun Records, you were one of his biggest supporters, buying a copy of ‘That’s Alright’ and asking him to sign it as if he were a big star, and not some small town celebrity. Since your husband worked nights, you were free to accompany his family to his shows, or even attend them on your own. He always made sure you were sitting as close to the stage as possible when he performed, wanting it clear that every love song, every croon, every thrust was for you. Of course, as he recorded more for Sun Records and his songs started to become more popular, he viewed your early support for him as yet more evidence of the love you were secretly harboring for him.

Things changed when his single became a hit, and suddenly a man who called himself a Colonel had Elvis zig-zagging across the country to play back to back shows for his growing fanbase. It was an exciting time, he had more money than he ever could have dreamed of, got to travel to places he’d only ever read about, he just wished he could share it all with you. Instead, you were back in Memphis with your husband. He could never come up with enough nerve to call you directly, but if you were at his place when he’d call his mama, she’d often put you on the phone with him for a few minutes. Hearing your voice was comforting, but it only made his desire for you that much stronger.

As Elvis’ career continued to ascend, he was only more sure that he could be the husband you deserved. He wanted nothing less than to be your lover who could satisfy every need, scratch every itch, and fulfill every desire. So he’d bed the women who lingered after shows and outside of his motel rooms, all the while pretending they were you. He always promptly kicked them out afterward, not wanting to give any impression that he actually cared about them, not when he had you. Well, it was only a matter of time anyway.

Still, most nights, even if he did have a one night stand earlier in the evening, he’d lie in bed, imagining your soft lips on his cheek again, picturing how perfect you’d look laid out beneath him, crying out in pleasure as he’d take you as his own. He moaned your name, baby, sweetheart, darlin’–anything he could think of as he’d praise your fucked out fantasy self for being so good and taking him so well. He never came as hard with any of the women he’d slept with as he did when he’d get off to the thought of you.

The following mornings, he’d inevitably wake up to his sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of his head. It was never enough to cool his desire. Despite the release he’d get at the thought of you, he knew it could only hold him over for so long. He needed the real thing. He needed you. From what you’d revealed to him that night he fixed the socket in your bedroom, you needed him too.

When he bought Graceland with the money that was pouring in from his first album sales, one of his first thoughts was getting you inside the place and making it your home, together–after christening every available surface, of course. He excitedly presented the mansion to his family members, who had varying degrees of enthusiasm on their faces, which frustrated him because it was for them too, but he knew you would love it, clearly picturing the excited smile you’d have on your face when you saw Graceland.

He arrived back at Lauderdale Courts to help pack for the move, the first time he’d been home in what felt like years. Though Graceland was ready to be moved in, his family still needed time to get everything in order, and figured they’d be ready by the end of the week to join him there. You were leaning against the doorframe of your apartment, a smile on your face as you watched him approach.

“Hey Mr. Bigshot,” you greeted him teasingly, causing a blush to creep across his cheeks. At least the blood rushed to his face and not his—

“Hi Y/N,” he said. “How’ve you been?”

“The same as usual. I’ve missed you. How long are you in town for?” you asked.

You missed him. He tried not to let his mind race at how you probably spent your lonely, restless nights in a similar state of longing and desperation as him. “I missed you too, Y/N,” he said. “I’ll be here for a few weeks, but uh, we’re actually movin’ soon. I bought a place.”

“Congratulations,” you smiled, but he noticed the sadness in your eyes, surely it matched his when he told you that he’d be moving. “Hopefully you’ll invite me over when you get settled. I’d love to see it.”

“You’ll be the first person I bring over,” he promised.

“I only hope whoever moves in are half as nice as you and your family have been,” you sighed. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “it won’t be the same without you.”

Later that night, as his mama fussed over packing up the apartment, directing his daddy on what to put where, Elvis sat on the couch, his stomach in knots. He should be excited to move into the home of his dreams, the house his family deserved, but without you, would it ever feel like home? He weakly brushed off Grandma Dodger’s concerns, asking him what was wrong. Immediately, his mama turned to look at him, and he said that he was just tired from the trip back to Memphis and would head to bed early.

It was one thing being on the road and not seeing you every day, but at least you were in close enough proximity to his family to keep his mind at ease. Now you’d be a few miles away instead of across the hall. He felt his heart lurch at the thought of slowly but surely losing touch with you, as so often happened among families that moved out of Lauderdale Courts. As he ran through the conversation he’d just had with you over and over in his head, ‘hoping to visit’ turned into ‘please take me with you.’

You were practically begging him to make his move, and now he finally had the leverage to. He could provide for you the way your husband couldn’t, spoil and appreciate you the way you should be. You wanted him to take you away from all of this, he was more sure of that than ever. Sure, spiriting away a married woman to his shiny new mansion wouldn’t do much to bolster his already dubious reputation, but what was bad press to finally having you all to himself?

Later that night, when everyone else was asleep, he snuck out, taking a few steps across the hall to your apartment door. He banged his fist against it, surely waking you up if you had already fallen asleep. He noticed the light turn on from the crack under the door, and you opened it, looking a bit dazed.

“I have to talk to you, Y/N,” he said, before you could say anything. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, moving out of the way for him to enter your apartment. Closing the door behind you, he caught you in his intense gaze.

“Is everything okay, Elvis?” you asked softly.

“No, it’s not,” he answered. “We’ve been dancin’ around this for three and a half years now, but we don’t gotta pretend anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you, Y/N. I know you feel the same way about me, but we can be together now. I got Graceland ready for us, you can pack your things, and we can leave tomorrow, even.”

You looked at him with a bewilderment he expected, since you’d probably repressed your feelings for him so much. “I—Elvis, I’m married. My husband—“

“Ain’t providin’ the life you deserve. Ain’t lovin’ you how you should be loved,” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours. “When was the last time he made you feel good, baby?”

Your soft moan when his hands ghosted over your breasts was enough of an answer for him.

“Such a shame, a perfect body like yours don’t get worshiped night and day,” he purred, pleased as to how receptive you were when his hands drifted lower, like he’d only ever imagined before. When he pressed his lips to yours, it was like a wildfire spread across his body. How was your husband not addicted to the feeling of your lips?

“He don’t deserve you, darlin’.”

“He needs me,” you weakly protested.

He played with the hem of your nightgown, his fingertips brushing your thighs. He had you almost exactly where he wanted you, he couldn’t give up yet. “Tell me what you need, baby.”

You whimpered, shame laced in your voice as you answered. “I need you to touch me. It’s been so long since I—“

His lips were on yours with more fervor than before as the two of you stumbled down the hall into your bedroom. Shedding clothes every few steps until you were in just your panties–lavender satin–by the time you were actually in the bedroom. Suddenly, you became shy, a bit hesitant again, until he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties, causing you to gasp as he pulled them down slowly.

“Lord have mercy,” he mumbled upon seeing your naked body in all its glory. Just as he suspected for all this time, his fantasies didn’t do you justice.

He took his time with you, fondling your breasts and kissing your face and neck. He supposed he had underestimated how desperate you really were, because you tugged at his hair, which made him groan in pleasure at the feeling.

“Elvis, please,” you whined. “Do something, anything.”

“I got you, baby. I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, kissing you once more before pressing kisses down your body, his fingers playing with your clit as he bit and sucked on your skin until, finally, his face was between your legs.

You threw your head back as he licked a stripe up your wet pussy, a moan coming from deep within you at the feeling. “Oh my god, whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

Goddamn, the old man had never even gone down on you. Elvis flicked his tongue against your clit, slipping his fingers inside you. He swore he’d never heard a sound as pretty as you crying in pleasure in his life, especially as his name fell from your lips. You reached down, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pressing his face closer against your aching cunt. A groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation, making you buck your hips involuntarily.

Using his free hand to hold down your hips, he took a moment to look up at you, your face overcome with pleasure, eyes screwed shut as tears rolled down your cheeks. You were so, so close. As much as Elvis admired the view, he’d promised to take care of you, and after another minute or so of him playing with your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you, you came with a moan so loud it could have been easily mistaken for a scream. It made him drunk on pride as everyone would know he was the one who made you feel that way. No one else.

He lifted his head from your pussy, and you nearly choked as you watched him lick your juices off of his lips. Leaning over you, he studied your face, while you took deep, shaky breaths as you looked at him with blown-out eyes. He wished he had a camera with him to capture the moment, but there’d be so many more.

“Is he good to you? Can he do to you the things that I do?” he asked, caressing your cheek.

You whimpered, leaning into his touch. “No, only you.”

Elvis grinned, knowing he’d be calling you a divorce lawyer and moving you into Graceland in the morning.

Taglist: @eliseinmemphis @kittenlittle24 @crash-and-cure @im-lame-irl @loudwombatmugkid @rxsesss @roseymary04 @queendelrey @jovialladyaurora @positivitylane112 @moonknightswif3 @holy-minseok @datsavageavenger @21bruhs @luckyevansstan @djsjs13949 @butlerslut @ash-omalley @powerofelvis @sad-bisexual-bitch @peachy-deaths @kibumslatina @adoreyouusugar @raefoxiegirl

#austin!elvis x reader #elvis x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis #yandere elvis

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tinybirbwrites · 1 year

Text

Guilty Pleasure (Dick Grayson/Reader)

Hello, hi. This started as a vent fic, then it became super silly and fun and longer than expected. No warnings except for some swearing, just silly fluff and crack. Reader is gender-neutral. Also I had Gotham Knights Dick in mind while writing, the game really grew on me lmao.

You often wondered whether Dick had a sixth sense for your mood. Each time you were upset about something, he would either somehow end up finding out about it, or unknowingly comfort you in some way.

Watched a sad movie while Dick was away? Look at your phone; Dick either just sent you a meme, pun, or a sweet little message to brighten your day. Unhappy about what you saw in the mirror? Just you wait; Dick always seemed to have a heartfelt compliment ready for you. Lonely? Worry not; Dick already made plans to come over and glue himself to you for several hours.

This time was no different. Just twenty minutes after you saw something hurtful on social media, Dick plopped down next to you on the couch and wrapped a casual arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, wanna watch a dumb movie together and cuddle?”

Hell yeah.

The movie did turn out to be super dumb—a crazy woman summoning the spirit of her dead killer husband into a fake christmas tree, who then goes on a murderous rampage as a christmas tree? Really? But it was exactly what you needed at that moment.

You were crying and laughing through the stupidity of it all, switching between actually paying attention because of what was happening or because Dick was actively commenting on it, and thinking back to the post you saw that upset you in the first place. Dick didn’t ask, but he kept giving you comforting squeezes and rubbed slow circles over your back the whole time.

As the credits started rolling and you finally got over how weird the movie was, Dick stroked a careful thumb over the tear-trails on your cheek. “Alright, well, now that we’ve gone through all five stages of grief together… You wanna tell me about it?”

You leaned back with a shaky exhale. “Well, you know how I like to read and write fanfiction?” At his nod, you continued, “Well, there’s a subgenre called ‘reader inserts.’ They’re… basically exactly what the title implies. They’re written with you as the main character, and most of the time it’s with a romantic plot point at the focus. It’s something I like to consume for comfort, because it feels nice to read about yourself meeting your favorite characters and interacting with them, doing things together that you’ll never be able to in real life, right? And there’s a lot of well written fics out there that I enjoy a lot, but of course, as with everything, there’s also not so good ones. And the tragic part is, the not so good ones are the only thing that other people who aren’t interested in this subgenre see and know about, so reader inserts get a pretty bad rep. And I get it, I’ve also seen the bad ones, and there’s… a lot of porn, too. I understand it can be frustrating to see when you really don’t want to, but shaming people for writing and reading it just… hurts, you know? It really hurts.”

Dick was silent for a while, frowning. “Sadly, there’ll always be people who get upset about things they don’t like or don’t understand. Some are mature about it, and some aren’t. I’m guessing you saw someone complaining?”

You sighed and nodded, tiredly rubbing a hand over your forehead. “Yeah.” You didn’t feel like elaborating on what the person said specifically, it would only upset you more. Maybe you’d sent a screenshot to Dick later, but right now you just wanted to forget about it.

Dick hummed. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It really sucks when you’ve gotta deal with people hating something you love and care about. And I know it’s easier said than done, but… don’t focus on that negativity. Focus on the good stuff. You’ve talked about getting a lot of positive feedback on your own writing before, yeah? Focus on that. People love what you write, and you love other people’s writing, that means there’s a community where you can all share what you love with each other, and that’s a beautiful thing. Some people just aren’t into the same stuff, they don’t get it, so sometimes they’ll complain about it to feel better. It’s hurtful, yeah, but remember that they’re not targeting you specifically. It’s their problem, the issues often lie within themselves. From what you said, it sounds like they’re just shitting on something they don’t wanna see because they don’t like or care about it. They’re not offering constructive criticism, so really, you don’t have to concern yourself with them. Try to distance yourself from their words, be proud of what you do and who you are. Okay?”

You mulled over his words for a moment, digesting them bit by bit, and eventually, you managed a smile. “Yeah, okay.” You turned your head and leaned closer to him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks.”

When you looked at him, the expression on his face was almost shy. “You’re always welcome. I’m just glad I could help somehow.”

Days later, Dick came to you with an excited smile on his face, and you watched as he sat down and pulled out his phone. “So, since you told me about reader inserts, I’ve done some research to better understand what you meant. I wanted to know more about what you enjoy.”

Oh no. “Oh. Really?” you said, a lot calmer than you actually felt.

He grinned, unaware of your growing horror. “Yep! So, I wasn’t sure what to look for at first, but eventually I searched for reader inserts that included some of the media I personally enjoy. I found a few I actually liked a lot! But, uh, I get what you meant with there being a lot of porn.”

You hid your face in your hands with a chortle, feeling heat quickly traveling to your cheeks at the mental image of Dick reading smut fics out of pure curiosity to learn more about what you were passionate about. “Yeah…”

Suddenly, Dick brightened. “Also! You won’t believe it, but I found a lot of Nightwing reader inserts! Some got recommended to me because of my search history, and I got really curious, so—”

OH NO.

“I was so amazed at how many there are! Ah, of course, lots of porn too. Can’t really fault anyone for that, I mean, I know people love my butt, so it only makes sense. Still, feels kinda weird. I started reading a few because I just couldn’t help it, and isn’t it kind of funny? It’s like a story about me making out with myself! Anyway, I found a few really good ones, a lot of them were from the same author—”

Oh God, please, anything but this—

Dick scrolled through his phone for a moment, then turned it around to show you what he found. You felt your soul leave your body.

It was your very own profile picture that stared back at you.

It was your blog.

It was your writing.

Your Nightwing fanfics.

He went on, completely undeterred by your stunned silence. “I know it sounds kind of narcissistic of me to say, but you should totally give this person’s stuff a read! They’re really good! I felt weirdly immersed, reading about being in love with, well, myself. Pining after… myself. Never thought I’d feel so strongly about that, but here I am. There’s one story that I’m hoping will get a second part some day, actually. I’m thinking I should maybe leave a comment. You think it’d be too much to do that with my Nightwing account?”

Oh. Oh, thank God. Dick didn’t know it was you.

You subtly cleared your throat. “Uhm. Yeah, I think commenting as Nightwing would be a bit much.”

It was an older account—you actually hadn’t uploaded anything for a while now, but most of them were about Nightwing.

It had started off with the usual go-to scenarios of Nightwing saving reader while on patrol, something he’d actually done for you a few times now, which was what inspired you to scroll through the Nightwing x Reader tag in the first place. Then you decided you would give in and post some of your own for the public to see as well. Anonymously, of course. You’d never pin your actual name to that particular guilty pleasure of yours.

The more you wrote, the more you started to wonder about what if scenarios.

What if Dick Grayson was Nightwing? You’d noticed that they shared a lot of similarities; a love for puns, a charming smile, a kind heart, perfect hair, and, uhm… A nice body, too. You’d never written out this theory for the public eye, but in your head, you’d started imagining Dick being the one behind the mask, which fuelled your writing even more as you poured your feelings into them.

You knew it was kind of a No-No to write about actual, existing people. It wasn’t something you usually did, either, nor were you very proud of it. But you just couldn’t help it—you’d been pining after Dick and Nightwing separately for years now, venting about it in the form of self-indulgent writing, until you eventually figured out they were both one and the same person.

Of course you’d fallen head over heels in love with Dick, it was practically impossible not to; He had a stupidly big heart and a stupidly big butt. Finding out these two ridiculously attractive and caring people were actually one guy? That only served to intensify your feelings by, like, a hundred.

You hadn’t mentioned this realization to Dick, but it got more and more difficult not to as time went on. Until finally, one day, Dick confessed his vigilante identity to you, stating he trusted you and felt it was only fair if you knew. He felt bad about having to lie to you and keep making up excuses about his bruises and why he had to cancel plans every time something big happened that Nightwing had to take care of.

You were too scared to tell him about your feelings, especially after realizing you’d been writing reader insert fanfics about him all this time. It was one thing to just imagine Dick being Nightwing, but it was another to actually know it was him. You were lucky and very happy to even be friends with this amazing guy, and you weren’t about to ruin that by confessing your shameful sins to him.

You knew it was extra weird to write not only about an actual person, but about your friend. You’d never written any smut—that was something you just couldn’t let yourself do, it felt too wrong, even before you found out about Dick’s secret.

You knew he took all the sexually charged comments on his Nightwing persona in good stride. He actually seemed to glow from all the praise, even feeding into it by laying on the charm extra thick sometimes when on patrol, always insisting Nightwing should never wear a cape so his precious butt wouldn’t be covered up. You also knew that he himself as Richard Grayson was a very popular guy, handsome and charming, a “well dressed golden retriever,” as some people liked to describe him.

But you also knew that there was a line, and you felt like you were definitely crossing it by writing reader inserts about your best friend and crush. Though you did stop writing them after finding out about who Nightwing really was—it just felt too weird to keep posting more at that point.

Argh, who were you kidding? Either way, it was definitely still weird that you hadn’t immediately deleted your whole blog afterwards. It didn’t matter that Dick was currently unknowingly blowing up your phone with excited comments and likes on several of your Nightwing x Reader fics. You pulled it out and glanced at your screen as it lit up. Ah, he was also sending you all the links so you could read them for yourself.

Is this how Dick felt when people talked about Nightwing in front of him, not knowing it was him they were talking about? You certainly felt like you had a top secret persona now.

Despite your conflicted feelings on the matter and the rising shame in your chest, you couldn’t help but smile at Dick’s genuine enthusiasm. And his comments were all very nice, too.

Maybe… Maybe he would be okay with it, knowing it was you. Maybe he’d laugh about it. Maybe he’d even be flattered. You knew it would be impossible to keep this to yourself forever, especially since Dick was so easy to open up to. But not now. Definitely not now.

A few months later, Tim mentioned your username during a group conversation. In his defense, he probably thought it was common knowledge—you knew he wouldn’t reveal something as big as this on purpose if he thought it wasn’t a big deal. You were using the same username for several other accounts on other websites as well, all connected to your second email address, the one you hadn’t shared with Dick or the others, so you hadn’t actually expected them to ever look into it and find out.

How very foolish of you. You just hoped Tim hadn’t read any of your fanfics as well.

While you’d tried to appear calm and unaffected on the outside, you could feel yourself slowly dying on the inside, melting from the sheer amount of mortification you were experiencing.

You couldn’t look Dick in the eyes ever since.

While he hadn’t mentioned anything directly, you could tell the clogs inside his head had already turned enough for him to connect the dots. He knew. Fucking shit, he knew.

Several days went by. You kept casually sending messages to him, sharing memes and other every-day things like always, and he did the same. But you could tell he knew and wanted to say something, but didn’t because he could tell you were highly uncomfortable with him knowing.

He was nice like that. Goddammit.

And then, one evening, as you contemplated finally deleting your whole account and sending an official apology to Dick (you would definitely have to do that, you just didn’t know what to say and where to start), your phone lit up with a new message.

From Dick.

You stared at the notification for a long moment, dreading what you’d find once you opened it, until your eyes started to burn and you had to force yourself to take a few deep breaths and calm down.

Don’t jump to any conclusions now, you told yourself. Just open the damn message and see for yourself.

You procrastinated by going to the bathroom first. Then walked around the kitchen in search of something to eat, only to realize you were too anxious to actually eat anything.

So you took your damn phone and clicked on the damn notification, holding your damn breath as you read Dick’s messages.

(Dick) 21:32 : Hey, so, I had some ideas for a sequel regarding your last Nightwing story

(Dick) 21:33 : Hear me out

(Dick) 21:35 : What if Nightwing went over to reader’s place

(Dick) 21:35 : and then…

You waited for him to elaborate, maybe send a GIF or something else, but he wasn’t even online anymore. You frowned and started to type a hesitant, confused response, when there was a sudden knock on your living room window, making you flinch and shriek, almost dropping your phone in the process.

Looking up, you saw Dick in his Nightwing suit outside your window, grinning and waving at you.

You blinked at him for a moment, then quickly walked over to open the window. “Wha—”

“You haven’t posted in a long time,” Dick interrupted you with a smile. “I thought maybe I could help inspire you.”

“Ins— Inspire?” you repeated, stunned.

You stepped back a little when he started climbing through the window, taking in his appearance with a sense of awe. You’d seen him as Nightwing a few times now, but you never quite got used to it. He was a sight to behold—he always was, whether he was wearing the suit or just his regular clothes, but having Nightwing standing in front of you in your own home always felt a little unreal. It was so form fitting, showing off his muscles and curves, and the mask hiding parts of his face had its very own appeal that you could hardly put into words.

“I noticed a theme while going through your stories.” Dick’s voice pulled you out of your stupor, and you quickly shut your mouth, only now realizing you’d been gaping at him the whole time.

You cleared your throat. “A theme?”

“Yeah.” He stepped closer to you, slowly, as if he wanted to check whether you would move away or not. “Nightwing and reader never actually kiss in any of them.”

You thought your heart was going to burst out of your chest. Then you realized he was waiting for you to say something.

“Oh, uhm. Yeah. I, uh. I just felt kind of weird about that. At first I was just scared you’d maybe find out about my stories some day and be weirded out by them, but later on after you told me about being Nightwing, I also just— It felt wrong to write about kissing you because it felt… too personal? And then I just kinda stopped writing them entirely.”

“Mh-hmm,” he hummed understandingly, stepping even closer, close enough for you to smell his cologne and minty breath. “Not to force my own interpretations onto your writing or anything, but I think Nightwing would definitely be very much into kissing the reader. And seeing how strongly the reader feels about him, I’m guessing it’s something they would want, too?”

You gulped, then managed to croak out a weak, “Yeah.”

He smiled and leaned closer until the tip of his nose shortly brushed yours, pausing for a moment to give you the chance to pull away, then gently pressed his lips to yours. Your breathing hitched, an electrifying sensation running through your whole body, starting from the points where he was touching you. His hands were on your arms, slowly rubbing up and down while he moved his lips against yours just as slowly. Your muscles couldn’t decide whether to stay tense or relax and melt against him, so you did a weird combination of both.

Unsurprisingly, Dick was a very good kisser.

After a long moment, he eventually parted from you, leaning back a little to take in your reaction. You couldn’t help but let out a breathless little laugh, stunned by what just happened, and so very fucking happy.

Dick chuckled too, hands gently squeezing your upper arms as if he wanted to hug you. “Was that okay?”

“Absolutely,” you said, without hesitation. “I’m sure all the fics probably gave it away, but I have feelings for you. Strong ones.”

“Well, I didn’t want to make assumptions based on fiction alone,” Dick smiled. “But I’m glad, because I feel the same way. About you, I mean.”

Your chest warmed at that. Then you chuckled, an idea hitting you. “What, you don’t want me to write Dick Grayson x Nightwing fanfics next?”

He opened his mouth to retort with something sarcastic, but then his eyes widened. “Oh my God, that’s actually a really genius idea—”

You chortled and knocked your hand against his strong chest. “No, it really wouldn’t be. What if people connected the dots and found out because of it?”

He pouted. “Alright, fair point. But maybe you could write them just for me?” Aaand he was using his puppy eyes on you. Go figure.

“I’ll think about it,” you gave in. Only a few people were strong enough to withstand Dick Grayson’s charm, and you certainly weren’t one of them. “But, I gotta ask… Weren’t you super weirded out when you found out that I wrote all these stories? Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?”

If you ever found out that a friend of yours was writing romantic reader insert fanfics about you and publishing them… Well, you didn’t know what it would feel like, but it was definitely weird.

Dick chuckled and shook his head. “If it were someone else I knew, then maybe. But I know you—you’re one of my best friends. Knowing you wrote them, it just… doesn’t bother me at all, no. I understand why you wrote them, I understand why you published them, too. And why you stopped.” He shrugged. You felt a weight fall from your shoulders at his words, finally feeling yourself relax against him. “Anyway, did I manage to inspire you? You gonna write a kiss for part two?”

You snorted, then hummed, pretending to think for a moment. “I don’t know, I think I’ll need a bit more to really get the creativity flowing.”

Dick’s smile turned knowing. “I’d be more than happy to help.” And then he kissed you again, and it was even better than the first time.

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #reader insert #x reader #genderneutral reader

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tacobellabeanburrito · 17 days

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Hey, I wanted to know if you had any angst phoenix wright centered fics that you could recommend me

ANON YOU HAVE COME TO THE ABSOLUTE RIGHT PLACE BBG.

(I HEAVILY imprint on Phoenix Wright, so I have a lot of angst fics in my arsenal that center around him)

(Also, I highly recommend looking at my bookmarks, cause there’s ALOT more that I most likely don’t mention here. So uh, yeah)

(ALSO ALSO, idk if you have already but look at my other rec fic lists because a lot of the Phoenix Wright angst fics that I love are on there as well and I don’t wanna double up)

ANYWAY! Here we go! (Some of them don’t have blurbs, others will)

“I Might’ve Been A Good Man, Who Loved Someone With All He Had” by SapphireWire: I don’t mind this one too much. It just doesn’t have the headcannons that I personally like. A lot of the times I bookmark fics just so I can go back to them if my mind is ever like “Oh shit, do you remember this fucking baller moment from this fanfic?” And I’m like “Oh shit yeah”. Worth a read, though. There’s also a sequel.

“Turnabout Forgotten” by Nali_li: Alright Anon, so a lot of these fics I don’t really remember much about (cause I have a shit memory) and am just kinda looking through my bookmarks and seeing which ones have definite Phoenix angst in them. This one is about Phoenix who gets amnesia and doesn’t remember anything past the Will Powers case.

“Pressure (Pushing Down On Me)” by ApprenticeofDoyle: A long ass Ace Attorney that is actually really good. It’s not so much my cup of tea because it does ALOT with the Ace Attorney canon and shakes it until some of the plots points are different but it is good.

“These Ties That Bind” by The HomestuckWhovian: OMG I LOVE THIS ONE. An all time favorite. Holds all of my headcannons for Phoenix, I don’t wanna spoil it, you just gotta read it, buddy. It’s very good. It’s a soulmate type fix but also centered around Phoenix’s other relationships (Not just him and Miles). Fully recommend.

“Chains Of The Heart” by NarshTaters: Don’t really remember much about it since I read it a while back, but it goes into detail about Phoenix and his whole complexes while Miles uses the magatama on him. A great fic nonetheless.

“They’ll Never Love You Like I Can” by Josdalynn: Ahhh! I was looking for this one. Glad I found it. It’s about a younger Phoenix (Feenie) going forward in time and showing up at Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth’s office. I like this one a lot.

“Behind Closed Doors” by Stressedtoimpress: I really like this one a lot but I can never go back to it because it has an unhappy ending. But definitely has a lot of Phoenix angst. A lot of Miles angst too. Contains Krisnix.

“To Whom Do I Owe The Pleasure?” by Loreley: OH BABY THERE IS SOMETHING SOOOO GOOD WHEN PEOPLE PUT IN A FANFIC “Phoenix Wright Chooses Death” during his disbarment era as an echo to Miles’ letter. Girlypop this one is good.

“The Best Revenge” by pantswarrior: Ok this one is, mature and for good reason. I’ll let you figure out what happens cause I don’t wanna spoil cause it’s really good but also very dark but also good.

“Hold Me In Your Arms” by AnonymousChicken: A very cute fic. Not too angsty but pretty angsty on the first chapter. It’s narumitsu centered, and features a traumatized Maya.

“Imminent Danger” by ValueTurtle: Ok, so, I don’t really like this one too much. It’s good, but not my thing. But definitely very angsty in the Phoenix department. I won’t spoil it but check it out if you wanna.

“I’m Getting So Tired Of Coughing Out My Lungs” by heiisklchen: Oh, oh this one is good. This one is about Phoenix dealing with an eating disorder.

“Like Glass” by Machina (XMachina): A good Phoenix fic. Short, but good. It’s about Phoenix and his relationships with Miles, Dahlia/Iris and Kristoph. Mostly Miles, though.

“And I’m Mr. Loverman” by LicoriceLovingLoser: We love Ricky Montgomery songs and Phoenix Wright disbarment fics.

“The Eye Of The Beholder” by 3musketears: A nice hurt/comfort fic regarding Phoenix and his body post disbarment.

“Sharp” by silvered: AHHH loved this one. I just reread it when looking for fics for you Anon and I really liked it. Has some Krisnix in it.

“Despite Everything, It’s Still You” by orphan_account (lmao, just search up the name and if you can’t find it tell me)

“So Shut Your Eyes” by pessu (kittiv): Not a Phoenix centric one but I found it while I was looking and I really, really like it.

“I Make Sense Of The Madness (When I Listen To Your Voice) by pychelocs: I like this one a lot.

“Hurt Me, Why Won’t You?” By daiicraa: A really angsty but sweet one.

“Appreciate All Parts Of Me” by Booloodle: SLAY FIC.

“When The Chips Are Down” by rib14

“Avoidance” by JJamescat

“Perpetual Motion” by PhantomWriter

“Goodbye, My Dearests” by tunaricebowl

“Gold, Marble and Burgers” by tunaricebowl

“Hold Onto Me (Cause I’m A Little Unsteady) by samiolioli (Samioli)

“Better Light A Candle Than Curse The Darkness” by daydreamn019

Ok anon, that’s about it for Phoenix Wright angst fics. BUTTTT ALSO. Here’s one just for funnzies that I just remembered. It isn’t angst but I come back to it a lot.

“Honey, Honey” by chcolayecoveredkashews: HILARIOUS. We love accidental Sugar Daddy Miles.

UGH AND OKAY. ANOTHER CALL TO ACTION. Doing this just reminded me of the fic but there’s a fic mentioned during the other fic rec list I posted AND I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IT BECAUSE IT’S DRIVING ME BONKERS.

Ok so, plot is that through mystical Magatama fuckery, Miles and Phoenix get trapped in a mindpalace like world where they are married. Their family is trying to get them out of their own heads and ITS ANGSTY AND SOOO GOOD. Has “Perfect” by SideBlog vibes. So if anyone knows this fic. PLEASE SEND IT MY WAY.

Anyway, getting that out of the way, thank you Anon for your question about fics, and good luck reading! (Also, still check out my other fic rec list cause those have ALOT of Phoenix angst and also check out my bookmark list PLEASE I haven’t done justice to all the fics I have in there that I like and that I have forgotten about)

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jaegonsmoon · 10 months

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I love the fics where the three boys are actually trueborn Valeryon-Targarian boys, like Harwin helps Laenor in the bedroom and such. So, like, it's funny imagining that all three are trueborn but they got Nyra's skin color and Rheanys's hair color like "canon" but have that specific Valeryon birthmark except all 3 have it in a very specific place that you can't see like the inner thigh or midback.

So imagine Alicent still tries to start the rumors that they're bastards till someone mentions the boys birthmark and such or Aegon or Aemond mention the birthmark and now Alicent knows she's in shit bc they're trueborn, genetics are just wild.

Or if we go the a/o/b way Aegon and Aemond are mates with Jace and Luke respectively.

Their pups come out with Laenor's skin tone and now THEY'RE the ones who are being called "whores" and whatever till their fathers show the birthmark that comes from Rheanys side of the fam.

so a while ago I made this one shot on twt bc it was inspired by a word prompt over there, but also very slightly inspired by this ask. I totally forgot to post it but I’m doing so now that I remembered. apologies ik is not what you were asking per se but I wanted to let you know that I read you and thought of you when I wrote the last bits of it :)

[EDIT]

I’m posting the ficlet in your answer now, (honestly should’ve done just that fron the start) since ppl in ao3 are straight up miserable and it’s so discouraging to share anything this days anymore. apologies!!

~say yes to heaven~

Pairing: Aemond/Lucerys

Tags: omega Aemond, alpha Lucerys, married aemond, infidelity, Lord of the Tides Lucerys.

For all his mother tried to presume her children marriages, Aemond led a pretty unhappy life. He was married to an alpha who refused to bond with him and refused to give him children until he’d see it ‘fit’—so naturally, the man was not happy when Aemond finally got pregnant.

It had happened after his monthly trip to King’s Landing, where the family had been summoned to attend royal business. His husband didn’t feel like going at that time, which Aemond was relieved about for once. He cherished the distance between him and his husband whenever it was granted.

Being there surrounded by his family put him at ease, something he never felt back at his husband’s. However, there was something Aemond didn't expect and that was to run into his nephew. Lucerys, to be more specific.

Aemond knew the boy was an alpha, though he’d presented a little late. Right after Aemond’s wedding. He remembers his father’s words when they got the news. “Ah, a pity it was so late. If I could’ve known, it would’ve been the perfect match for Aemond.”

His mother had been scandalised at such suggestion. But at that point, begrudgingly so, Aemond wasn’t. Anything would’ve been better than the deal he had gotten. Even if that meant that he’d be mated to the boy who took his eye and maimed him.

At least he would be bonded.

Lucerys was growing into a fine man. He’d gotten tall and was buffing out a bit. His face remained boyish looking, but he could see the resemblance of Harwin Strong starting to bleed through—but even then, he could see so much of his sister in him, too. He was beautiful, his nephew, there was no point in denying that fact. Joyful and free spirited. He was a prince of the realm and a soon-to-be Lord of the Tides. And Aemond found himself wishing it had really been him. Because even in the remaining bitterness he inevitably still held against his nephew, he could see his gentleness. And perhaps, Aemond, can’t help but delude himself, he could’ve even been happy.

A lot ended up happening on this trip. Aemond’s father, the King, died that week, and everything was a mess. He knew of his grandfather’s displeasure of his sister’s claim to the throne, he knew how he would still try to pull and stir some shit against the rightful heir, despite his mother siding with Rhaenyra. She at last recognised none son of hers had a claim to the throne after Viserys made it clear countless of times.

Aegon was an omega as well, happily mated and married to Jacaerys, they already had three children. He would be Queen consort eventually, that eased their mother a bit. In truth, neither Aemond, Aegon nor Daeron cared for the metal chair. And still—even when some stuff went down, Rhaenyra’s coronation still happened right after Viserys II’s funeral, and everything went according to plan.

Aemond got pissed drunk that day.

Along with Aegon, Jace and Luke who joined them last. Joffrey and Daeron were not here. They were in Essos, studying in the free cities because they were betas and had that kind of freedom. They also had privilege.They missed their mother and sister’s succession because they were too far away to arrive in time. Meanwhile Aemond was stuck, playing the sad, pathetic trophy wife to someone who didn’t even want the trophy. ‘Nor did he fucking deserved it.’ Those had been Luke’s words.

He’d continued to whine and complain about it all, he didn’t care. The drinks kept coming so the more he talked. One thing led to the other and the next thing he knew he was back in his chambers, mouth and body being devoured by his nephew’s perfect mouth. He’d never come so many times in a row. Hell, he had never come by somebody else’s ministrations at all before.

He’d like to say that it was the alcohol that led him to make this disgraceful deed, but it wasn’t. Because it kept happening. Again, and again, and again. And he let his nephew knot him each time. Because Aemond didn’t give a fuck anymore. He was tired of feeling so unwanted. So unloved. Luke made him see stars. He gave him a taste of life in each kiss, in every single touch of his hands and lips. He didn’t care. In fact, he wanted to be so full of his bastard nephew that he would bear him his own bastards.

Luke almost bites him. Multiple times, and Aemond almost let him. He wanted to let him, but he knew better, they both did.

And that’s how Aemond returned to what he was forced to call home. So well fucked and with his bastard nephew’s seed growing inside him.

His husband didn’t notice, why would he? The fool was always drunk out of his mind. When he had questioned Aemond, telling him he couldn’t recall; all he’d say was “You were drunk, dear, it was right before I left.” And they left it at that, his husband threw a fit about this not being the right time, something about how Rhaenyra’s succession had been disgraceful for their business and his house was losing money like crazy. Aemond didn’t care, he didn’t even listen most of the time. All he could feel and think was the life that grew inside his womb every day, and how it was not tainted by that scumbag, but blessed by the fire and blood he and his baby’s true sire shared.

When Aemond had his son, he had him in King’s Landing. He’d spoken to his mother stating his wish and how he wanted good maesters. He didn’t trust anyone in his lord husband’s wretched place. His mother had spoken to his sister and Rhaenyra had gladly accepted, so when there were only two moons before his labours, he moved to the Keep.

The absence of his lord husband was very much felt as the days passed. Aemond sat by one of weirwood trees in the Godswood one afternoon when the Queen approached him. They shared small talk and some sweets she’d summoned for them. Aemond was obsessed with cranberry tarts recently.

She then cornered him. “Tell me brother, how are you, truly?”

The day was sunny and warm, but breezy. Aemond took in a deep breath before he answered his sister-queen.

“As of right now, I am well enough. I like being here, it’s— I feel like it does me good.” He replied sincerely.

Rhaenyra hummed, a gesture that made them so similar at times; she schooled him. “What about your marriage?”

Aemond didn’t catch the way his body tensed in time to mask it, yet his face remained impassive. “What of it?”

“Are you content?”

He pursed his lips and kept quiet, trying to find a way to make it sound the less miserable he could.

“Because if you’re not, all you have to do is ask.” She said after taking his silence for what it was: no.

“Ask?” Aemond winced.

The Queen nodded. “You say the word and I will annul it. There’s no reason for you to be in an uncomfortable or unlovable situation. It’s not benefiting anyone, I don’t need any alliances with your lord husband, he’s not the heir of his house. His brother and father are already sworn to me. As for the child, they’re a Targaryen firstmost, no disgrace will fall upon them, or you, the Queen’s younger brother. Not under my rule.”

Aemond let her words settle, words that filled him with both, relief and dread. It meant the world to him to finally have somebody on his side, to have his back this way, but also that could mean other things. Like a chance to properly be with the one he truly loved. It made him chilly, though, the thought of not being loved the same way in return. The possibilities both scared him and freed him.

“Thank you, your grace.”

Lucerys had come to visit upon learning that Aemond was back in King’s Landing, alone. The alpha flew often from Driftmark.

The second the alpha approached him at night upon his arrival, he'd cornered him, scenting viciously at his neck. “It’s mine, isn’t it?” One of his hands cradled his swollen stomach gently. “I put that baby in your belly?”

Aemond moaned softly, his knees almost giving out.

“Yes,” he’d admitted against his mouth, a private whisper. Then he tried to bite down a smile as he spoke again. “I’m giving you a bastard, bastard.”

Lucerys made sweet, deep love to him that night. It was their truth.

When the baby was born, his husband had been summoned. It was his duty, plus the Queen’s orders. He wasn’t in the birthing room, Dowager Queen Alicent, his mother, was instead.

Aemond birthed a son with violet eyes and soft brown hair that curled at the ends. A curious thing, because his husband was a ginger with icy blue eyes.

But not as curious as the peculiar birthmark the boy carried on one of his little wrists.

“You did well, brother.” Queen Rhaenyra says as she holds her nephew for the first time.

Aemond could only smile a little from where he rested on his bed now. Lucerys was there too, he just arrived quietly. Aemond acknowledged him with a meaningful look.

“How adorable,” Rhaenyra cooed, playing with the newborn baby’s small hand, now tracing the birthmark she noticed there. “You know, Lucerys has the same unique birthmar—” she cut herself off immediately, and the room went tensely quiet.

#I think I have mentioned thid os before so here it is!#lucemond bastard baby ily #jsm old asks release #lucemond #aemond x lucerys #aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #abo lucemond #lucemond drabble #lucemond fic #lucemond fanfic

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 2 years

Text

🔔 FIC RECS!! GET YOUR STEDDIE FIC RECS HERE!!! 🔔

🥰=fluffy • ❤️‍🔥=spicy • 😭=there may be tears • 🖤=READ THE TAGS!!!! • 🙃=will not be the same after reading this • ❤️=they are just straight up in love • 🕰️=timeloop • 👻=ghost fic

Comfort fic: The Shire is NOT on Fire 🥰❤️‍🔥❤️ by @kissesforcas ; the party manages to convince Steve to take them to the ren faire/LARP

Recs:

Take the Money and Run 😭🥰❤️❤️‍🔥🙃 by thisapplepielife; OH MY GOD THIS FIC CHANGED MY LIFE. post s4, everyone lives, nobody dies, Eddie is healed, the party gets their hush money and Eddie convinces Steve to go on a roadtrip with him. They do, Steve has car rules, Eddie navigates, they fall in love, it's absolute perfection and I cried.

i’ve got you under my skin 🥰❤️😭 by @strawberryspence; The Proposal AU and this is THE steddie AU fic, i’m in love with all of it

anyway, don’t be a stranger 😭🙃🖤 by strawberryspence; the party convenes to hear the reading of one Steve Harrington's last will and testament.

bigger than the whole sky 😭🙃🖤 by strawberryspence , @undreaming-fanfiction ; Steve loves the sky, until he doesn't.

A Gem Beyond Counting ❤️❤️‍🔥 by teddywesworl; Eddie comes back from the upside-down not quite all the way right; basically PWP but it's a real good plot underneath, sex pollen, not actually unrequited love (author tagged this with dubcon because of the sex pollen aspect, but it is far from unwanted on either side, just a forewarning just in case!~).

i know you want me baby (i think i want you too) ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 by champselysees; Eddie has been staying with Steve since his trailer was demolished, and Steve comes home early from work one day.

STRIKE TEN 🥰 by oaseas (@metaldeads here on tumblr); S3!STEDDIE MY LOVES!! THE quintessential S3 / "Eddie meets Steve while he's working at Scoops" fic. absolutely perfect in every way.

steve harrington’s six-step guide to getting the guy 🥰❤️ by oaseas; Told in a pseudo 5 + 1 things type way, Steve is giving Lucas advise on his current Max Situation™ by telling him how he's been woo-ing Eddie.

Star Star 😭❤️(mild❤️‍🔥, if i remember correctly) by poorlittlegreenie; modern AU w/ no upside-down, slow burn fake dating that turns into real dating, angst with happy ending.

this is your home. these are your people. 😭🥰 by oaseas; Claudia Henderson and Wayne Munson start getting cozy and Steve feels like there's no room for him in Dustin and Eddie's newfound family.

Be Kind, Rewind 🕰️👻❤️ by @glutenfreeace ; Eddie died. Max dies. They won, but now undead/Ghost!Eddie and Ghost!Max use a portal through the upside down to travel back in time to their 1983 selves in order to fix everything right at the start.

That’s One Romantic Poltergeist ❤️❤️‍🔥👻 by appledagger; Ghost!Eddie fic where only Steve can see him. Just a classic ghost x living fic, angst with a happy ending, smut, just *chef's kiss* muah

like you wanted it forever ❤️ by cpressmn; what Eddie should have done after his "Hey, Steve?"

STEVE’S FIRST BRUISE 🥰 by cairparavels (Spider-man!Steve AU)

Dreams of Summer 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥 by Lazarus_Greene (@transizzyhands here on tumblr, one of my besties IRL!!!!) slice-of-life type fluff and getting together, Steve's dad is an ass, Wayne Munson is the best uncle ever, only the best for the blorbos.

We’re Better Off As Lovers and it’s companion fic We Could Never Be Unhappy 😭❤️‍🔥❤️🖤 by @appledaggerst there’s not much i can say about this one that won’t spoil things, but i promise you it’s so good!!!! modern au

One need not be a House 👻❤️ by @ohliooh; YouTube paranormal investegator!Eddie x Ghost!Steve; the long forgotten son of the Harringtons died alone, and haunts his former home alone. Things change when Eddie and Gareth decide to do some investigating into the Harrington house and their maybe son?

Top Recs/obvious Recs (top Kudos’d on AO3/more well known fics but these are my faves):

You’re Divine 😭🖤❤️‍🔥🙃❤️ by oonionchiver ( @azrielgreen here on tumblr) Kas!vampire!monster!Eddie. Beautiful writing, beautiful smut, beautiful story.

the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you (😭🙃🥰❤️, mild❤️‍🔥) and it’s sequel frozen with joy right where i stand (😭🥰❤️) by @greatunironic ; takes place 16+ years in the future, starting with Max and Lucas' wedding. Certified rockstar Eddie Munson (now Ed Levy) reconnects with basketball coach Steve Harrington and life happens from there.

The One in Which a Time Loop is Fucking Exhausting (😭🙃❤️🕰️) and it’s sequel Steve Harrington’s Deaths (And The Times He Maybe Saved The World). (😭🥰❤️) by @badpancake ; This is the first timeloop fic I read and it remains my favorite.

the affliction of the feeling ❤️‍🔥❤️by nondz (pinkjook) smut, smut, smutty smut, smut. This fic made me fall in love with bottom!Eddie and I haven't let it go since.

Heartbreak Hotline *69 ❤️🥰❤️‍🔥 by appledagger; Eddie and Robin pull a one-time, totally harmless prank on Steve. Key words being "one-time". RIght, Eddie?

Good Ol’ Fashioned Sexuality Crisis During the Apocalypse 🥰😭❤️‍🔥 by words_reign_here; They lost, but didn't lose Eddie, didn't lose Max, now they are just waiting for him to come back. In the meantime, Steve finds out more about himself and introduces his newfound family to his grandparents. Found family, fluff, canon-divergent but close to it.

You Were Sleeping With Your Rings On 😭❤️❤️‍🔥 by its_steddie_time; Steve loves the rain

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