#fic recs 2025

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

There are so many amazing parts in this, I can't even copy them all in here because I would basically just repost the whole fic. You wrote this so beautifully? I can't wrap my head around it. And Din being a sub for his wife? I think that's canon now. Because your writing reads like it's officially canon. It just feels right. Top tier! Catch me re-reading this weekly!

— bedroom hymns

mand'alor!sub!din x wife!dom!reader

rated e - 2.5k

tags: mand’alor!din, sub!din, soft dom!wife!reader, breeding kink, beskar cock cage, reference to needles & birth control, enthusiastic oral sex, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, references to pregnancy

a/n: my fic for @wannab-urs's event - dom that middle aged man! 💖 thank you so much for hosting this (and excited to share, I've always wanted to write sub!din!)

You’d liked this, when you first got together. His desire. How much he wanted to consume you. To take - the weight of his armor pressing into your back, as he drove you into the thin mattress of his bunk.

But this is what you like more. The leash he offers so willingly to you. Eager to obey, even as the collar tightens. Following at your heels.

After all, his duty is to his people. But it’s you that he serves.

His gaze has been on you all night.

You’ve learned the weight of it, even through his helmet. How his eyes find your form, again and again.

Lingering on your face - bare, as the traditions of your clans. On glint of silver against your throat, dipping down to your breasts.

His helmet tilting as he finds you again.

Knowing what he is thinking, for it is on your mind as well.

You’d managed a quick reunion. Lasting no more than a heartbeat, as you met him at his ship. Fingers tracing against your hip, as your lips pressed against the curve of his helmet. Bunching in the whisper-thin silk of your ceremonial dress.

Not finding what he was looking for. A growl, that was cut short.

All too eager to whisk you away, but even with his unexpected arrival, he hadn’t been able to escape his duty.

You’re too far away to hear the debriefing, but you can imagine your husband’s voice getting shorter. Impatient. Clipped.

That’s what two weeks away from you does to him.

Especially with the messages you sent to his holo, two days prior. Waiting until after the negotiations were done.

Giving him everything except what he wanted. Glimpses of flesh, where the gossamer robe wrapped around you. The soft curve of a breast, the fabric pebbled at shadowed peaks.

Glistening fingertips between plump flesh, swollen with desire.

The last was the only one with a message. A small, thin chip pinched between thumb and forefinger.

He’d know what it was.

Had been there when it was placed in your hip, his hand wrapped in yours as the needle pierced flesh.

Had talked about it often, late a night, a shared wish for the future.

One that has come, now.

Come home soon.

Din had been two days away.

After your message - he had made it in one.

He’s on you the moment the bedchamber door closes. Backing you up against the heavy stone. Gripping at your waist, as your face tips to his.

You’d liked this, when you first got together.

His desire.

How much he wanted to consume you. To take - the weight of his armor pressing into your back, as he drove you into the thin mattress of his bunk.

But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“Let me see you.”

There’s no hesitance in the way he reaches for his helmet, and you can feel the space between your thighs dampen.

His dark eyes blown wide with need, when it lifts off his head. Parted lips as he pants, brow furrowed. The thick curls, begging to be tugged.

But this is what you like more.

The leash he offers so willingly to you. Eager to obey, even as the collar tightens. Following at your heels.

After all, his duty is to his people.

But it’s you that he serves.

He moans against the press of your mouth. Once-clumsy kisses now practiced. Your teeth nipping at his lower lip until he opens willingly. Hips rocking against yours when you lick into his mouth.

Red painted against his mouth, from your painted ones.

It’s been far too long.

You’d never tell him, but you’d been waiting as well.

A sigh slipping from your lungs at the hands that skitter up your waist. Almost pawing at you as he mouths at your throat.

The pulse point beneath your ear.

Knowing better than to leave a mark.

That’s only for you - his skin your canvas.

His lips hovering at the necklace - a silver pendant tucked between your breasts. A soft and reverent kiss against it, as his legs start to bend.

Slowly lowering to his knees, as your thighs make room for him.

His nose ghosting against your belly. Down - tilting to kiss against your hip. Your mound, before he’s moving to inhale you.

“Let me.” It’s rasped out, as his eyes tilt up. Fingers gathering the hem that brushes your ankles, as his knees spread against stone.

“You were good?”

Din groans, his mouth pressing against your core. The silk dampening beneath his tongue, sticking the fabric against your slick folds.

His breath hot, and you have to resist the urge to squirm.

“Fuck,” His fingers inch higher. Stroking against soft skin, “You know I was, cyare.”

Your breath hitches, when his knuckles drag against your slit. Something akin to a whine sliding from his throat when he meets bare skin - his earlier curiosity finally sated.

“How did it feel?”

There’s a ragged huff of a laugh. His other hand dropping down to palm at his crotch. Teeth gritting, hips flexing.

Fingers parting you, letting the tip of his finger nudge at your entrance.

“You shouldn’t have sent those messages.”

Your eyebrow arches, your grin sly, “You didn’t like them?”

He makes another rough sound. A hand fisting on the hem of your skirt again - tugging it up until it’s gathered against your abdomen.

Baring you fully - the part of your thighs, where his palm curves against your core. Tongue dipping across his lip in anticipation.

An effort, in the way his eyes drag back up to your face. Voice rough, the scrape of stone against metal.

“You know what you do to me.”

You clench around his finger. Eager for him, though you’ve learned to school your face - a second mask to the one you wear.

How well your husband listens.

The verbal confirmation sending another hot rush of need. Your own fingers slipping down, past his knuckles. Fitting beneath the dip of his chin, petting between your slick thighs.

The tips coming back shining. His mouth parting automatically, as you slip two fingers against his tongue.

“And see what you do to me?”

His eyes slip shut - groaning, as he sucks. Tongue laving against your skin, thankful for anything you give him. Another shift of his hips, his own hand flexing against you, when you slide your fingers free.

Forefinger and thumb against his chin, leaving a gleam of spit behind, as you guide him where he aches to be.

You can feel the heat of his breath for a heartbeat, before his mouth meets you. The moan breathed out against your skin, tongue flattening against your clit.

Hungry, in the way he devours you. Lapping at the tight bud, while his finger remembers how to move. A second added, as his lips wrap around and suck.

It sends waves of bliss coursing through you. A tremble in your legs, before one hooks over his shoulder. A heel pressed against his armor, urging him closer.

He’s all too willing to obey. Losing himself in your pleasure, soft sounds slipping from his throat as he works you open. As his tongue flicks, again and again.

You can already feel it start to build. He’s always known how to touch you, his eagerness and your own self-restraint only fueling the fire in your belly.

“If only they could see you now,” You breathe out, in wonder. Tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck, but it only makes him moan, “On your knees for me.”

His eyes lift to meet yours. Giving himself to you, his mind focused on only one thing - the taste of you against his tongue.

“What would they think, knowing I keep their Mand’alor in a cage?”

A low path slips from him. Another flex of his hips, as his fingers curl against a spot that makes you see stars.

Your next words coming as a soft command.

“Show me.”

You mourn the way his fingers slip from you. Gleaming, as they drop to his armor. Loosening the golden belt, removing the ven'cabur beneath. Drawing himself out.

The light catches on the beskar beneath.

Pretty and gleaming. Ornamental in its design, but your family did come from a long line of forgers.

It had been easy, to craft a piece to compliment him. An extension of his armor. A near-constant reminder of your absence.

For that is what it was.

Not to punish him. Din would never stray, you believed that with your whole heart.

Instead, it was to ensure that he did not spill himself needlessly. That every drop of his essence was spent where it belonged - deep inside his wife’s pretty cunt.

A shared idea. A secret.

He had almost been late in leaving, with the amount of time it had taken to lock it around him. The key left with you, along with his heart.

“Pretty,” You coo. Even better up close, you're sure - though you will have to wait.

He hums in agreement. Focused now, tracing your clit with a pattern he knows will make you cum. The hand leaving his armor to knead the flesh of your ass, tilting your pussy to his mouth.

But you can’t resist teasing him, even as your breath grows short. As your tone catches on an edge, needing to hear it.

The toe of your boot shifting just enough to nudge at him.

“Whose pretty cock is that?”

A groan is muffled against your skin. His rhythm knocked off-kilter, as he mumbles his reply.

“Yours, cyare.”

You’re nearly there. The edges of your vision darkens, heart hammering behind your ribs.

“You-,” You start, as your toes curl. As the pressure builds in your belly, threatening to burst, “You want me to take it off?”

Surely he must feel the pressure of the metal. The way his cock strains with desire against the cage, still held back.

“No.” He rasps.

“Not yet.”

The denial makes you come. A cry leaving your lips as you fall apart against his mouth. As he licks at you eagerly - fingers fitting inside you once more, to give you something to clench around. Feeling the tight pulse around them, against the flat of his tongue.

Letting you ride out your orgasm, the pleasure shared. Hips shifting involuntarily, meeting open air.

And only when your back relaxes against the door, does he allow you to lead him to bed.

You leave marks against his skin, as you move down.

His armor removed carefully. Ritualistically, set aside in the padded crate near your shared bed.

Streaks of red from your lips, their outline lightening as it transfers. Neck, chest, abdomen.

Halting at the one piece he still wears.

The metal encircling him, giving you peeks of swollen skin. A jerk of his hips when you trace against his sack, drawn tight with need.

Then, up.

“You’re dripping.” Your fingers trace against the tip, just brushing the flushed skin beneath.

Coming back shining, his eyes fixed on yours as you taste him with your tongue.

“Is it for me?”

His answer comes in a roughened rush.

“Always.”

You hum, lips curling. Pushing yourself up, letting him watch the way you tug the dress from your shoulders. Baring yourself - the soft sways of your breasts, shifting until your hips rest flush with his.

His hands twitching where you pushed them above his head, warning him not to move.

Your name gritted out, a futile warning, when you shift against the cold metal of the cage.

Letting it slide against your clit, slick with your release. With his need, so wholly restrained.

“Please.” It’s bitten out.

Your fingers play with the necklace. His reaction cataloged away, for later. Eyes fixed on his as you slowly dip back down.

“Should make you wait longer,” You muse, “But you listened, didn’t you?”

He has long enough - you can see it in the way his muscles string tight. The need written across his face, as he watches your movement.

“I would wait,” Din husks, “For as long as you wished it.”

The spark flares to life again. A kiss press against the metal, before your necklace touches against it.

A click as the cage unlatches - careful in the way you ease it from him.

His breath comes in a low hiss, when you touch him. The feather-light drag of your nails against sensitive skin, jerking to life beneath your fingertips.

Hardening, now that he was no longer restrained. Two weeks of that tight pressure eased, and it feels like a fresh breath of air.

He tastes like you, when your mouth presses against his. Tongue stroking against yours when you line him up against your entrance, your fingers struggling to wrap around.

Moaning against your mouth, when you finally sink down.

Finally home.

Finally where he needs to be, as you gasp at the intrusion. His fingers opening you up before, but it’s always a stretch.

Leaving behind a delicious burn, one you’ve craved. Hips rocking as you get used to the weight of him inside you, once more. Until that dull ache bleeds away to bliss.

And finally your hips lift - gliding up the full length of him. Clenching around the tip before you drop back down.

One, two.

Hands braced against his chest as you bounce on his cock, as his own curl into fists. Eyes glazed - lips parted as he watches you, his heart pounding beneath your flattened palms.

Three, four.

Stroking a spot deep inside you, one you’d chase if he wasn’t so far gone. His eyes greedy where he watches you take him, the shine of his cock before it’s buried in you.

Five, six.

It’s then that you lean forward. Lips ghosting against his, pulling back before he can chase after.

“Are you going to give me what I want, riduur?” You croon, testing your teeth against his throat.

His pulse spiking - a rough buzz beneath your lips as he exhales a sharp breath.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Picking up speed, as you nip at his ear.

“Fill me? Get me swollen with you?” A hand ghosting across your belly, as you sigh against him, “Let everyone who you belong to?”

Din growls, but it pitches long. Low, caught in his throat at he shifts beneath you.

“Ner runi, gedet’ye.”

Slipping into your native tongue, as his thoughts slip from his grasp. His begging is a symphony, combined with the slap of your skin against his. With the slick slide of his cock, his panting breath.

“I can’t-," Din husks, "Not going to last.”

Your lips stretch wide with your smile.

“Want you to,” You purr, “Give me what you were made for.”

Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen.

Once again, your husband comes early.

Forgetting himself - his hands coming to grip at the curve of your waist. Denting flesh as he tugs you down, holding you against the rut of his hips as he spills with a muffled shout inside you.

A ragged breath, each time his cock throbs. Wordless moans as two weeks of his desire is spent, filling you until it threatens to spill over.

Until the iron-grip of his fingers relax. Eyes left-heavy lidded. Only tightening when you make to move off him.

Keeping you in place, his cock still notched to the hilt inside you.

“I missed you.” You tell him, fingers tracing his jaw. Against grown-long scruff, flecked with silver.

A kiss pressed against the spot that never fills in all the way. More peppered across his cheek, until his breathing slows.

“Missed you.” It’s huffed out. The flash of teeth, as he draws your mouth to his.

Still hungry, even after all this time. Barely sated, even as he fills you.

“Did you-?” It’s murmured against your lips, when you break to breathe, “You meant it?”

Your eyes are soft, when you grab his hand to your hip. The still-tender spot, letting his thumb press against soft skin.

He groans, low and throaty. Flipping you beneath him, as his eyes drag down your form - as if you have changed, already.

As if it’s already taken, as your thighs widen to make room for him. Letting him slip from you, but his fingers are already there.

Sliding against slick skin. Gathering himself up - where he’s leaked from you. Fucking it back inside, working himself deeper.

Stroking against that spot, as his lips slot against yours.

He’ll make you come again.

Again, and again, if that’s what it takes.

Your husband was always good at giving you what you want.

thank you so much for reading! excited to start this year off like the last - domming our fave old men. 💖

mando'a translations:

cyare - beloved riduur - spouse ven'cabur - codpiece ner runi - my soul gedet’ye - please

[fortunapre]

These are some of my favorites to read so in honor of the new year heres a gift from me to you ★. in no particular order!!!

Oscar Piastri

“(Not so) Invisible String” @scuderiahoney

“stick around” ^^^

“silent connections” @gguk-n

“Ah…” @goldsbitch

“soulmate- first words ask?” @vivwritesfics

Lando Norris

“soulmate- hearing voices ask?” @vivwritesfics

“hands off” @gguk-n

“hypochondria” @goldsbitch

Charles Leclerc

“The one” @gguk-n again!!!

“meant to be” @mariclerc

“past lives” @goldsbitch

Max Verstappen

“hearts attached” @butterflyexe

“in the mind of another” @pierregazly

“What? How?” @gguk-n so technically this one has no name but a poll decided it was max so…

Lewis Hamilton

“to hell with duty” @pucksandpower

“fate accelerates” @gguk-n

Basically if I didn’t include a driver you like… @gguk-n has a whole masterlist here that’s good!

[formulamar]

CONTROVERSIALLY YOUNG GF | PROLOGUE

max verstappen x femalereader

680 words

➛ disclaimer ➛

seven year age gap. please do not read if it makes you uncomfortable!!! completely fictional.

When you began to go out with Max Verstappen you anticipated for the news to make the celebrity gossip pages and cause an uproar among his fans. Afterall, it was Max Verstappen – four time world champion - you could hardly believe it yourself!

Miraculously, you and Max dated for six months without any interference from the media. It's not like your relationship was a secret or anything. Like any other couple you went out to the movies and dinned at nice restaurants. But early on in your relationship you discovered Max was a homebody, like you! So as you grew closer most of your time together consisted of hanging out at his apartment or yours watching movies or talking for hours. Still, everyone in your inner circle was astounded at how long you were able to maintain your relationship out of the media's radar.

Once you hit the six-month mark and it became clear to both you and Max that your relationship was serious you had a discussion about how outside discourse from the media would affect your relationship. Although you had only been with Max for six months you had witnessed how invasive fans and the media could be. You constantly saw articles discussing Max's private relationships with his family and his team. Every word, every action, every glance was examined and scrutinized. Max often joked that the more interviews he did the more he wished to move somewhere isolated and live out the rest of his days with you far from the judgment of anyone else. But you knew he loved driving too much to retire so early on in his career even with all of his success.

As always Max was direct, "The media is going to be annoying. They're going to make up the most ridiculous stories you've ever heard. Honestly, the best thing we can do is try ignore them as much as we can." You both agreed, the smartest decision was to take control of the narrative instead of running the risk of having your relationship leaked. So you decided to attend a beginning of the season Redbull event with Max. It was a well documented event and important media figures and photographers would be present. The timing was a bonus. Everyone was focused on the upcoming season and most of their curiosity was concentrated on the new car rather than the personal lives of the drivers. It was a perfect way to debut your relationship to the media.

That night approached quickly, and it would be a lie to say it wasn't one of the most nerve-racking nights of your life. As someone who wasn't famous it was intimidating to be exposed to that world. Luckily, your boyfriend saved you from overthinking. Max was reassuring and attentive the entire night. On the car ride to the event, he made sure to hold your hand and make casual conversation as if it were any other night. He also organized for you guys to enter through the back, away from the paparazzi. Throughout the whole night he barely left your side and when he did he made sure you were comfortable. These small details helped you stay grounded.

Overall, it was a good night. It was nice to finally meet members of the team who had such close bonds with Max. You loved hearing all the stories about Max's victories and his race weekend habits. It was obvious that his team adored him and that only confirmed what you had felt in your heart since the day you first met him -- he was a keeper. You and Max went home confident that you had beaten the media. What could they even say? Max was in a new relationship and he was happy. There was nothing else to it.

Except you made the mistake of glossing over a detail the media would never forget. Before you, Max had only dated women older than him. And you were six years younger than Max.

The next morning you woke up with a new identity. Max Verstappen's controversially young girlfriend.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: happy 2025 everyone 🫧 i had this idea… so i decided to go through with posting the first part. i’m thinking writing + social media posts! what do we think??? i’m open to suggestions so don’t be afraid to comment or inbox me!

[lonely-night]

In which 40 year-old CEO Rio Vidal is named one of the most eligible bachelorettes, 26 year-old Agatha sees her in a bar, and Jennifer makes a bet that Agatha can’t possibly bed the seemingly straight CEO… Rio never stood a chance.

>>> immovable object, unstoppable force by 324b2fun

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

Oh Jana, where do I start?

I'm so glad we switched our prompts because you wrote the heavy and painful parts (basically the whole story) with so much lightness and tenderness like I never could have.

You incorporated my words so well in your own writing and make it blend together so effortlessly like it's been one piece the whole time.

This truly is YOUR fic, your idea, your work and it is a glorious first Frankie for you as well!

Once again I am in awe of your talent 💛

epiphany

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

word count: ~2.8k

tags/warnings: angst, descriptions of injuries, fluff, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n

summary: after a helicopter crash, frankie wakes up in a strange place.

a/n: once again i apologize for the pain i'm about to inflict on you. this was written for @almostfoxglove's angst challenge which i'm so so soooo late for (i'm sorry freya!) and this was originally @sizzlingcloudmentality's prompt/moodboard, but we were both going through the worst writer's block of our lives and thought switching might help (it did not), so the first thousand beautiful words are hers! <3 also thank you for beta reading and for all the yap sessions about this one in particular my love!

for an extra sad experience, listen to epiphany by taylor swift while reading :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

notifications blog -> @guiltyasdavenotifs & full masterlist -> here

It is all noise, deafening noise, roaring rotors, beeping instruments, flickering lights, blinking warnings, screaming metal, screaming people, his own voice, so loud it made his ears ring. Then he saw it. Again. His mom, cradling him, his dad, telling him he was a good boy, Juan, his first cat, curled up in his lap. Friends, his brothers, most of them dead now, rotting in graves, the women he loved. His baby momma. His child, smiling up at him, tiny, fat hands grabbing into the air. Fuck, his life was flashing before his eyes. Again. How often would he have to see this, all his good moments and why were there bad moments, too?

A massive jolt goes through the helicopter as he hits the ground and now the smell of copper, fuel and earth fills his nostrils. Wet, dark, quiet earth. The smell of a grave. The beeping and whimpering blurs into one soundscape, a wave of sounds on which Frankie slips away as his eyes close shut. Dark, quiet earth. Like a grave.

A sheep. Or more than one? They bleat. They coax him out of his unconsciousness, every sound a beacon for his mind to find his way back into consciousness. Out of the dark peacefulness, back into the light. Frankie groans, everything hurts, not only his body, his whole existence hurts, feels broken and ripped. The sunlight cuts through between his eyelids, blinding him, but that is what he wants, the light. He needs the light.

He shields his eyes and finds himself in a meadow. Poppies, cornflowers, grass. Wet, rich earth under his palm as he tries to push himself up. The buzzing of insects. And the bleating sheep. He finds himself in a dream of cottage life. Then he turns his head and sees the helicopter, the carcass of the metal beast he tried to fly too close to the sun. Like Icarus he came crashing down.

He doesn’t have to check, he knows “a fatal crash with zero survivors” when he sees one. Frankie got lucky, again. Somehow death spared him, he always does. Maybe the old fella took a liking in watching Frankie fuck up his life over and over again. 

Military training kicks in, he checks himself for injuries and finds no major ones. Maybe a broken rib or two, a concussion for sure. He grunts and pushes himself onto his knees, crying out in pain that he doesn’t even know where it’s coming from. 

A furry head appears out of the tall grass, white curls, pink nose, floppy ears, black and vigilant eyes. The snout opens and a bleat comes out. Like a complaint for this human being. To better not disturb the peace in this meadow any further with his mediocrity of surviving yet another accident that should have killed him.

“Sorry,” Frankie mutters and finds the energy to rise to his feet. Shaky, wobbly, the scent of earth and grass clinging to his damp clothes and skin. “You know somewhere for me to find help?”

Another bleat, then the sheep turns and starts wading through the tall grass with all the time in the world. Frankie watches the little bum disappear between green blades dotted with red poppies. He might as well follow the animal. Perhaps he will find a shepherd this way. Or a good shepherd may find him. God knows Frankie is in desperate need of some guidance. Or at least medical attention.

So he starts walking, more limping than anything else, his boots cutting a swath through the grass and flowers, every step causing mayhem for bees and bugs. The sheep, a few steps ahead of Frankie, sways through the meadow like a ship through green waves. It doesn’t turn around once, doesn’t turn towards its herd, the animal simply follows an invisible path that Frankie can’t see. Maybe he is losing it now, following an animal after having a fatal crash like it was his guide. But he had done weirder things in his life. Maybe he had hit his head really hard on the ground when he got thrown out of the helicopter. 

His head hurts, his legs hurt, breathing hurts as well, but the scent of summer and peace fills his hurting lungs and every breath soothes the stinging and rippling in his chest.

It takes some time, but finally, after hobbling behind the sheep, the meadow opens into a clearing, a gravel pathway starting to show and leading to a cottage. A small house with walls made out of stones, big and small, various shades and colors, a crooked roof, ducking under some trees as if it was hiding from the eyes of anyone who was not welcome. The birdsong sounds different now, too. 

Another bleat and the sheep starts trotting towards the house, the front door open wide. Silence. There is no sound to be heard, no voices, no music playing, no banging of pots and pans. Just birds, humming insects, the sheep drinking water from a bowl. Peace, comes to Frankie’s mind as if someone had seeded the word into his brain.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there, on a creaky bench in front of the house, basking in the last warm rays of the sun before it hides behind the trees. Ten minutes maybe, or an hour. His thoughts were flowing molasse thick behind his forehead. Thoughts about the crash, thoughts about the lives he has on his list, thoughts about who might miss him if he disappeared for good this time. 

His eyes flutter shut. The sunlight is warm on his skin, painting the darkness behind his eyelids orange. It’s like he’s floating away, on his way to the sun once more.

“Francisco?” 

Your voice is soft, almost as if the wind had whispered his name. He opens his eyes, turns his back on the painless bliss of unconsciousness once more.

Rays of the setting sun frame you where you’re standing in front of him, giving you a warm glow, illuminating the flowing fabric of the dress that you’re wearing. He doesn’t question how you know his name, how you feel familiar even though he’s certain that he’s never seen you before. He must have hit his head really hard.

“I— I crashed,” he croaks, his voice hoarse and the words scraping his throat on their way out. 

His hand vaguely gestures in the direction he came from, but he can’t see the helicopter anymore, no sign of the crash either, only seemingly endless fields of grass and wildflowers, with trees in the distance. How far did he walk? 

You nod, seemingly unsurprised. The sheep that led him there nudges your hand with its snout and you scratch through the wool around its ears, muttering what sounds like thank you. It bleats at him once more, before finally trotting back to its herd, blending into the white dots among the green. 

You pick up the wooden basket you had been carrying and tip your head towards the open door. Your eyes had been trained on his face, but when he stands up on unsteady legs, they trail down his frame, lingering on his side where blood has been seeping through his shirt and the stained fabric is clinging to his skin uncomfortably. He barely registered the pain while he was sitting there, but now, it grows to full intensity. Maybe it’s more than a concussion and a cracked rib after all. 

He follows you over the threshold, taking in his surroundings. The stony walls, littered with mismatched wooden shelves, filled with books and flowerpots. Small windows through which the evening light is filtering in. Worn down furniture, cushions that he would love to sink his tired body into right now. An earthy, heavy scent, cleansing his mind and his lungs. 

For the first time in years, there’s no underlying need for the artificial high that has kept his head over water and simultaneously pulled him under. 

“We need to clean you up,” you say, eyeing his bloody shirt again. 

You lead him up a wooden staircase, creaks accompanying his every step, and into a small bathroom. The light from a round window reflects off forest green tiles, mesmerizing him. You fill up a bathtub, adding oils from little glass bottles, until a herbal scent is wafting around him. 

Carefully, you help him strip off his clothes down to his underwear. Lifting his arms hurts like hell and he sucks in a harsh breath when his shirt unsticks from the open wound on his left. Some of the pain eases as soon as he sinks down into the warm water, a grateful sigh falling from his lips. You smile at that, a small, timid thing, and he wants to keep looking at you, wants to make you smile again, but you settle on the stone floor at his back, pushing down on his shoulders until most of his body is submerged. 

With a cloth, you start on his face, cleaning off mud and dried blood, so gently that it barely stings when you touch scratches on his skin. You move on to his hair, letting him lean back, your fingers massaging over his scalp, easing the tension, the worry that he’s carrying around with him. Finally, you probe at his rips under the water’s surface, fingertips dancing over the open wound there. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it feels less heavy, less biting somehow. 

Your hands trace over the scars littering his torso in gentle touches, soothing phantom pains that have long passed. “I’m sorry about these,” he thinks he hears you say, so quietly that he’s not sure if the words were meant for him to understand. 

“‘s not your fault,” he murmurs, his eyelids drooping shut once more as he sinks deeper into the warm water. 

He awakens surrounded by soft white bedding, a wooden ceiling with exposed beams over his head and the light of early sunrise falling into the room, painting it golden. He stretches without thinking, only a sting at his ribcage reminding him of the day before. 

It all feels like he’s walking through a dream, one too beautiful to disturb. So, he doesn’t wonder how he came here, who you are, why you seem to know him, how you seemingly healed most of his injuries simply by giving him a bath. If this is what an actual dream feels like, not the nightmares he usually has, he doesn’t want to wake up. 

Everything feels easy, here, with you. There don’t seem to be any clocks in the cottage, so he has no idea what time it is, but it must be early morning. Still, he finds you in a small garden behind the house, tending to vegetables that you’re growing there. 

He feels your gaze flying over him, like you’re checking what state he’s in. Then, with a smile, you start explaining what you’re doing. Which plants to water, which vegetables are ready to be harvested. He works alongside you, naturally, like he’s always done this. It feels good, using his hands and body like this. Growing something, helping someone, doing good. 

He follows you to the small kitchen, watches you prepare things, storing them in a pantry. You explain which herbs you are growing in small pots on a windowsill, handing them to him one by one to let him smell them. 

The sun is rising higher, warming the air floating in through the open backdoor. You take his hand and pull him outside again, walking down an invisible path through the green fields surrounding the cottage. Bees are buzzing in the wildflowers around you and the sheep are bleating occasionally, watching the two of you with curious eyes, but not coming closer to investigate. 

You’re wearing a dress again, the skirt flowing around your ankles in the light breeze and the sunlight illuminating your figure as you skip a few steps ahead of him. Frankie can’t help himself, picking a few of the flowers and handing them to you. His heart almost cracks at your wide smile when he gives them to you, your fingertips grazing his. 

Back at the cottage, you put them into a vase on the kitchen counter, the flowery scent mixing with the house’s earthy notes in no time. It’s a small thing, but in a way, it's a trace of his presence here. It’s almost scary how much Frankie likes that thought.

It becomes a routine, as easy as breathing. The two of you taking care of the garden first thing in the morning, then a walk through the fields. The sheep start coming closer, even though they don’t let him pet them the way they do with you. He barely hurts anymore, the wound at his side almost completely healed. 

In the evenings, you make tea from the herbs that you’re growing. Frankie has never liked tea, always proud to be a black coffee guy, but this one is different. It calms him, slows his thoughts down and fills him with a peace he didn’t know life had to offer. And it’s something that you made. For him, to care for him. 

One night, you’re both sitting in front of the fireplace, watching the flames and listening to them crackling. He starts telling you about his past, about all the regrets that haunt him. About the men that he’s killed, about all the pain and sadness that he’s responsible for. About the woman and child that he abandoned, all to chase a high that he knew was unreachable. 

He feels lighter, afterwards, like a shadow has lifted from his heart. You take his hand and rest it on your thigh. Your fingertip dances over his open palm, drawing delicate shapes over the calloused lines of his skin. 

“All the violence it took you to become this gentle,” you sigh. 

Your smile is sad, and he wants to kiss it off your lips. He’s never felt gentle one day in his life, has always been made of brute force and rough edges, but here, with you, he thinks you might be right.

With every passing day, the peace seeps deeper into his bones. Maybe it’s not a dream. Maybe everything that happened before was the dream, a nightmare, and he finally woke up.

That evening, you’re singing while preparing dinner. He puts down his knife and the potatoes he’s been chopping and takes your hand instead. You grin at him, still singing as he sways the both of you around to the melody. His heart aches at the sound of your laugh. 

He pulls you closer, leaning in, eyes darting to your lips. For a second, he could swear that you’re moving towards him too. Then you sigh, one hand coming up to rest on his chest, stopping him. He freezes. 

“Frankie, you— We can’t. You can’t stay here” 

Suddenly, his whole body feels cold.

“Why not? I want to be here. With you.” 

Under other circumstances, he’d be ashamed of the whine in his voice. 

“Your time hasn’t come yet.”

“What do you mean, my time hasn’t—” 

Tears well up in your eyes. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip. 

“I’ve already kept you longer than I should have. I’m sorry, Frankie. You have more life to live. I’ll protect you, just like I have before.”

Before he can say another word, before he can even attempt to understand, your arms wrap around him. Your lips sink down onto his, just as soft as he imagined, just as sweet. 

Then, everything dissolves. The stone walls around him, the setting sun through the window, the scent of herbs and fresh flowers. It leaves only the feel of your warm body, your lips on his. Until that disappears, too.

His eyes fly open, seeing nothing at first. Sound erupts around him like an explosion. Blurry shapes move in his periphery. The air is thick with smoke, his ears are ringing. His mouth tastes of blood. Hands are frantically pulling at him, moving him, shouting at him, around him, in words that he can’t make out. 

It’s like he’s watching, barely present in his body as someone feels his wrist for a pulse, shines a light into his eyes, checks his body for injuries. He doesn’t understand. He was good, he was healing. He was at peace. 

His body is limp as he gets strapped onto a stretcher. They may be talking to him, he thinks.

“He must’ve had a guardian angel,” someone next to him says. 

Frankie isn’t listening. He’s scanning the treeline, the landscape around him. It was all right here, the sheep, the meadow. 

It’s like you’re still right there, the phantom of your presence next to him, but he can’t see you anymore. Just like it was before, he could swear he hears you whisper.

thank you so much for reading <3 as always, comments and reblogs are love, i'm so excited to hear what you think!

[hazzashouse]

The Space Between Us (Harry Styles series)

Hi 🩷 Welcome to Chapter Two of The Space Between Us. I’m so excited for this series that I just couldn’t wait any longer to post the next chapter. Also let me know if you’d like to be added to a tag list!

CHAPTER ONE: HERE

CHAPTER THREE: HERE

Triggers: Brief mentions of fainting, unspoken feelings, and emotional tension.

Pairing: Harry Styles x Sophie Pearson

Word Count: 3,522 Words

I hope you enjoy this chapter! 🩷

tag list: @lizsogolden

Chapter Two: The One I Could Never Tell

It was a summer evening, the kind where the sun lingered lazily on the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. Sophie sat cross-legged on the back porch of the Styles’ family home, a melting popsicle in her hand. Harry was lying on the grass, staring up at the sky, humming softly to himself.

The faint tune was familiar—it was the melody of a song he had been working on for weeks, scribbling lyrics into his notebook whenever inspiration struck.

“What do you think of this line?” he had asked earlier, holding up the notebook for her to see. The page was filled with messy scrawls, words crossed out and rewritten.

“It’s good,” she had said, though her mind was barely focused on the lyrics.

Because for the first time, Sophie wasn’t just looking at Harry. She was seeing him.

The boyish grin that seemed to light up every room. The way his curls fell messily over his forehead. The faint dusting of freckles across his nose.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but something had shifted.

Her chest felt tight, and her stomach flipped as she watched him laugh at something she didn’t even hear.

“Oh no,” she whispered to herself, realizing what it was.

She had a crush on her best friend.

————————

Sophie’s eyelids fluttered open, and the world slowly came back into focus. Her head throbbed, and she could feel the scratchy fabric of the couch beneath her.

“What happened?” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

“You fainted,” came a voice from beside her. Sophie turned her head to see her cousin Lizzie perched on the armrest, concern etched across her face.

“I… fainted?” Sophie repeated, frowning.

“Yep. One minute you were standing there, clipboard in hand, and the next you were out cold.” Lizzie tilted her head, studying Sophie carefully. “What’s going on with you? You’re usually unshakable.”

Sophie hesitated, sitting up slowly. The room spun for a moment before settling.

“I thought I saw…” She trailed off, the memory rushing back. The doorway. The suit. The dimples.

“No,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It couldn’t have been.”

“What?” Lizzie pressed, leaning closer.

“I thought I saw Harry,” Sophie said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lizzie blinked, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh, Soph,” she said between giggles. “It’s not your imagination. That was Harry.”

Sophie froze. “What?”

“Harry. Styles. The Harry. He’s here,” Lizzie said, enunciating each word like Sophie was a child. “Apparently, he’s been keeping in touch with Anthony all these years. He’s even staying for the wedding.”

Sophie’s mind reeled. “He’s here?”

“Yeah, but don’t freak out. He’s with Anthony right now. Something about catching up and looking at the venue.”

Sophie pressed a hand to her forehead. “This can’t be happening.”

Lizzie leaned back, crossing her arms. “Why are you so worked up about this? I thought you guys were childhood besties.”

“We were,” Sophie emphasized. “But that was a long time ago. We haven’t spoken in years. Not since…” She trailed off, unwilling to revisit that last argument.

“Not since what?” Lizzie prompted, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sophie said quickly, standing up. Her legs felt unsteady, but she forced herself to focus. “I need to check on the seating chart.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Lizzie said, grabbing her arm. “You’re not avoiding this. What happened between you two?”

“Lizzie, I swear to God—”

Whatever threat Sophie was about to issue was cut short by the sound of footsteps.

Both women turned toward the doorway just as Harry stepped into the room.

He was still dressed in his suit, though his tie was loosened now, giving him a more relaxed appearance. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he had run his hands through it one too many times.

Harry’s green eyes locked onto Sophie’s, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

“Sophie,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“You’re awake,” he continued, stepping closer. “Are you okay? You gave us all a bit of a scare.”

“I… I’m fine,” Sophie stammered, her cheeks burning.

Lizzie looked between them, clearly enjoying the awkward tension. “I think I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she said, slipping out of the room before Sophie could stop her.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Sophie fidgeted with the hem of her blouse, while Harry shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you,” Harry said eventually, his voice low and sincere.

“You didn’t,” Sophie lied.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because fainting isn’t exactly a typical reaction.”

She sighed, dropping her gaze. “I wasn’t expecting to see you, that’s all.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” he admitted, his tone hesitant.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Harry hesitated, his eyes searching hers. “Because I left. And I didn’t come back.”

Sophie’s heart clenched at the words, but she forced a smile. “It’s been a long time, Harry. We’ve both moved on.”

“Have we?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched, but she quickly masked it with a laugh. “You’re here for Anthony’s wedding. Let’s focus on that.”

Harry didn’t press the issue, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary.

Before either of them could say anything else, Anthony’s voice called from outside.

“Harry! Come on, mate, we’re gonna be late for the rehearsal!”

Harry glanced toward the door, then back at Sophie. “I guess I should go.”

She nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah. You should.”

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but instead he gave her a small nod and walked out.

Sophie sank back onto the couch, her heart pounding. She had a feeling that this wedding was going to be far more complicated than she had anticipated.

————————

CHAPTER THREE: HERE

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[meidui]

my favourite fics of 2024!! ♡

❤️‍🩹 Therapy Works (if your therapist isn't a Hydra agent) by @16woodsequ

Tony accidentally stumbles onto the fact that Steve isn't holding things together quite as well as he makes it look. As awkward as it is at first, Tony's been there, and he finds himself reaching out to him.

But the more he tries to push past Steve's walls the more he realises just how deep his issues go. And they all seem to be pointing in one direction.

Should he really be surprised to find SHIELD is at the root of it?

🤖 Administrative Access Only by @frankthesnek

Ever since Tony had called him to the workshop and shown off his shiny new suit with all its pretty gold panels and fancy new features, Steve couldn't stop thinking about it. Being attracted to the Iron Man armor was nothing new to Steve. It was a fantasy he kept in his back pocket for when he was alone and horny and desperate to come. But he had never acted on it... until now.

🫧 Suds 'n Studs by @fohatic

Tony didn't mean to hire some super hot, young guy to take his clothes off for money -- honestly! He just wanted somebody to wash his cars! But accidents happen when you let your AI do the hiring for you, apparently. Now the recent divorcee has an awkward apology to make. He also has as an invitation to subscribe to Steve's OnlyFans. What he doesn't have is any clue what he should do in this situation.

💎 (step)daddy by @areiton

Howard's new trophy is floating in the water, his head tipped back, hair a dark gold floating in a halo around his peaceful face.

He’s wearing the tiniest scrap of fabric that could be considered a swimsuit, miles of muscle and smooth flesh and a closed eyed smile that’s surprisingly sweet.

He didn’t think that whatever whore Howard had wed could possibly be sweet, but he stares at the omega floating in his pool, and wonders if he’s wrong. 

👑 'cause you're my king and i'm your lionheart by @cinderellasfella

It’s not often that a king makes a personal visit for a single prisoner. As it is, Thor has enough burdens resting upon his shoulders, but this one… this one is a special case.

💍 the best laid plans by @cinderellasfella

In the post-battle lull, Tony catches both Steve and himself off guard with a very important question.

📸 Picture This by @stovetuna

“What if—” Steve doesn’t clear his throat this time. He swallows. And oh, Tony watches like it’s happening in slow motion, the tensing of tendons, the roll of Steve’s Adam's apple, the way his suprasternal notch collapses and fills as his esophagus works to, what, keep words down? Saliva? A moan? Steve blinks and the glassiness clears. The blush all but vanishes. “Never mind,” he mutters.

And that…that just won’t do.

Tony leans forward ever so slightly over the foot of the bed, further into Steve’s space by a fraction of an inch. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Steve does. He stares at Tony from up near the headboard, a plaintive expression deep behind his eyes, a problem that Tony can’t help but want to fix.

“Would you like my help, Steve?”

***

Steve gets caught attempting to take his first-ever dick pics. It's a struggle, he explains, because it brings up a whole host of lingering body image issues. Tony, very gallantly and not at all because he is in love with Steve, offers to take the photos for him.

[Cue: "Careless Whisper."]

🛏️ Situation Normal: All Fucked Up by @kandisheek

Tony had a foolproof plan.

Step 1: Get Steve into bed with him. Step 2: ? Step 3: Live happily ever after.

Sure, it could use some work, but success was guaranteed. No one is more shocked than him when it doesn't work out quite like he planned.

[geevesthevieve]

2024 Batfam (Dick Grayson) fic recs that got me good!

Just thought I'd share a few fics that really got me this last year (I'll try to keep them generally diverse). They're not necessarily written in 2024, but that's when they found me 🙃 --(warning: I'm Dick Grayson biased 😁) They are in no specific order other than when I read them during the year.

Tired by LittleLadybugs (104K words)

summary: Spyral had broken something in Dick. -- When he returned to Gotham, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and keep going. He was the fun one. The easy smile, the glue that held everyone together. But what happens when the rock reaches his breaking point? -- After two years of pretending, Dick starts to crack. -- Now to keep his family from finding out. OR -- Dick self-destructs. -- Featuring both the angstiest of angst and the author's attempts at humor to stop their tears from drowning the keyboard. Read at your own peril.

[Main Relationship: Dick and the batsiblings (with a good emphasis on Dick & Damian and Dick & Wally)--Bruce is not a great person in this]

My Thoughts: This is a long, dark, angsty one that really broke me, if your into that. It's very heavy, but it has some beautiful moments between Dick and Damian.

Borderline by TheResurrectionist (@frownyalfred on tumblr) (67.8K words)

summary: A mysterious force connects the Batfamily's minds together.

[Main Relationship: Bruce & his kids (but it also has one of my favorite dynamics between Dick & Jason!)]

My Thoughts: This fic is not just my favorite fic I read this year. It's honestly one of my favorite fics EVER!!! I don’t know if I’ll be able to gush about this one enough! It’s soooooo freaking good!!! The plot has the batfam bound in this mysterious way that they all have to learn to understand. The depth of the concept is incredible. The stakes are built up and so painfully shown through Bruce’s eyes as he loves his kids so much. The relationships and bonds in this were breathtaking! I’m really hoping for some sequels in this coming year!

Goon of the *effing* Year by AceOfDivineChlorophyll (11.2K words)

summary: Red Hood’s men are worried. Red Hood got hit by something nasty that has him laid up for days, and everyone is starting to get nervous. Fortunately, a few off-hand comments by a not so lucid Red Hood give them all the hints they needed to get the perfect cure for their boss, a cop by the name Dick Grayson.

[Main Relationship: Dick & Jason]

My Thoughts: If you like some good old awkward cuddles and some tasty angst between estranged brothers, this is the fic for you! This one was so funny and painful with a good old identity reveal. I loved it!

Cuckoo's Song by FromDustReturned (1K words)

summary: There's a cooling gun in Jason's hand and the echo of a gunshot thundering in his ears.

[Main Relationship: Dick & Jason and Tim kind of...]

My Thoughts: This is the shortest fic on this list, but it's also one of the most well-crafted. It's so creative! Only 1000 words in total - 10 chapters with 100 words each. It tells the story backwards, and I was just so impressed with what they were able to do in such little words. It was brilliant!!!

Your Continental Divides by isawet and reisling (27.7K words)

summary: This story is about the aftermath of Nightwing #93, where Dick Grayson is assaulted by Tarantula during the Blockbuster arc. -- When running doesn't work and working doesn't work, home is the place you go where they have to take you in. Dick's home has never been Gotham; it's always been the people.

[Main Relationship: Dick and everyone]

My Thoughts: It’s always tricky recommending fics that deal with Dick’s assault from Catalina, but this one was incredible!! I think it handles the heavy subject in such an amazing way. The weight of it, the pain, the tenderness from those around Dick. It blew me away. The strength of Dick Grayson will always astound me, and this fic highlights that strength beautifully.

We're Not Dead (We Walk) by orpheusaki (4.8K words)

summary: Dick is overwhelmed for a moment, filled with clarity and inexplicable confusion as he blinks around him bleary-eyed. There's the familiar itching covering his skin, tiny grains of dark sand invading the cuts that have torn through his suit from the crash. -- He coughs, throat dry and closing with every gasp of harsh air. The desert is as unforgivable as the last time he was here, an empty expanse of dunes that might just be a trick of the heavy sun against the back of his neck. Dick pushes the panic away behind his eyelids, savoring the darkness before opening his eyes again. -- Immediately, he sees Tim. -- Unconscious, hunched over, covered in blood and sand Tim. -- (Dick and Tim get stranded in the desert, Dick is always moving forward.)

[Main Relationship: Dick & Tim]

My Thoughts: A really great Dick and Tim whump fic! They’re both hurt and trying their best to take care of each other. We also get one of my favorite things in a wonderfully self-sacrificing Dick giving his all for his little brother ❤️

You Will Be the Death of Me by sunlitlemonade (3.2K words)

summary: So conclusions: either he is here at the mercy of someone who wants to play a little before they try killing him — a mistake despite Jason’s condition, not killing him when they had the chance severely diminishes their future success rate for that fun little activity when he is awake, if not completely fucks it over — or someone who is trying to help him. The second conclusion is just as befuddling as the first because not only does Jason not remember what had left him needing help, he doesn’t know who would help. -- He is not without allies but said allies come with a price. -- “I can’t tell if you’re having a nightmare or throwing a tantrum with your eyes closed.” -- He knew that voice. A source of annoyance but reliable. Trustworthy, his brain supplied. -- Warm, came another, frankly unnecessary, addition. -- Nobody and nothing had been warm for Jason Todd and he would like to stop being lied to right this fucking instant.

[Main Relationship: Dick & Jason]

My Thoughts: Dick takes care of an injured Jason, and it scares Jason to be loved. Great loving, angsty fic between these two brothers.

Equal Magnitude, Opposite Direction by vmkhoney (7.5K words)

summary: “This is why you’re my favorite.” Dick says. -- “We both know that’s not true.” Clark says. -- “What? Are you my favorite for a different reason?” But there’s something strange in his voice, and Bruce recognizes it as the tone he uses when he’s trying to slide past something without addressing it. -- “Dick.” Clark says, mildly reproachful. -- “…yeah. I know.” Dick says, quiet. “But he wouldn’t believe me if I said so.” -- OR -- Three times Bruce thought he wasn’t his sons favorite hero, and one time he knew he wasn’t.

[Main Relationship: Bruce & his kids -- with a small side emphasis with Dick & Damian]

My Thoughts: Sweet fic where Bruce realizes he's most of his kids favorite and understands why he's not for the one that he isn't. It's a little sweet one.

Mother Bruce and His Baby Birds by lurkinglurkerwholurks (@lurkinglurkerwholurks) (12.2K words)

summary: Snapshots of Bruce asking different children if they would like to be adopted. -- GoodDad!Bruce is very important to me. Crying over happy things is very important to me. Found families are very important to me. So here we are.

[Main Relationship: Bruce & his kids]

My Thoughts: Super adorable and sweet! Enjoy the fluffiness!!! In general, I’ve been reading a lot of this author lately (Eventually, I'll make my favorite authors list for here and gush about their amazingness). A few of my personal faves by this author are ‘Open Line’ --Dick&Bruce fluff with a droplet of angst, ‘Breathing’ --Bruce&Jason angst with some fluff woven in (from Dick's pov), and ‘Child of the Manor’ --Dick's pov with Bruce taking care of his babies --just as a little bonus 😄

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! I wish a wonderful year to you all!! Hopefully, there will be some great fics to read this year too! 🥳 (And maybe I'll be better about writing mine as well)

[ninadove]

AO3 reading year in review 📚

Tagged by @teafig! Here’s a fraction of the fics I enjoyed this year! 💖

JANUARY: Of Wishes and Feathers by @trishacollins {Miraculous 🦚}

Little Felix spends an afternoon being entertained by his aunt.

Trisha wrote this for me because I am the most spoiled girl in the world! 💜 We need more Felix and Emilie in the world urgently. Someone make it your 2025 resolution. I demand it

FEBRUARY: my wings and my eyes by @bittersweetresilience {Honkai: Star Rail 🚂}

Jing Yuan is tired, but he has been tired for a long time now.

Sunny gets February for no reason other than it is Official Shipping Month and its prose single-handedly got me into Renjing. This fic in particular is so loving and tender… 🥺 There is nothing Sunny cannot write and these two idiots have helped prove it time and time again!

MARCH: I miss you more than anything by @sillyangstfic {Miraculous 🦚}

Felix reaches out to Adrien a few months after his mother's death to see if he would like to come visit. Adrien thinks that this is a great idea! Gabriel, not so much.

This was not yet published in March but WHO CARES THE VIBES FIT. Felix cares so much and the Adrien/Dandelion angst is, as the youth say, fire 🔥

APRIL: thirteen by @anna-scribbles {Miraculous 🦚}

The house was never something that belonged to him, and it still isn’t, no matter how many documents boast his name in bold print. Adrien has always belonged to it, though, like a dog tethered to a chain, like a ghost to its unfinished business.

//

The end of the world began on the day Adrien Agreste turned thirteen years old.

What can I say about thirteen that hasn’t already been said? I picked it for April because reasons, but it’s been a highlight of my entire winter and spring. The Adrien Fic Ever 🌼

MAY: love thorns all over this rose by @thevioletthread {Miraculous 🦚}

there's a boy knocking on her window. she lets him in.

[Doodles a tiny heart on your window]

[Kisses you in front of the sunrise]

[Gets down on one knee]

Alexandria, will you raise a hamster with me? 💜🦚❤️🐉

JUNE: Of Broken Bones and Promises by @bright-thehawksflight {Cyrano de Bergerac 🪶}

Christian had a leg amputated, and the two loves of his life manage to simultaneously save his life, plan for the tough times to come, and pine all over the Arras battlefield.

Lisa is the reference when it comes to Cyrano and Greek mythology fanfics. I think about the amputation-hug scene three times per week 🥺

JULY: Candle In The Wind by @phieillydinyia {Miraculous 🦚}

Someone was screaming. A horrific, guttural sound that infected the entire night with sorrow. He wondered if it was the ghosts of the people he'd just killed. He wondered if they'd come back to haunt him, to follow his every waking move, to never let him forget the way he'd demolished them into dust.c

The sound pounded through his head, threatening to burst open his eardrums, determined to push him to a breaking point. Collapsing to his knees, Chat Noir had to pause to draw in a deep breath.

It was only then that he realized the person screaming was him.

The highlight of my summer! A role reversal AU of the movie that includes the songs. How cool is that. (The answer is very cool. Mwah 💖)

AUGUST: If I hold you too close by @bbutterflies {Miraculous 🦚}

Paris didn’t come to a screeching halt for akumas anymore. They were so commonplace, so frequent, no one stopped their lives unless they were in danger. They trusted the heroes to fix everything if something did go wrong, save them if they got hurt. Adrien was still fighting the urge to find Plagg and go running into battle.

Plagg wasn’t here, though.

ADRINO ANGST MGRRRGRRRRR

SEPTEMBER: Luminous strike by @faiirygrahamdevanily {Miraculous 🦚}

Orders controlled the younger twin

Like a bird with a clipped wing

Silver metal out of his hand

The peacock at the monster's command

MY BIRTHDAY GIFT!!!! THAT CAME WITH ITS OWN MOODBOARD!!!! HELL YEAH!!!! 🎂💜🎉

Everyone should check Clara’s works out!!! The Sentikids are great for exploring themes of otherness and rarer forms of fanworks, and she does it extremely well! ❤️💜💚

OCTOBER: the monster who loves you by @purplecatghostposts {Miraculous 🦚}

Mum nods, clapping her hands together. “Your brother is finally feeling better and is coming home today! Isn’t that so exciting?”

Félix pauses mid-bite, processing her words. Mum waits expectantly, as if expecting him to jump for joy, or his equivalent of it.

But… Félix doesn’t have a brother.

(Or Félix’s brother is a monster, but only in the most literal sense. Félix’s father is a monster despite being very, very human. He learns to navigate the world through these two truths.)

SOAP SOAP SOAP SOAP I am eating you. I am eating you forever. You spontaneously appeared in the tags one day and literally haven’t stopped blessing us since but THIS FIC IN PARTICULAR. OH GOSH. OH WOW. THIS ONE IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE. You know how much I love Adrien being cast as the monster (rawr rawr rawr 🦖)

NOVEMBER: Emmy Altava and the Situationship from Hell by @drowsybadger {Professor Layton 🎩}

Or: Clive, Janice and Their Mutual Ex. Or: Emmy Altava and the Great Year that started off really, really, awful. Or: How To Overcome Your Past Mistakes

Basically, 22K words of people fixing their past mistakes and being lovingly awful to each other. Also, Clive is single-handedly responsible for London rent prices actually being affordable for the next half-century in this universe.

Drowsy infected me with the Clivejan QPR bug… My life has never been the same since…

DECEMBER: Me and You, We're Roses of Blue by @adastra-rising {Miraculous 🦚}

For centuries, the blue rose has represented mystery, royalty, and that which is unobtainable.

Why?

Because the blue rose is artificial. Unnatural. So close to being real, but not quite. The unfortunate, disappointing result of humanity daring to challenge the natural order.

And for some reason, Felix Graham De Vanily can't stop thinking about it.

Meanwhile Kagami Tsurugi, despite everything, thinks they are wonderful.

And Adrien Agreste, who prefers his roses red, is just here for a good time.

(A story in which Felix reflects on his childhood, his relationships, and the nature of what's artificial and what's real.)

(Alternatively, a story where the ideal date is destroying a dead man's property in the name of art, and two cousins who are actually brothers' bond over one truly terrible joke.)

Because excellent characterisation and flower imagery are always a gift! 🌹

SPECIAL MENTIONS

Aka works that didn’t quite fit but that I really wanted to feature:

Icarus by @dragongutsixofficial {Dumas Cinematic Universe ⚔️}

The year is 1630. The Cardinal of Richelieu won. Mme de Fargis is banned and has to leave the Court.

She has a few people to say her goodbyes to.

DRAGON STARTED WRITING AGAIN THIS YEAR AND I COULDN’T BE PROUDER. They have a real talent for emulating Dumas’ style while making the story uniquely theirs! 💖

time marches back by @asukiess {Miraculous 🦚}

The Loveybug AU was one of the highlights of 2023-2024, and this fic? This fic. It’s great, man. Definitely won’t break your heart or anything.

Everything in The Félix Zine! I have a particularly soft spot for @mostmagical’s Bridges and @nemaliwrites’ A Graphite Heart, but everyone slayed so incredibly hard! Please also contemplate our amazing artists’ pieces! 💜🦚

@beezonia’s Miraculous Mons AU. Bee, you know it, I’m the target audience for this universe. I love your ficlets, your team line-ups, your designs, everything! 💙🩵🧡

cringe origional works collection by @isdisorigionalenoughforyou

The kind of poetry that will haunt you. Discovered by accident after reading their Aroace Analysis of Jayvik, which you should also check out! 🦋

And my beloved AO3 collections (recs + my own works):

Felix | Adrien | Kagami | Senticousins | Feligami | Clive | Literature and mythology

Tagging… anyone who wants to do this, because I forgot who was and wasn’t tagged by my fellow writer friends. Go wild.

Happy 2025, everyone! May it be kind and filled with excellent stories for us to share! 💚💜❤️

[fortunapre]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN IM ONLY ALLOWED 50 mentions!?!?! my rec post is going to have to be split into parts now 😭😭😭

[honestlydarkprincess]

2024 Fic Roundup!

tagged by the lovely @eddiebabygirldiaz, @exhuastedpigeon, @devirnis to do this fic roundup for 2024!

i posted 40 works this year apparently...like damn, that's way more than i thought! it was a pretty decent writing year, especially in June idk what was in the water but i wrote over 40k which is a lot for me! anyway, enough of me yapping and let's get to the roundup

whatever shall we do (buddie, 911)

send a flare up in the dark (and i'll come find you) (buddie, lutalia, 911)

we made it (knew that we would be alright) (buckley siblings fluff, 911)

a matching pair (we go together) (firefam fluff, background buddie, 911)

slowly getting sober from the taste of your skin (buddie, 911)

chafe the skin (you know i like it rough) (buddie, 911)

if i died last night (it would haunt me forever) (buddie, 911)

smile at me like you smile at him (buddie, 911)

soothe the ache in me (buddie, 911)

oh, bi the way (buckley siblings fluff, 911)

whenever you're ready (buck n bobby fluff, 911)

welcome to the club (buck n hen fluff, 911)

of want and need (buddie, 911)

settle (buck n chimney fluff, 911)

so let the words slip out of your mouth (buck n eddie fluff, 911)

you gotta be kitten me (bucktommy, 911)

and it was purrfect (bucktommy, 911)

until you're feline better (bucktommy, 911)

a gift i've never gotten before (bucktommy, 911)

think pawsitive (bucktommy, 911)

i only want you (bellarke, the 100)

you chase away the pain (morgwen, merlin)

don't let go (buddie, 911)

that should have been plan A (hangster, top gun maverick)

can we pretend like airplanes in the night sky are like shootin' stars (buddie, 911)

i can't imagine a world without you (so please don't leave me) (buddie, 911)

we'll try and we'll succeed (buck n chris fluff, background buddie, 911)

maybe i do (payneland, dead boy detectives)

'cause it's real (payneland, dead boy detectives)

about damn time (payneland, dead boy detectives)

prolonging the inevitable (payneland, dead boy detectives)

you don't stop loving someone just 'cause it's over (bellarke, the 100)

sharp enough to kill a man (jennifer/needy, jennifer's body)

she's mine (jennifer/needy, jennifer's body)

feel me in your dreams (jennifer/needy, jennifer's body)

'cause baby you make it all fade away (buddie, 911)

picking up the pieces (bellarke, linctavia, the 100)

making it up to you with one kiss at a time (bellarke, the 100)

anything you want (bellarke, the 100)

prize (bellarke, the 100)

phew that was a lot okay now for tags: @bigfootsmom, @usersiren, @holdmygum, @darrys-laundry, @lonelychicago

@giddyupbuck, @monsterrae1, @father-salmon, @underwaterninja13, @maygrantgf

@beyourownanchor6, @thiamsxbitch, @fruchtfliege, @mmoosen, @ksbbb

@hemlocksandfoxgloves, @duchessonfire, @ryisbread, @jdeanmorgan

[chris-in-the-headlights]

WE

NEED

MORE

CHERIK

SOULMATE

AUs

Check it out and go support @mapofyourstars to ensure that I get my next dose

[drarryspecificrecs]

HP/DRARRY Fic Fests 2025

★ Sources : potterfests, @hpfests & @lee-bella || as of 2024.12 ★ BOLD = announced

—

JAN

WWN Wizarding Pop Culture Fest @wizardingwirelessnetwork : AO3

Comfort Zone Fest 2025 - Manhunt Challenge @hpffwritersguild : AO3

FEB

x

MAR

x

APR

Draco Tops Harry Fest 2025 @/dracotops-harry : AO3

Harry in Lingerie Fest @hilfest : AO3

MAY

Lights, Camera, Drarry Fest 2025 @/lcdrarry : AO3

H/D Mpreg Fest 2025 @/harrydracompreg : AO3

JUN

x

JUL

H/D Wireless 2025 @/hd-wireless : AO3

AUG

x

SEP

H/D Collaboration Fest @hd-collab : AO3

OCT

H/D Fair 2025 @/hd-fan-fair : AO3

NOV

x

DEC

H/D Erised 2025 @/hd-erised : AO3

H/D Owlpost Fest 2025 @/hdowlpost : AO3

25 Days of Draco and Harry 2025 @/slythindor100 : AO3

—

✔ previous year • next year ✔ other years

[gugugyuu]

happy holidays, i wish you all a wonderful end to 2024 and an amazing start for 2025!

let's lock in, everyone ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[hazzashouse]

The Space Between Us (Harry Styles series)

Hi! Welcome to my new series The Space Between Us! This is a Harry Styles x OC fanfiction, where Harry plays himself—a global superstar—and the story explores his reunion with Sophie Pearson, his childhood best friend (and maybe more…). Expect moments filled with angst, tension, and heartwarming memories as they navigate the challenges of reconnection.

CHAPTER TWO: HERE

Triggers: None - this chapter is light :)

Pairing: Harry Styles x Sophie Pearson

Word Count: 3,112 Words

Enjoy the first chapter, and let me know what you think!

Chapter One: A Familiar Face

“Sophie! Where’s the seating chart?”

Her brother’s voice boomed from the dining room, sending a ripple of urgency through the already chaotic house. Sophie Pearson was halfway up the stairs, one hand clutching a clipboard and the other holding a pen precariously between her teeth.

“It’s on the table, next to the candles!” she yelled back, spinning around to double-check her mental checklist.

The house was a hive of activity. Family members, caterers, and a few overenthusiastic friends buzzed around, each consumed by their own tasks. The faint hum of a vacuum cleaner fought against the soundtrack of wedding prep chaos: doors slamming, hurried footsteps, and someone playing music too loudly in the kitchen.

Sophie reached the landing and poked her head into the guest room, where the bride’s dress hung like a masterpiece in a gallery. Everything seemed fine here. She exhaled a small breath of relief and moved on.

Downstairs, her brother Anthony appeared in the foyer, adjusting his tie.

“You’re too calm for someone getting married in three hours,” Sophie teased, her tone sharp but fond.

“Someone in this family has to be,” Anthony shot back, grinning. “Besides, I have you to keep everything on track.”

“That’s right,” she muttered, flipping through her clipboard.

————————

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

As Sophie rushed from room to room, the house seemed to breathe with memories. Every corner held whispers of the past—of childhood laughter, whispered secrets, and endless summers spent with the boy who used to be her best friend.

Harry Styles.

Her chest tightened at the thought of him. Their lives had once been so intertwined it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Their mothers had been inseparable, which meant Sophie and Harry had been inseparable too. Sleepovers turned into late-night talks, and holidays together became their little tradition.

But that was a lifetime ago. Before The X Factor. Before the world knew his name.

Sophie tried to shove the thought aside, but it lingered like a shadow. She could still remember the last time she had seen him.

It had been an unusually cold night. They stood at the edge of their favorite park, the one where they’d shared so many childhood adventures.

“You don’t have time for me anymore,” she had said, her voice breaking as she hugged herself against the chill.

“That’s not true,” Harry had insisted, his eyes wide with something like guilt.

“Then prove it,” she’d snapped, hating herself for how desperate she sounded. “Because I’m not just some fan waiting for your attention, Harry. I’m supposed to be your friend.”

“I’ll always come back for you,” he’d said, his voice soft but resolute. But even then, they both knew the promise was an impossible one.

————————

“Sophie!”

Her cousin Lizzie’s voice snapped her back to the present. “The florist needs to know where to put the centerpieces!”

Sophie blinked and nodded, forcing a smile. “Tell them to arrange them on the dining table for now. I’ll figure it out.”

The clock was ticking. The bride would be arriving in less than an hour, and Sophie was determined to make sure everything was perfect for her brother’s big day. She adjusted her clipboard, smoothing down her blouse as she made her way back downstairs.

Outside, the January air was crisp and cold. Guests began arriving, filling the house with a mix of excitement and chatter. Sophie was so focused on coordinating the details that she didn’t notice the sleek black car pulling into the driveway.

She was checking on the catering setup when the front door creaked open. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie caught a glimpse of movement.

“Finally, the photographer,” she muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face.

She turned to greet them, her lips already forming a polite smile. But the words died on her tongue.

It wasn’t the photographer.

It was Harry.

He stood in the doorway, framed by the soft winter sunlight. He looked older but still impossibly familiar—like a piece of her past brought to life. His suit was impeccably tailored, and his green eyes sparkled with a mix of nervousness and amusement.

“Hi, Sophie,” he said, his voice warm and tinged with something she couldn’t quite place.

Her clipboard slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor.

For a moment, the chaos of the wedding melted away. All she could see was him—the boy she had grown up with, the man who had become a stranger.

Her vision swam.

“Sophie?”

Harry’s voice was the last thing she heard before the world went black.

As Sophie sank into unconsciousness, her mind conjured an old memory—their last conversation before he left for good.

“You’re leaving again?” she had asked, her voice trembling with frustration.

“I have to,” Harry had said, running a hand through his curls. “This is my dream, Soph. You of all people should understand that.”

“I do,” she’d whispered. “But it feels like you’re choosing your dream over me.”

He’d reached for her then, his hand brushing against hers, but she’d stepped back.

“Good luck, Harry,” she had said, forcing a smile through her tears. “I hope it’s everything you want.”

And then she had turned and walked away.

————————

CHAPTER TWO: HERE

like and reblog if you liked it and follow me to not miss my future content - I will very much appreciate it! Lots of love, A.

[anonybaby]

To celebrate the end of the year I wanted to gift my dear readers a couple of goodies. I hope you like them. 💝 Like always, I want to thank you all for supporting me through reading/commenting/kudos. It has truly been my pleasure this year to write for you all. Wishing everyone a very happy and prosperous 2025. 🥳

1). https://archiveofourown.org/works/61811539

Summary: A little prequel to the entirety of my Pulp Fantasy series - Dusty Rhodes has a talk with his son Cody about his concerns over the blossoming friendship between him and a certain young man.

2). https://archiveofourown.org/works/61385938

Summary: Randy makes peace with the notion that he won’t be there for Cody’s dramatic injury storyline.

(Special thanks to @sami-uso for the gifs!😉)