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sizzlingcloudmentality · 6 days ago

Text

ALI, this is so fucking delicious!!

The tension is tensioningggg. And he's so soft and the shower sex and ... Ugh ... You'll find me in the floor if you need me. 🫠🫠

And thank you so much for participating, Ali!!

𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 | Javier Peña x reader

summary | Javier needed a vacation, badly.

author's note | for writing through the seasons, hosted by @guiltyasdave (happy birthday bby!!) & @sizzlingcloudmentality. such a beautiful challenge and i really enjoyed writing something a little lighter for javi. and a big thank you to @kedsandtubesocks & @hauntedhowlett for helping me plan this out.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, post narcos s3, old partners, holding grudges, enemies to lovers, javi in shorts, drinking, less than subtle flirting, shower sex, unprotected piv and creampies, some feelings at the end <3

word count — 7k

Being forced out of Colombia had been a blessing in disguise, really.

With an asshat like Javier Peña as the attaché and taking that power to clean house, you had been an innocent casualty among the masses. There were about twenty of you, some lower staff, some agents - like you, but it was all the push you needed to switch gears.

The passion you initially started with had waned slowly, desensitized to every drug bust and dead body; young, old. It was draining, debilitating on some days. Taking a job at the inn had rejuvenated you and washed away the heavy weight of the DEA and all the baggage that came with it.

As for Javier, he spent weeks searching for a proper place to use as his getaway, constant whispers and recommendations from friends about a small island off the coast of Hawaii - discreet, quiet, a place where he didn’t have to be known. He wanted to exist away from home; the occasional spotlight—he wanted to disappear.

It was perfect, walking up the lone inn on the tiny island with a deep, relieving breath and his bag slung over his shoulder, approaching the desk with his natural swagged, the gentle sway of his hips in those figure hugging jeans, fit perfectly to his muscled thighs and a peach colored button-up to match.

Not beach attire, but easily clocked. Your face is buried in the laptop you swing around to the front desk, a faint clearing of a throat coming a few inches away and up, catching a glimpse of the watch, then the plush lips pushed out under a thick mustache, yellow-tinted glasses that hid those pensive fucking eyes.

You both realize it at the same moment.

What the fuck are you doing here?

It’s said in unison, laptop snapped shut as you take in his cliche attire.

In the year since you’ve been let go, he hasn't changed a bit.

“I’ve got a room booked for the weekend,” Javier continues despite your pinched expression, the strong wave of bitterness returning as you glare at him, staring up at the clock that read a quarter ‘til five, only fifteen minutes left on your shift before your next break.

Maybe if you waited him out you could send him on his way, knowing very well there wasn’t any other possible booking on the island and he would have to find a flight back home.

Fuck him. God, fuck him.

As good as you had it now, it didn’t lessen the sting of a career you had worked so hard for, crumbling to nothing with a flick of pen and someone's shitty opinion, crossing your name off like it meant nothing, like you hadn’t done enough grunt work for him to even earn a simple thank you.

You existed around him, not with him.

Even now, he’s staring at you like he’s waiting for you to spin on his axis, tap your fingers delicately against the work computer and handing over his room key with a smile. Practiced, forced.

He could find somewhere else, surely.

He doesn’t realize he let the thought slip audibly until you’re replying with an amused tone, “No, you can’t,” It was cocky, but oozing a venom that Javier knew to steer clear of, “we’re the only place on the island.”

Silently you type in his name, knowing that despite your immediate distaste that returns like a natural, learned behavior—you had a job to do.

But, it doesn’t stop your mouse from hovering over the cancel button for a moment too long, watching his expression turn from smug to pitiful.

It was a glaring dichotomy, personalities swapped, watching a once confident man shrink in shame as he scratches his cheek and looks away, your fingers typing quietly at the keyboard before you eventually disappear without a word, fetching the room key.

It was a pricier suite, unsurprising. Room 213. You swing the key ring around your finger and double-check the information, seeing that he had paid ahead of time and handled all the necessary additions over the phone with a different employee.

“This what you do now?” He asks - it was a question of genuine curiosity, but it comes out judgmental, at least, it reads that way. He takes the key from your extended finger and ignores the obvious tension that was weaving around you both like a tangled mess.

“It’s surprising how hard it is to get back onto a job at the embassy when the head attaché fires you without proper reasoning—overstaffing, was it? Budget cuts?” You tilt your head slightly, staring him down with a polite smile as you slide the paper receipt across the counter, “I guess we’ll never know, huh?”

“Hey, that’s—”

“I don’t care, Javier,” You reply honestly, interjecting before he has the chance to spit out an excuse, whatever it may be, “Yes—this is what I do now.”

So much for anonymity, he thinks.

Just like that, his entire vacation had soured.

And for you, it was the only sliver of peace you had here.

Gone. Vanished.

You watch his walk of quiet shame as he glances over his shoulder briefly before boarding the elevator, his jaw tense and tight as you lock eyes, doors closing slowly before you release a breath you didn’t realize you were still holding.

Fuck.

It was time to take your fifteen.

–

You liked Fridays because it meant relaxation—and drinks, beachside and under the soft, soothing tune of whatever was playing through the bar speakers, the crash of waves on the shore and a misty spray that kissed your skin, sipping silently at your drink as your finger circles the wet ring on the surface of the table.

The sun was setting by now, a few hours since you hated spoken or seen Javier Peña.

It was hitting you now, realizing you never quite processed how hard the lay off had been to process, how blindsided you had been, or how little appreciation was shown in the aftermath.

Right—it only mattered if your name meant something, if it was attached.

You were like mice, rats—taught and trained, scattering to find evidence and intel, return and filter it through your superiors and still somehow manage to not get murdered or discovered in the process and all the while, expected to complete your paperwork on time.

You were used to people taking the credit from you, but with Javier, it was different.

He had a way of making you feel special; always calling you by name, never letting you feel inferior when he needed something, making sure to comment on your appearance in a respectful manner, greet you like you’ve been friends for ages, a mere effort to keep up with his title.

But, you had built a strange kinship over long late night stake-outs, shared nonsensical details about your life - like how you despised the taste of liquor but toughed it out for the sweet aftertaste, enjoyed drinks for the aesthetics rather than the feeling.

Javier was a messy eater, too. Not careless, but rather ravaging. He’d tear into his fruit like an animal finding the first spec of food in a week, juices covering his fingers and oblivious to the obscene sounds he’d make as he chewed, sucked, and licked. It was irritating, but inherently him. He didn’t like music much either, opting for silence instead. It drove you insane on particularly long nights.

It didn’t matter that you had shared nights in each other’s apartments, grueling over dead-ends and lackluster information, sharing meals that would end with both of you falling asleep in heaps, never mentioning them as you woke.

Neither of you had ever crossed that line, too vehemently aware of his title.

Both professional and rumored.

So, when he was the one who signed off after you were ordered out of the office, badge and gun returned by end of day, you didn’t know how to react.

And it was only as he resurfaced now, a year later, that you find all of those bottled up feelings and resentments boiling at the surface.

“Osita,” You hear him greet with an estranged fondness, hating the way it rolls off his tongue like it was normal, “you’ve changed.”

You sip on your drink with disregard, hearing the silent squeak as he takes his seat a couple seats away and orders a plain tequila - nothing fancy, just liquor and a glass.

“Actually, make that a double,” He adds, tapping his wallet idly against the surface of the table as he waits, offering a reserved thank you as the two glasses are slid in front of him.

You pointedly turn away, hoping the fleeing sun and shifting color of the sky; a soft oceanic blue into tangerine skies and the flock of seagulls circling overhead. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough to block out Javier, who when he needs or wants something, is going to get it.

And currently, it was your attention.

“You know that was never my decision,” He deflects, “I’m fed a list and if I don’t sign it I look like I’m not willing to do my job, if I could have suggested they take you off—”

“You should have,” You bite, “if you felt so passionately about it, but as all things go in Peña’s world–if it doesn’t hurt you, then who cares, correct?”

You had only ever known Javier as the serious figurehead above you, not the one of tales told by co-workers, how mischievous he used to be, how daring. Los Pepes had really done a number on him apparently.

“I’m trying to apologize, alright?” He offers weakly - and Jesus, when had he downed the first glass of tequila in the time you had started talking to him? He quickly throws back the second glass and pushes them aside, “I came here because I heard it was a good place to disappear, that I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone knowing my name—and you just happened to be here, I’m not trying to invade, but I’m sure we can just…exist around each other for a weekend.”

When it came down to it, you knew there wasn’t much Javier could have done—sure, a word or two would have been nice in your defense, given how closely you two had worked together toward the end of your career in Colombia, but even then it assumedly wouldn’t have done any good.

You received a good pension and are living nicely now, making enough money to live comfortably somewhat off the grid—you could hold a grudge, it was easy. But, you don’t.

“Yeah,” You offer lamely, “apology accepted, can you leave me alone now?”

“I retired,” Javier slips as he shifts in his seat, “thought you should know.”

This motherfucker—he knew how to reel you in; hook, line, sinker.

“You? Retired?” You scoff, “Who roped you into that? Is someone blackmailing you?”

Javier makes a face of incredulous disbelief, “Blackmail—the fuck? No. I got tired of all of it, all the work we’re doing and half of the government is under the cartel’s dominion. From one extreme to another and there was no change in sight, it was pointless.”

He wasn’t wrong; you constantly put your life on the line for a cause, fruitless and impossible to change, it was like chasing your own tail half the time.

As you finish up your drink you order a beer politely, the bartender offering a flirty smile that Javier catches with a keen eye, but he files it away for another time. The subtle buzz of alcohol was already filtering through your head as you sip from the beer slid into your hand and Javier makes a motion with his finger, ordering a third drink.

“I see you haven’t changed,” You comment slyly.

“You either,” He remarks, eyes shifting toward the bartender.

As much as Javier had his indulgences, so had you.

It was unspoken how you both hid the trauma and stress under alcohol and sex, just never with each other, but this - Javier was reading it completely wrong.

“Oh, gross,” You grimace in disgust, “He’s a friend and I’m almost certain I am not his type.”

As the words leave your mouth, your friend approaches Javier with a third drink, mirroring his earlier actions with you but adding a subtle once-over with his eyes, admiring Javier’s toned physique and tanned skin, years of chasing after cartel members keeping him fit.

Though, his posture is slacking, slumped in his seat as he works on the third glass of tequila, still dressed in his earlier attire and it almost transports you back to the nights spent in his car, a glass of liquor tucked between his legs and his phone and binoculars resting on his thighs.

“Please tell me you brought more than just…that,” You inquired, eyes pointedly dragging over his figure in a less subtle manner, “like—actual vacation clothes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” Javier defends, a confident smirk gracing his face as his hands spread over his knees and curls, gulping down the last sip of alcohol, “it’s fine—ladies love it.”

“Sure, if you’d like to stay stuck in the eighties for the rest of your life,” You jest, “I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in shorts, actually…I don’t think I’ve ever seen how you dress outside of work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’d love to know,” He teases, watching as you wobbled to your feet and grabbed your wallet and room key, “wait—you’re leaving already?”

“Yes,” You answer blatantly, “I don’t need you pestering me the rest of the night when I could spend it alone, in my room, like I do every night.”

“That eager to run off, huh?” Javier retorts, “God, you must really hate me.”

“Since when do you care what I think about you?” You ask him, genuinely curious. “I haven’t seen you in over a year and you show up here and expect me to fall to my knees and worship you like I did back in Colombia? You’re not my boss anymore and we’re not chasing after drug lords. Go fuck yourself, Javi.”

Truthfully, Javier Peña was only a shell of what he used to be.

He’s softened, far less rigid than he used to carry himself. Working with his father had led him to live a quieter life, enjoy being around his family, and come to the realization that what didn’t want to be stopped, couldn’t be. He’s let things go, moved on, but for some reason—with you, he’s finding it difficult.

He grabs your wrist as you intend to walk past, standing from his seat and turning to you as your body shifts toward his, like being transported back to the work office with the buzz of noise and voices around you, blaming the alcohol in your system for the way your eyes linger on his face, blinking as you take a stumbling step back.

“At least let me walk you back to the inn,” He suggests.

“Worried I can’t handle myself?”

“No,” He answers quickly, fully aware of how easily you could, “I’m just—let me, alright?”

“Fine,” You relent after a long pause, “whatever, but—don’t talk. Your voice is annoying.”

“Oh? Is it?” He responds with a chuckle, quickly realizing that you had no intention to wait for him as you’re already fleeing by the time he turns around to grab his wallet, jogging to catch up with you.

“Keep up, Peña.” You mock him, a subtle grin on your face as you hear his rushing footsteps in the sand, “You’ve really let yourself go, huh?”

Javier scoffs in amusement at your words, but doesn’t answer.

For once, he listens and keeps his mouth shut.

–

You take the scenic route, unusual for you, but with Javier at your side you try to remind yourself to be a decent tour guide—he was here for a vacation after all. There were a few locally owned shops that you suggested for breakfast and souvenirs, home-grown and made with love.

He takes them into consideration, noticing how much lighter you sound as you talk, the alcohol taking your body hostage, aware of how little you needed to consume before you were spilling unnecessary information and giggling yourself into tears. But, in the current moment, it was a quaint relaxation that washed over.

The sun had set now, both of you traveling in the dark as you approached the inn. Javier shared very little about how life has been for him back home, more interested in hearing your stories about crazy guests and cute, older retired couples who needed a week away from the city.

“When I first got here I would spend all of my time in the water, or near it,” You admit, fishing for your keys without much luck, reaching your room on the first level of the inn, “it’s so nice here, Javi—I mean, you think about all the stuff we endured back in Colombia and you wonder how the fuck we survived and suddenly you’re relaxing on the beach like none of it ever mattered.”

“It’s hard to let that shit go,” Javier admits, “still…wakes me up at night, you know?”

You knew well, nodding solemnly as you fumble to find the correct key, swaying on your feet before Javier decides to put you out of your misery and step in, gently prying the keys from your hand as he sifts through to find one similar to his own before he hands it back, shaking your head in amusement as you laugh quietly.

“Still terrible at handling your liquor,” Javier comments, hands hovering around you as you stumble forward, ready to catch you if you fall, luckily you stay on your feet, “wait—do you like, live here? At the inn?”

“For a stretch of time, yeah,” You answer as you step into your room, immediately toeing off your shoes and turning on your heels, hand gripping the doorknob as you face him and rest the knob against your hip, staring him down from a couple inches away, the threshold forcing the distance, “I have a place further in town when we close down for a couple months—you worried about me, Peña?”

He can’t explain why his stomach clenches at the words, an instinct to agree swirling in his gut.

He’s thought about you since your departure, but as he moved back home and forced himself to let go of that part of his life, things had started to fray around the edges of his mind, slowly disappearing.

His non-answer is telling, analyzing your features like you’ve seen him down a hundred times. Usually it was for signs of deception or misleading information, constantly on edge of a possible mole or betrayal. He never fully trusted anyone, but he knows he never sensed that with you.

“I’m a big girl,” You assure him, “I can handle myself.”

“I know,” He replies, his right hand curling around his belt, thumb rubbing against the mix of denim and the leather band, his left hand rubbing over his mustache and chin, “so—I guess I’ll see you ‘round, then? If I don’t, I can’t say I’m upset—I got to see your face again.”

“Cute,” You smile genuinely, head tilting against the doorframe, “All’s forgiven, I guess. I think I’m starting to realize how much of that shit was out of your control.”

“You were a good partner,” He says lowly, a grit to his voice that makes your insides quiver, “If I had a say, you would’ve stuck around.”

His brown eyes were a dangerous weapon, his face softening into that boyish charm he liked to use on you when he needed something inconsequential; a coffee, something he’d forgotten at his desk, or when he needed you to pick up the snacks before a stakeout.

You were definitely going to regret your next words.

“A few friends of mine are having a bonfire tomorrow,” You tell him, “It’s small—but I think you’d enjoy it. Plus, Elio would murder me if I didn’t extend the invitation.”

“Elio?”

“You know,” You tease him, mocking the less than subtle grin and eye drag of your friend back at the bar that makes Javier chuckle, “that Elio. The Peña charm works down here in Hawaii too, I guess. He usually cuts people off after two drinks.”

“It’s about all you can handle,” Javier retorts, your relaxed, drunkish grin growing as you shove weakly at his chest, his hand winding around your wrist with ease, less urgent this time.

Your eyes drag to the touch, lingering for a moment as Javier’s thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, the rhythmic thrum of your pulse under the surface as your mouth salivates.

You hadn’t felt that touch in months, a gesture that shouldn’t hold so much weight, but brings you back to the constant idiotic decisions you would make with no regard for your safety.

As reckless as you knew Javier to be prior to Escobar’s death, he had changed somewhere between then and when he met you, his touch was the only thing that grounded you in many high stress situations and instances when you felt impulsive - impatient.

But, this touch—it’s different.

“I’m not inviting you in, Javi,” You tell him steadily, eyes still locked on your wrist as his are on your face, “I do still have some respect for you—us, whatever that was before.”

“Sleep well, chiquita,” He says after a beat, turning your wrist in his hand as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand and departs for the elevator, leaving you in a drunken haze.

You almost change your mind, opening your mouth to beg him to stay.

The words never come out.

–

You never told him the exact details of where the bonfire was happening, but as he peeks out of his window the following night - forcing himself to spend the entire day away from you rather than sniffing around for you like a lost, helpless puppy - the fire was enough of a tell.

And you knew you wouldn’t need to tell him, either.

Elio is smirking as he glances over your shoulder, the soft tuft of sand shifting behind you as you peer up, finding a shockingly dressed-down version of Javier sans his tinted sunglasses that were almost a trademark to his look, sitting perfectly on his aquiline nose.

“So, you do have legs,” You tease, catching a glimpse of his uncovered shins as he takes a seat beside you on the towel laid over the sand, greeting your friends politely and shaking hands as they approach him, nodding as one of them shoves a beer into his hand.

“Thank you—” He only processes your words after his first sip, brow furrowing in confusion, “hold up, what the hell does that mean?”

“I’d almost believe you were some type of robot if I hadn’t,” You joke lightly, the teasing falling completely flat as Javier glances down at his legs and bare feet, “sorry–bad…bad joke, it was something people used to say around the office. You never took a break, people thought you were some kind of machine or something.”

“You have not changed,” Javier reminisces, shaking his head with a chuckle to match.

It was your turn to share in the confusion, waving goodbye to a few friends who were wandering off for the night, shooting him a similar expression.

“Fumbling over your words, bad jokes, terrible conversation—”

“Oh, fuck you, Javi,” You shove his shoulder and he chuckles louder, “I can still kick your ass,”

“I don’t doubt it,” He agrees, sharing a brief exchange of eyes that makes your face heat and you’re internally willing the feeling of adoration away.

Not him, not now.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” You ask in an effort to change the subject, “Only about twelve hours left, right?”

“And I’m sure you’ve got your countdown going,” Javier remarks, “It’s been good—needed it more than I realized, it’s so fuckin’ quiet out here.”

As your mouth opens, you catch sight of your friend who had been particularly interested in speaking to Javier—or more specially, Javier Peña. “Oh, right,” You interject, introducing him to your coworker turned friend, “he had a few questions about Escobar, figured you wouldn’t mind answering them.”

Javier didn’t necessarily mind, but he knows you’re doing it to irritate him.

As his attention turns away from you, you turn toward Elio who was relaxing nearby, talking amongst a few of his own friends but still vehemently aware of your presence, “If you two don’t just fuck each other already,” He remarks with a flippant, dismissive smile, “—missed opportunity, seriously.”

“Mind your business,” You retorted with no bite.

He shrugs in a matter-of-fact way before disappearing as Javier turns to you again, distraction gone as you meet him with a smile, “I’m gonna walk the beach for a bit.”

“Is that an invitation?” Javier inquires, casually you reach for his hand and tug him along.

The silence that grows as you walk alongside each other vaguely resembles the comfort that those late nights would bring, the gentle ambience of crashing waves that wash over your feet and the low roar of a boat engine as it passes by.

“They’re still trading,” Javier beings offhandedly, “—right in my fuckin’ Pop’s backyard.”

“Boats?” You surmise, never having sniffed out that type of activity on the island, relatively clean from the cartel’s reach. “There’s too many hands in the mix, you know? You were never going to stop that on your own.”

“Tried,” Javier retorts grimly, “Just ended up chasing my own damn tail in the end.”

Eventually, you find a spot closer to the inn - an incline in the sand that you both move to sit and perch, far enough away from the shore that you don't have to worry about getting wet.

“You made the right choice,” You assure him, “I think some of that resentment was only aimed at you, not necessarily my job. I’m happier here, but you—I just—”

Javier’s eyebrows raise in encouragement for you to finish, unsettlingly quiet.

“I think I was starstruck for a time, seeking your approval,” You admit, “but then I realized that we don’t mesh. We work well, but outside of that…I couldn’t match up with the others.”

It was a kinder way of saying that you didn’t like the locker room talk that happened often among his colleagues, often on the outskirts as you listen to them dig into the nitty gritty details that were never work appropriate, bragging and talking over one another. Javier was usually subdued, but he did occasionally make comments that reminded you exactly why you swore of men like him or them.

“You know what I appreciate about you,” Javier begins after a dragging silence, your eyes locking on him curiously, “You didn’t need the approval to do a good job, you just did it.”

It was easy with you.

Regardless of how badly you did want the recognition.

“A thank you would have been nice.”

Javier cracks a weak smile, swiping a few grains of sand from your knee before he squeezes your leg and offers a genuine, “Thank you.”

It was better than nothing, you suppose.

“Also, serious question,” Javier interjects quickly, “What did you mean by mesh?”

You turn to him with a bigger grin, raising your finger to press against the center of his chest, between his unbuttoned neckline, “You - are not my type. At all.”

Javier guffaws at that, genuine disbelief, “I’m everyone’s type.”

“Good thing I don’t have one.”

“C’mon—not even once?” Javier presses, sensing there was more beneath the surface.

You almost considered letting him inside of your room the first night he arrived, some half-assed excuse about respect that Javier knows you could care less about, more-so setting a boundary for yourself, reminding you that this wasn’t something you should allow yourself to have.

Javier was enough of a gentleman to respect that and throughout the entirety of your partnership, had never attempted to make things weird, despite how he may feel.

You were beautiful and he could tell you that to your face, a striking personality and witty humor to match—and he’s never prided himself on respecting the rule about workplace relationships, having dabbled in enough bad behavior with interns and receptionists that filtered through.

You scared him—not in a bad way. But, Javier’s never been quite so intimidated.

“Let me change your mind,” Javier says jokingly.

There’s a brief flicker as he says it, a blip of miscommunication before you realize his tone and you pray Javier moves on—of course, he doesn’t.

“Let me,” He tries again, his voice softer as you find your bodies gravitating toward each other, his hand nudging your chin up like he’s done it before, a practiced motion before your lips are pressing together gently, a small noise behind Javier’s closed lips as you return the gesture tentatively, “I’ll give you a reason to change it, chiquita.”

“Javi,” You plead, not asking for more or less, but rather begging for an excuse; a reason to deny him or a thousand ways this could go badly for the both of you, “we shouldn’t—”

His hand slides down your cheek to your neck, guiding your chin up to allow room for his mouth at your neck, placing wet and open-mouthed kisses against your skin as your fingers wrap around his wrist, a sigh pushing out of your throat as you relax under his touch.

“Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to—”

“Don’t,” You interject quickly, sounding breathless, “don’t say that—just…stop talking.”

Javier chuckles, nosing his way up the side of your face before his eyes peek open, locking with your own as his right hand drifts down your neck to your waist and squeezes, pulling you in with a cocky grin, “Tell me to stop touching you, then.”

“You haven’t changed,” You retorted fondly, the tiniest trace of venom in your tone.

The lack of acknowledgement to his direct command makes his grin grow stronger.

The exchange of lips gains an edge of intensity as your hands reach for him almost on instinct, his right leg slotting between yours where they were spread, a hand wrapping around your thigh as he moves over you, back pressing against the sand while your own hand moves along the back of his neck and through his hair at the nape.

You sigh into his mouth, lips parting as his tongue traces teasingly and slides along your own, silently pushing at the loose fabric of your shirt as it moves up your abdomen, the gentle breezing hitting your skin and you make a small noise, your own fingers curling around the collar of his shirt, fingers fanning out over the tanned, freckled skin of his shoulder.

“Forget the bed,” Javier huffs against your lips, “let’s do it right here.”

You giggle at his insistence and shake your head, nose rubbing against his with the motion as you part, hand against his chest to force some distance as he sits back with a flushed expression, similar to how he’d look after a foot chase but his eyes darkened with pleasure.

“You can’t be serious?” You inquire, a boyish shrug of his shoulders as his teeth peek through his smile, hearing the faint chatter of friends a distance away, both of you perfectly hidden from view. Still, you weren’t that reckless.

“Still have that whole respect thing for us going on?” Javier teases, eyes flicking briefly toward the darkened inn, most of the patrons already tucked in for the night.

You roll your eyes with an obvious fondness as you shove him away, moving to your feet as you brush the sand away, casually holding out your hand as he mirrors your actions, “Not tonight.”

You were almost positive you would regret it later, but for now, you acted on the impulsivity.

–

Javier was as eager as you expect, on you the moment your door clicks shut, holding you close as you stumble backward into the bathroom and flick on the light, equally trading touches as he strips you naked without a word, down to your underwear before you can push him away for long enough to turn on the water.

He strips as you adjust the temperature, “Be honest, was it because I was your boss?”

You give him a look of irritation that is quickly quelled by his touch, wet hand fumbling to grip his shoulder as he strips you down to nothing, stepping quietly out of your panties as he drags them down your thigh, tilting your head down as he stays kneeled for a moment.

“Not even close,” You remark, feeling the emphasis of his intention with every press of his lips; one at your shin, knee, two on each thigh before he presses one gentle kiss at your mound, his bottom lip catching against your skin as he slowly moves to stand again.

Javier strips himself the rest of the way as you step inside of the hot shower, closing your eyes as you wet your hair under the gentle spray, his lips attaching to your throat as he climbs inside and shuts the curtain, hands pressed against the curves of your body, cradling you.

You shiver despite the warmth of the water, your skin tingling everywhere Javier touches. His hands roam your body with a reverence that makes your breath catch.

"Then why?" he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky.

You turn in his arms, pressing your body flush against his. Water cascades over both of you as you look up into his dark eyes, clouded with desire.

"Because I knew if we did, it would only make things worse,” You admit, “Sex always complicates things, I like how he worked together without it.”

“Well,” He chuckles, both hands spreading out over your back and down to your ass, gasping at the way he squeezes so greedily, teeth digging into your skin gently, “we’re not partners anymore.”

“No,” You breathe out in a shaky attempt at grounding yourself, his hardened cock nudging at your stomach, “we’re not.”

Javier’s hand slides lower, wrapping around the back of your knee as he guides you back against the cold tile wall in the tight space, gasping at the cool to touch surface and the hand that hikes your leg up, Javier’s foot raising to rest along the edge of the tub.

The hand not occupying your knee slides teasingly between your folds, releasing a shaky sigh as you tilt your head back, the water soaking Javier as it hits his back, dripping down his hair and along his nose, carefully examining the subtle changes in your expression as his fingers graze your clit before he slips his middle finger inside of you, hooking the digit in a way that has you squeezing your hands as they reach for his shoulder.

“Tell me you want this,” He growls, an inflection in his voice you’ve heard before but have never felt aimed at you. It makes your head spin, suddenly dizzy.

Instinctively still, you know what to say.

“I do. I want this. Want you, Javi.”

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, all the pent-up desire from months of working together finally unleashed. You reach for his cock, taking a moment to admire him. It shouldn’t strike you how endowed he is, thick and resting just at his belly button, a couple inches more than you’ve ever encountered before and cut, a protruding vein running along the side of his cock from his shaft to just underneath the head of his cock, running your thumb along the ridge and over the weeping slit, suddenly dying for a taste as your mouth watered.

Javier was too impatient, though.

There’s a exchange of unspoken communication, a simple and subtle head nod as Javier fists his cock, rubbing the head between your folds before he pushes inside of you, a palm flat against his chest as you hiss at the faint sting, a stretch you weren't accustomed to and the nails that dig into his skin shouldn’t turn him on like they do, but he leans into it, shallow thrusts inside of your cunt until he’s fully sheathed and your fingernails are biting into his skin, tiny rivulets of blood washed away by the water overhead.

Javier’s movements are slow and deliberate, using the leverage of your unsteady position as you stretch onto your toes of the foot still pressed against the floor of the shower, the other leg held tight at his hip as he fucked into, careless of the water splashing to the floor where the curtain was set askew by his knee pressing into the fabric.

"God, you feel so good," he groans against your skin, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so perfect. Knew you’d be perfect.”

“H—how - fuck - how often have you thought about this?” You ask, licking away the droplet of water from your lips as Javier smiles, the kind that only carried mischief, as he noses at your neck.

“Every damn day,” Javier admits, lips dragging along your ear as he fucks you with a newfound furiosity, “—mierda, she’s squeezin’ me so tight—all the time. At the office, those late nights in the car. Thought about—fuck, jus’ bending you over the trunk and fucking you there.”

His hips snap into you with force, driving you back against the tile wall. A gasp rips from your throat, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, scrambling as you slipped but Javier is already there, steadying as he adjust his position to lock your legs at hips, suspended in his hold as his cock brushed deep inside of you, eyes rolling back.

“All you needed was some attention,” Javier surmises, “someone to tell you how good of a job you were doing, right?”

It would have been nice during your tenure, but now, it feels taunting.

“You’re good,” Javier tells you, “so fuckin’ good—”

“Oh, god,” You moan, hands tangling into his wet hair as his lips find your neck again, the faintest scratch of stubble against your skin, teeth nipping at your skin as he drives his hips into you relentlessly, “Jav—Javi, please—”

“That’s it, baby,” He groans, a soft release of breath, “let me hear you.”

The deep, coiling heat in your belly twists as he presses you tight against the wall, releasing your leg haphazardly to drag his thumb over your clit, the franticness of his movement matching his desperate need for release as he moves his finger in quick, hurried circles over your clit.

Your soft cries are muffled by his cheek as you press your mouth against him, drawn so close that it was near suffocating, “S’right there, Javi—I’m close,”

His groan is deep, hips stuttering with your words, “Where?”

Your eyes connect for a stretch of time - another unspoken acknowledgement as you tug at his hair, walls squeezing tight around his cock and nod, his jaw clenching as his orgasm approaches and he brings you with him.

It’s a sensation that makes your body go taut, his hips slowing as he pushes his seed deep inside of you, moaning brokenly into your shoulder as he eventually pulls out and lowers you back on steady ground.

"Fuck," Javier mutters, breathing heavily as he pushes away from you and notices your sated expression, a subtle smile pulling at your features. There's a softness in his face you've never seen before, a vulnerability.

You continue the shower in a comfortable silence as you both settle, like a well-oiled machine with how easily you both move around each other and with, watching as Javier quietly pushes the damp washcloth between your legs and cleans up the mess he’s made.

As you dress, he’s more subdued. Solemn. Brooding.

This was the Javier you remembered so well.

He’s waiting for the words, fingers working slowly at the buttons of his shirt before you fingers wrap around his wrist, dressed in a thin satin slip you had pulled from your drawers, sticking to your wet skin in all the places Javier’s touched, the remnants of his touch still stuck on your mind.

“Stay,” You insist—watching as he succumbed so easily to your touch, shirt half-buttoned and hanging from his frame, “if you want.”

Nobody ever asks him to stay, always on the other end, begging for a moment longer.

For me, your eyes plead.

For the night, he knows.

But, the words strike deep.

“You’re gonna make it impossible to leave,” Javier comments, smiling at the giggle you let out.

“Good,” You tease him, dragging out the syllable, “more of an excuse to come back.”

Not for his own selfish reasoning.

For you, Javier tells himself.

#wttschallenge2025 #fic recs 2025 #pedro pascal #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña smut #narcos #javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut

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drarryspecificrecsdaily · 11 days ago

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2025.02.02

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. A Day in the Loop by Craftybadger1234 [M, 13k]

Draco is stuck in a time loop and wants to spend the day with Harry.

2. Harry Potter and Malfoy’s Suspicious New Interest by @niche-pastiche & @wisteria-lodge [T, 38k]

Harry is worried about the inter-house Quidditch Cup being cancelled, Sirius being on the run, and the fact that Draco Malfoy has suddenly, suspiciously, become strangely supportive of werewolves.

3. Just a Ring by BeigeSocks [T, 200k]

Summer before fifth year, Kreacher gives Draco a ring containing Regulus Black’s soul. Draco learns a lot because of it, namely how to befriend a Potter.

4. A Study in Secrecy (5+1) by @edestyles [T, 6k]

Harry and Draco are very bad at keeping secrets. A series of stolen kisses, near-misses, and one catastrophic exposure prove that, despite their best efforts, Hogwarts is not the place for subtlety. Featuring bad excuses, Filch’s terrible timing, and an unfortunate encounter with Pansy Parkinson.

5. The Tale of the Dragon by HedgehogWrites [E, 43k]

Draco has been cursed by a powerful wizard. He has to guard the Island in his dragon form. The Island, where the Kingdom sends their convicts to. It's a death sentence, because he has to eat them. Only an act out of true love can set Draco free. Harry is a proud prostitute, good at what he does. He also is a fierce protector of dragons, saving them wherever he can. Unfortunately, this puts him right on Wizard Supreme Riddle's radar. The wizard will leave no stone unturned to sentence him to the Island.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. Blueberry Muffins by @hoko-onchi-writes [E, 2k]

Draco comes home to find Harry fast asleep. He takes advantage of the situation. ★ Kinkuary 2025 | @kinkuary

2. Short Fuse by @anxiousm3ss [T, 1k]

Aurors Harry and Draco are sent on a stakeout where everyone is convinced nothing will happen - until something does. ★ HP Fanfic Writers' Guild's Comfort Zone Fest 2025 | @hpffwritersguild

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #daily list #2025 #2025.02

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lonely-night · 1 month ago

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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

#agathario #agatha x rio #agatha all along #agatha all along au #kathrynhahnsource #fanfic #fic rec #i was gonna post this for 2024's last day #but it was too late to finalise it so yeah #make it the first edit of 2025 <33 #ficsedit #agatharioeditmine

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wangxianficrecs · 8 days ago

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Follower Recs

~*~

Moribund

by GhoulSanderson

G, 5k, Wangxian

Summary: "How old are you?" Lan Wangji said as he asked the question through chords. Wei Ying's stomach dropped to his toes. The feeling coursing through him was sickeningly familiar. In the Burial Mounds, he fought tooth and nail to keep the spirits out of his head. Whenever they'd get too close, his skin crawled, and it felt like he were a puppet being pulled along by strings. Now, a lighter, less malicious energy prodded him; it was gentle but not merciful. It reached its hand down his throat and stole words from his lips before he could think to stop it. "Eighteen!" --- Inquiry works on the nearly dead, so if LWJ played it during the Sunshot Campaign, I like to think WWX would have been compelled to answer --- OR: LWJ forces Inquiry on WWX by accident

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

#February 2025 #Wangxian Fic Recs #follower recs #follower rec #mdzs #MDZS #Mo Dao Zu Shi #CQL #Chenqingling #The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #The Untamed #Wangxian #Gen #short fic <15k #Moribund #GhoulSanderson

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sizzlingcloudmentality · 1 month ago

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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!

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #fic recs 2025

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meidui · 1 month ago

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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.

#we're so lucky to have so many amazing stories to read 🥺🥺#i can't even imagine all the stories we'll get to read in 2025 too <33 #stony #stevetony #*#fic rec

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geevesthevieve · 1 month ago

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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)

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theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming · 29 days ago

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And we're back with...

Nicole Reads A Lot of Fanfiction (and she's gonna share it with you): Week 2

I really thought I read more Sterek this week.. it's because 2 of them were Big Boys™

Anyway: Buddie (11) & Sterek (4). Bone Apple Teeth.

tying you to me by rarakiplin (gmontys) | @hoediaz (2022•T•5.3K)

“Diaz?” The man — and it is Eddie Diaz, Buck can’t not see it now — blinks, and in a split second his expression shutters closed. “Buckley.” Buck wonders if he looks different without Diaz’s blood on his face. - or, eddie and buck meet each other at rock bottom

Wrapped In A Dream With You by lemotmo | @lemotmo (2025•T•35.7K)

“A snow globe,” Eddie said, staring in awe at the beautiful snow globe in his hands. It was absolutely stunning, with a red and green base and a complete snowy landscape embedded in the interior of the globe. Eddie studied it carefully. There were trees and little painted woodland animals hiding underneath them, and even in them. In the middle stood a beautiful little cottage, intricately adorned with tiny Christmassy details: miniature lights, wreaths of holly all around. “There’s a switch on the bottom,” Chimney said. He sounded excited. Eddie flipped it and suddenly the globe was a beacon of light, the tiny cottage lighting up in the snowy landscape. And— in front of the cottage there was a small figure. Something he had missed without the light on. It was the figurine of a tiny man, beautifully crafted and painted to perfection. This is a story about breakups, curses, attraction, loneliness, falling in love, finding happiness and joy, but most of all this is a story about a snow globe and how it changed the course of Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley's life forever.

Policy of Truth by Eros Heartache (Eros_Heartache) (2025•M•1.2K)

A game of truth or dare turns into a first for Eddie.

gentle cravings by saucerfulofsins | @saucerfulofsins (2024•E•5.4K)

“Fucking – ow,” Eddie complains, wincing at the pain. “You’re acting like a massage therapist!” “Well,” Buck drawls. “Not quite.” Eddie is silent for a couple of seconds before groaning. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve dated a massage therapist.”

there's nothing else I can do but love you the best that I can by disasterbuck | @disasterbuck (2025•GA•1K)

After losing someone on a call, Buck hides himself away; Eddie makes sure he isn't alone for long. - "Oh, Buck…" Eddie whispered, carefully crossing over to him and sitting down too. He ran his fingers through some of Buck's hair before wrapping himself around him, holding him securely. "I'm here," he murmured. "I've got you."

we could be lucky again by heartbeatdiaz | @lonelychicago (2025•T•15.9K)

“Can I help you?” Eddie asks cautiously. Christopher opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His mind blanks. All the scenarios he imagined—the ways this might play out—scatter out like dust. Finally, he manages, “This is gonna be hard to believe, specially for you, but— I'm Christopher. Your son. I, uh, come from the future?” His voice turns higher at the end of the sentence and it makes it sound more like a question than the fact he was trying to announce. Eddie freezes. “What?” His voice is sharp, disbelieving, and his posture gets more defensive. He can see a hint of anger simmering underneath. “Look, man, if this is some kind of sick joke—” Christopher swallows hard, forcing himself to stand straighter. “Dad. It’s me.” or; While working at NASA, an experiment goes wrong and sends Chris years back into the past. This might be the perfect opportunity to fix some wrongs.

when your heart releases, you won't fall to pieces by Daffi_990_ao3 | @daffi-990 (2025•GA•13.8K)

Eddie finally looks at Buck and the fear and sorrow that rages in the muddied storm waters of his eyes has Buck flinching slightly. He’s so used to Eddie’s eyes being sun kissed pools of rich coffee that draw you in with their warmth, making you feel safe. “They’re all dead, they’re all dead, they’re all dead”. Eddie whispers it over and over again and Buck doesn’t know what to do besides move closer and pull him into his arms. Eddie doesn’t fight him, just falls into the safety of Buck’s embrace, clutching tightly at his back as a broken sob falls from his mouth. Eddie continues to cry into Buck’s neck as Buck wraps his arms securely around him, a shield of flesh and bone attempting to protect Eddie from the horrors of whatever is haunting him. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Buck murmurs into Eddie’s hair, his lips caressing the sweat soaked strands. “I’ve got you.” OR Buck supports the Diaz boys after Eddie's breakdown, realising along the way that home really is where the heart is.

The Handsome Man by DuoOfDiaz (TPCOTMW) | @smolfunpenguin (2024•M•13.2K)

E.B.Buckley grew up in Hershey, Pennsylvania. He spent a large portion of his childhood in and out of hospital after suffering some minor accidents. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise as even though he spent this time unable to socialise, he was able to turn to imagination and started making up stories and journaling his experiences, honing his skills to become the bestselling author we know and love today. E.B.Buckley is currently #1 on the romantic novel bestseller list, and lives in LA. - Taken from the jacket cover of the Special Edition Reprint of 'The Peruvian Man'

ode to a conversation with a friend by teenytinytomlinson | @littlefreakbuckley (2025•GA•4.2K) [Background Buddie]

“Eddie’s more like the older brother I never had,” May explains, because she knows Lauren well enough by this point to know that she most likely won’t let this go. Which is why when he’d texted her to ask if she could grab coffee one day this week she hadn’t batted an eye. Sure, Eddie’s older than her by a decade, but they’d become actual friends during their time together at dispatch. Not even coworker friends—you know the ones; you’re nice because your desks are next to each other and you share a break room, but you have no desire to see them off the clock. On mornings her word-of-the-day is particularly tantalizing; she'll open their text thread, and send whatever it is with no context. She considers herself a really good friend when Buck uses the word malodorous conversationally at one of Bobby’s barbeques, and she doesn’t say anything about it, just shoots Eddie a look that he pretends not to see as he throws a baseball with Denny. or, Eddie comes out to May.

everyone knows how much i love you by buckgettingstruck | @buckgettingstruck (2024•T•5K) [Part of a bigger domestic-verse but I read it as a stand alone]

“That’s Captain Diaz? Of the 133?” Cassidy asked. He stopped by the academy last week to drop off lunch for Buck — Cassidy got there early that morning, so she’d been one of the few who spotted him. It took everything in her not to laugh when she’d heard Buck flirtatiously yell “hi captain” across the room at him when he arrived. Eddie turned bright red. Buck grinned wide. “Yeah, we’ve been married for six years. We were partners on the job before I started here.” aka: 5 times Buck’s recruits see how obsessed Buck is with Eddie/his family + one time a recruit is completely oblivious

Next to your heartbeat, where I should be by rainbow_nerds | @rainbow-nerdss (2025•E•11.4K)

Eddie’s not a complete idiot. He knows this isn’t normal. He stands in front of a mirror in his underwear, the tightest pair he owns, and he poses for a picture at an angle he’s learned flatters his ass and the curve of his thigh, to send to his best friend. He knows this isn’t what most best friends do. He also knows most straight guys don’t spend extensive amounts of time staring at men’s thirst trap accounts, or thinking about how their best friends look half-naked, but… That’s not what Eddie is focusing on right now. He’s just focusing on feeling good, following the path that sparkles with joy, and refusing to overthink it. If happiness is Buck sending a meme of a guy with a nosebleed back to his shirtless selfie, then that’s what happiness is. Eddie has spent too long denying himself to let this be what stops his journey towards loving himself. It doesn’t need to make sense. It just needs to be positive. It’s not like he’s breaking any commandments, as Father Brian would say.

Twilight by Hedwig221b | @hedwig221b (2025•E•67.7K)

Derek. Stiles thought about him the most. Something told him that it wasn’t the last time, far from it. He thought about his softness and his open desire to kill. Stiles’ hands remembered the heat of his hands. His neck longed to feel the coating warmth of Derek’s breath. His lips burned from the kiss that never happened. Everything was so fucking complicated. Except one thing. It was the only clear thought in his head. The one that made his stomach clench from fear, his heart stutter from hope, and his lips stretch in a smile. He was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Derek.

Falling For You by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) | @isthatbloodonhisshirt (2024•T•37.2K)

Derek nodded once, reaching for it, all while reminding himself over and over again in his head to thank him with the pun. This was it, this was the moment for him. Stiles would realize he’d understood the pun from yesterday, and would laugh, and Derek would feel relieved, and everything would be great. His hand closed around the cup and he said, “Thanks for the latte.” Fuck. Fuck! Stiles looked startled, eyes dipping down to the drink Derek was now holding, and then back up. “Sorry, did you—I thought you wanted a coffee, did you want a latte?” “No.” Derek turned his back on him and walked away, resisting the urge to just head straight back to his car to drive off a cliff. Thanks a latte! The fucking pun was thanks a latte! Not thanks for the latte! Fuck! How had he messed it up so fucking badly?! It was three words! “That went well,” Boyd said, catching up with him. Derek just reached out to punch him hard in the arm without even looking.

Band Aids and Bouquets (I've known you your whole life) by thelostrocketeer | @ceruleancheckeredcars (2012•M•4.8K)

Derek is seven and his mother’s friend has just given birth. A (mostly) canon-compliant (canon also coming from the novel On Fire.) retelling of How Derek Met Stiles.

Drawn To You by mikatheseer | @mikatheseer (2024•M•80.1K) [Complete except for a possible epilogue]

Derek heads to a (nearly deserted) beach resort in desperate search of an anchor. There he meets Stiles, an artist and writer seeking inspiration for his next graphic novel. A Teen Wolf AU set 10 years after the fire, in which Derek and Laura Hale never returned to Beacon Hills.

#Sterek #Buddie #stiles stilinski x derek hale #evan buckey x eddie diaz #2025 Fic Rec List #Sterek Fic Rec #Buddie Fic Rec

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