#wordywarriorwrites

[wordywarriorwrites]

Calendar Girl: December (Again)

Series Masterlist: Calendar Girl Joel Miller Masterlist Author: @wordywarriorwrites​ Summary: The story of how Joel Miller falls in love again, told over a series of months. Series Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Language. Violence. Discussions of rape and consent. Alcohol consumption. Age-gap.

“Merry Christmas to all,” Joel murmured to his nephew. “And to all, a good night.”

The toddler, who’d been nodding off for the last three pages, broke the comfortable silence by farting so loudly that he startled himself out of his own stupor and began to cry.

“Just like this father,” Maria joked.

Tommy chuckled and held out his hands, “Pass the stinker over.”

Officially relieved of baby duty, Joel handed him off just in time to see you, Ellie, and Charlotte exit the kitchen. Everyone chatted in low tones, mindful to keep things calm in consideration of the young boy who was still fighting sleep (even after a missed nap and being read The Night Before Christmas at least once by everyone in attendance). After Tommy changed and redressed his son, he held the fussy kiddo to his chest and swayed where he stood.

“Should we get going?” he asked. “Before he turns into a monster?”

Maria nodded and patted her husband’s arm, her smile soft as she gathered their belongings. After they bundled up and said their farewells, the trio headed out into the night cold, where fat snowflakes whirled and spiraled to join the blanket that already covered the ground. Joel stood watch on the porch, eyes on their retreating forms, and a few moments later, you, Ellie, and Charlotte joined him.

“We’re headed out, too,” Ellie said as she zipped up her coat.

Joel put his hands on his hips, “Alright, remind me of the plan again?”

“Party at the hall,” Charlotte piped up as she tugged on her mittens. “Then, back to my parents.”

Ellie tugged on her hat, “I’ll be staying over.”

“They’ll be back in the morning for breakfast,” you added. “And we’ll all go together to the town’s Christmas dinner tomorrow night.”

A gust of wind blew through the trees, and on the heels of it, Joel received another unexpected Christmas gift from Ellie. The first had been a set of delicately crafted wooden guitar picks; the second came in the form of a hug. Not an abrupt squeeze, but a genuine embrace, and on instinct, he wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Have fun, baby girl,” he managed to say around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll try,” she deadpanned.

Mitten hands joined. A chorus of be safe and see you tomorrow. Then, Charlotte and Ellie teetered together down the slippery porch steps, snow crunching beneath their boots as they carefully made their way along. This time, you stood by his side as he kept an eye on the girls, your arms wrapped around his waist and head tucked against his shoulder.

“Not a bad way to spend our anniversary,” you remarked quietly.

Joel nodded and squeezed your hip, “Not bad at all.”

Toddler-sized snow angels, now buried beneath fresh snowfall. A large snowman just a few feet away – built by Tommy and Maria. The tree inside – situated in the corner, decorated by Charlotte and Ellie, with the paper rings and ornaments that you’d painstakingly made yourself. Cards from friends and coworkers lined up on the mantlepiece of the fireplace that warmed the house and prompted steam to join up with frost on the windows.

Back inside the house, you went to the kitchen, and Joel turned his attention to reviving the fire. You returned with two servings of whisky and settled into what had become your place on the couch. Once the flames had been sufficiently stoked, he joined you, snuggled close with an arm around your shoulder and a blanket draped over both your laps.

Drinks sipped. Time alone savored. Conversation about mundane things, like dishes and laundry and leftovers. Ellie and Charlotte and how inseparable they’d become. Work and New Years. How big the baby had gotten. Joel needed a new pair of jeans. Maybe some boots, too. You were out of the bath soap you liked. Would there be enough bread and eggs for everyone tomorrow?

“Tired?” Joel murmured.

“No,” you replied.

“Want to go to bed anyway?”

“With you? Always.”

Glasses set aside, the two of you headed upstairs, the nightly routine somewhat altered by a shared shower that left you smelling like him from earlobes to toes. Veins buzzing with booze and desire, Joel trailed your towel-clad form into the bedroom. His eyes hungrily followed the trail of water droplets that cascaded down the nape of your neck, and he’d just set about chasing them with the tip of his tongue when he spotted a sprig of mistletoe on his pillow.

“Where’d you find this?” he asked as he carefully retrieved it.

You simply shrugged, as if it was a mystery, perhaps even a Christmas miracle. All glittery eyes and smiling bright, you plucked the mistletoe from his hand and held it above your head.

“Guess you better kiss me, Joel Miller.”

“Be bad luck if I didn’t.”

You jutted your chin, “Yes, it would.”

Mouth offered up, lips and tongue eager to meet. Warm, naked skin on soft, clean sheets, smoothed out over a bed that had somehow become more comfortable now that it was yours and his together. Your nimble fingers tangled in his still damp hair – kept longer now at your insistence. The taste of you in his mouth – drawn in, soft and slow, until your hitched breaths gave way to soft cries.

The consonants and vowels of his name gasped, stretched, elongated, in the wake of your orgasm. One that he prolongs, driven by his own, base need to ensure your satisfaction, to hear and see you come apart for him again, to bask in the light of your pleasure. When you call out to him, beckon him, he answers without hesitation.

“Been thinking about this all day,” you exhaled.

Joel smirked and nuzzled his nose against yours, “Sorry to have kept you waitin’.”

“No, you’re not,” you giggled as you nipped at his chin. “You knew what you were doing this morning. Teasing me like that.”

“M’sorry, sweetheart,” he rumbled playfully.

Your lower lip, stuck out in a mock-pout, urges him on. As soon as he kisses you, you draw him into your arms, and secure your knees against his ribs. Mouths fused, ankles pressed into his lower back, you take him into you – hips tilted up with unbridled want that will no longer be delayed or denied. Fingertips dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, canines sunk into his lower lip, Joel tries to anchor himself, but it’s damn near impossible.

Eyes focused on your fluttering lashes and parted lips. Bodies pressed tight together. Joel sets a careful pace; a slow surge-and-retreat that he’s come to learn works best. It makes him last longer, and the effort it takes to get you off is worth it – especially because it leaves you a trembling, satiated, resplendent mess afterward. His back and his knees have never thanked him for it, but when he’s deep inside you like this, when he can feel you coming, when you make it so easy, every day, to fall in love with you even more…

“Needed this,” you exhaled, breath hitched and thighs trembling, teeth sunk into his shoulder as you squeezed, squeezed, squeezed all around him. “Needed you.”

A statement of fact – not a confession. Because there are no secrets between the two of you, not any longer. And you don’t have to say it, but you do anyway, because you know Joel never tires of hearing it. That confirmation of your desire, your wish to have him near, to be with him, to share your time and life with him – he reciprocates, feels the same, expressing it often – more with action than words, but still.

Cock burrowed deep and thrusts steady no longer because you’ve come around him, and it’s impossible not to follow you down – hips flushed tight against the cradle of you, groan released against the hallow of your throat, nonsensical things, soft, tender things, all mumbled against the shell of your ear, the hairs along your brow, the slope of your nose…

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Joel whispered.

You cupped his cheek and smiled up at him, “Merry Christmas, Joel.”

Fin.

[punemy-spotted]

Ooo, please?? ✒️🥰

ps: not to be weird, but I love pens. lol

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

Howdy, howdy! 27 seconds, please!

omg bringing this back for a second because this got buried in my inbox shhhhhhh

okay so 27 Seconds is an angsty Marcus Pike thing i did, also for Kel's Taylor Swift writing challenge way back in the day.

this one is kinda layered. it's inspired by her song Last Kiss, which features a 27-second-long instrumental intro because the guy she talks about in the song broke up with her in a 27-second phone call.

i had a lot of fun referencing specific lyrics ("the look on your face, lit through the darkness at 1:58" / "the words that you whispered for just us to know" / "so i'll go sit on the floor wearing your clothes" / "so i'll watch your life in pictures" / "your name forever the name on my lips") especially because as much as i adore Marcus, it's just so easy to torture him 😅

fic titles ask game

[freelancearsonist]

oh god it took me a month just to decide who my most beloved is sjdlkjsflksddflksd

sorry for the late response BUT i believe javi p LOVES a good ice cream especially on a hot summer day. i think he goes for something a little more ✨ fancy ✨ like coffee (it fits him tbh)

thank you so much for the question!!

[wordywarriorwrites]

@jolapeno Thank you for hosting and including Between the Pages!

DEAR-UARY MASTERLIST 💌

please find the epistolary writing challenge masterlist what is epistolary? epistolary refers to works of fiction that are written in the form of letters or other documents.

list will be updated as fics come in and are reblogged by me. if you think I've missed you, drop me a kind inbox message and I'll be sure to check my mentions (tumblr can be a glitchy machine)

Wrong Number by @inept-the-magnificent | wc: 1,497 

Dieter Bravo x f!Reader A character sends a flirty text, but they accidentally send it to their colleague/boss or a wrong number. 

Say Something by @galway-girlatwork | wc: 1,887

Din and Eve (Original Female Character) Eve’s career has always taken a back seat to Din’s. The goal was always she would start working more on her music when he graduated law school and worked for one year at a law firm. Now both of their careers are taking off but where she’s always been there for him, Eve is finding that Din isn’t always there for her.

Epistolae by @cxrsed-angel | wc: 3k

Marcus A x f!Reader After two months of not hearing back from your husband while he's fighting a war, you worry about him and fear that he he may not be coming back to you alive, you re-read his previous letters as an attempt to calm your anxieties.

Between The Pages by @wordywarriorwrites | wc: 1k

Joel Miller x F! Reader AU A photograph brings you back together.

In Vino Veritas by @yxtkiwiyxt | wc: 4.5k

Dave York x f!Reader You start interviewing candidates to find your replacement. As you go through the process, you stumble upon a surprising discovery that pulls you back into Dave's darker world, complicating your feelings for him — yet again.

What's a TomDaya by @604to647 | wc: 14 screenshots

Modern!Pero Tovar x fem!reader Pero regrets getting into a group chat with your friends.

Letters Across Time by @pedroscurls | wc: 9.4k

Marcus Acacius x fem!Reader After having moved to rome for a fresh new start, you begin to receive letters from an unlikely stranger that you begin to develop feelings for... only to come to the heartbreaking realization that the two of you may never meet.

About Last Night by @sunshinehaze1 | wc: 1,744

Dieter Bravo x f!reader You met The Dieter Bravo last night, but does he remember meeting you?

Close Up by @milla-frenchy | wc: 8k7

Joel Miller x fem reader Joel receives a script that takes him back to the memories of your love story. He realizes that out of protective instinct after the break up, he has not been honest neither with his own feelings nor with you

How Could You Love Someone Like Me by @itwasntimethatdidit40 | wc: 3k

Javier Peña x F!Reader Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you.

What's For Dinner by @bergamote-catsandbooks | wc: 1,450

Joel Miller x F!reader A seemingly mundane list of reminders left for one another evolves into something much more heartfelt

More Than Friends by @jennaispunk | wc: 3.5k

Frankie Morales x F!Reader Some time away from your best friend forces you to confront your feelings.

Sounds Dangerous by @almostfoxglove | wc: 2.6k

Max Phillips x f!Reader When you reply to a bizarre craigslist ad, a stranger on the other side of the country charms his way into your life.

Something Sweet by @jeewrites | wc: 2.2k

Marcus Pike x f!reader Character A keeps finding X and tracks them back to B, who might be leaving them intentionally — or not.

What Does A Loveless World Look Like? by @ananonymousaffair | wc: 823

Joel Miller A character receives an anonymous letter that seems to know too much about their past.

Training Days by @604to647 | wc: 4.6k

Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader Detective Rockford leaves for a weeklong tactical training course and you miss him something fierce.

While We Were Texting by @sawymredfox | wc: 2,900

Tim Rockford x fem able-bodied reader Help and surprises come from unexpected places.

Reincarnated by @joelmillerisapunk | wc: 4.5k

Joel Miller x F!Reader A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

Post-It Note Pursuit by @iknowisoundcrazy | wc: 1.3k

Javier Peña x reader Someone in the office has been leaving you post-it notes.

Letters to Little Wren by @schnarfer | wc: 1,300

Wild West Priest Ezra x f!reader Letters from Wild West Priest Ezra to his little wren, while he searches for Damon & prospects for gold.

Golden Girl Texts by @whocaresstillthelouvre | Screenshots

Dieter Bravo x OC!Female The texts start from when Warren & GG get engaged and end at Dieter leaving for London at the end of So It Goes.

I Took The Good Times, I'll Take the Bad Times by @staticscreenwriting | wc: 3k?

Joel Miller x F!reader (Y/N) Joel doesn't think he's deserving of love after all he did and all he went trough. Or maybe he's just scared. Either way he can't let himself fall for (Y/N). Now if only she'd stop sending him those damn postcards.

Linger by @pedgito | wc: 7k

Joel Miller x F!Reader Your postcards become a personal journal during patrols with Joel.

naiveté by @lillaydee | wc: 3.2k

Joel Miller x f!reader Joel listened to a podcast for the first time, one that opened his eyes.

[burntheedges]

Roll-A-Trope Challenge Masterlist

Y'all the response to this challenge blew me away!! 🥺🥰 We are going to have so many amazing fics to read! 🧡 Check here for all of the character/trope pairings from when people joined.

I'll link each one as they're posted. Under the cut you'll soon find fics for Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Dio Morrissey, Ezra (Prospect), Frankie Morales, Jack Daniels, Javi Gutierrez, Javier Peña, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Max Phillips, Nathan Landry, Oberyn Martell, Pero Tovar, and Tim Rockford! And so many amazing tropes!!

Last updated: 3/29/25 | Fic count: 57!

Dave York

Audience of One by @katareyoudrilling | 3k | Dave x f!reader Trope: famous person AU

Can You Remember Who You Were? by @punkshort | 9.1k | Dave x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Danger Zone by @almostempty | 6k | Dave x Lana Kane (you) x Sterling Archer (crossover with Archer (TV)) Trope: snowed in

Down Bad by @schnarfer | 6.1k | Dave x f!reader | part 2 Trope: only one bed (and bonus, it's a coffee shop AU!)

It's Only Make Believe by @jennaispunk | 7k | Dieter x f!actress!reader Trope: fake dating

Sunshine & Rainbows by @jeewrites | 10.1k | Dave x f!reader Trope: amnesia

Dieter Bravo

Broken Hearts Mended by @bitchesuntitled | 6.1k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: time travel

Just like the Picture by @nerdieforpedro | 936 | Dieter x gn!reader Trope: landlord

late night. by @trulybetty | 6.3k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Teleportation and Blue Whiskey (part 1) by @davnittbraes | 1.5k | Dieter x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

this protector by @perotovar | 3.1k | Dieter x Din Trope: only one bed

Din Djarin

Familiar yet Foreign by @whxtedreams | 3.7k | Din x f!reader Trope: fake marriage

New Home (Part 1) by @weirdoneattheparty | 2.1k | Din x f!reader Trope: friends to lovers

something worse by @corazondebeskar-reads | 3.2k | Din x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

The Long Way Round by @din-cognito | 3.17k | Din x gn!reader Trope: road trip

Dio Morrissey

Crimes Against Each Other by @crowandmousewritingco | 2.9k | Dio x trans!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Ezra (Prospect)

To Leave the Green by @cas-readsandwrites | 2k | Ezra & Cee, gen Trope: time loop

Frankie Morales

a kiss, my panacea by @skittlesfics | 917 | Frankie x gn!reader Trope: sickfic

Better Love by @docharleythegeekqueen | 3.4k | Frankie x reader Trope: snowed in

Dreamers (part 1) by @beefrobeefcal | 3.4k | Frankie x reader Trope: soulmates | now with Part 2!

Forever starts tonight by @sawymredfox | 3.6k | Frankie x f!reader Trope: pining

GOING DOWN by @aurorawritestoescape | 3.4k | Frankie x f!reader and Joel x f!reader Trope: exes

I Like You A Latte by @inept-the-magnificent | 752 | Frankie x f!reader Trope: coffee shop AU

I'm Yours by @ashleyfilm | 3.2k | Frankie x reader Trope: secret relationship

To Feel Your Body Against Mine by @flightlessangelwings | 4.5k | Frankie x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

Jack Daniels

i'd give anything for more time by @penvisions | 2k | Jack x f!reader trope: time loop

If I should die before you do by @maggiemayhemnj | 1.7k | Jack x f!reader trope: soulmates

Life's a Dance by @wordywarriorwrites | 2k | Jack x reader Trope: didn't know they were dating

Lucid Dreams by @fhatbhabiee | 3.2k | Jack x reader Trope: friends to lovers

Javi Gutierrez

Things You Knew by @eff4freddie | 8k | Javi G x reader Trope: soulmates

To Make a Day for You by @yopossum | 3k? | Javi G x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

Javier Peña

3 sides of a man by @milla-frenchy | 3.3k | Javi x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

between two floors by @glowingxeyes | 1k | Javi x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator | there’s a part 2 and 3!

GOING DOWN by @almostfoxglove | 3.3k | Javi P x f!reader Trope: stuck in an elevator

good guys, bad deeds by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer | 3.9k | Javi x f!reader Trope: only one bed

Joel Miller

Birds of a Feather by @whocaresstillthelouvre | 5.3k | Joel x f!reader Trope: snowed in

Besties by @butterphii | >1k | Joel x f!reader

drive by @kedsandtubesocks | 2k | Joel x f!reader Trope: road trip

For Better or Worse by @captainredspade | Joel x f!reader Trope: fake marriage

Fragile State by @galway-girlatwork | 2.5k | Joel x OFC!Tara Trope: amnesia

Galway Girl by @yxtkiwiyxt | 7k | Joel x f!reader | part 2!! Trope: soulmates

If You're Reading This by @crowandmousewritingco | 4.5k | Joel x nb!reader Trope: epistolary

It Had To Be You by @jobean12-blog | 4.8k | Joel x f!reader Trope: enemies to lovers

Wish by @hotgirlbedtimescenarios | 1.7k Trope: time travel

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the stars by @the-mandawhor1an | 2.7k | Marcus x f!reader Trope: time travel

Marcus Moreno

Through Every Lifetime by @joelalorian | 4.5k | Marcus x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Marcus Pike

Pike's Place by @pedges-world | Marcus x reader Trope: snowed in | series!!

Max Phillips

A Little Broken by @clawdeewritesfanfic | 3.2k | Max x f!reader Trope: pining

Time After Time by @grogusmum | drabble | Max x f!reader Trope: reincarnation

Nathan Landry

consensus ad idem by @sunshinehaze1 | 4.9k | Nathan x f!reader Trope: snowed in

Oberyn Martell

sweet and sour by @iamasaddie | 5.5k | Oberyn x f!reader Trope: fake relationship

The Correspondence of the Contagious by @crowandmousewritingco | 1.4k | Oberyn x gn!reader x Ellaria Trope: epistolary

Pero Tovar

Memories made, memories lost by @avastrasposts | 7.9k | Pero x f!reader Trope: amnesia

nothing is sure by @tinytinymenace | 2.5k | Pero x OFC Trope: didn't know they were dating

Tim Rockford

|Bump in the Night| by @dc418writes | Tim x black!reader Trope: friends to lovers

Keep Quiet by @auteurdelabre | Tim x f!reader Trope: secret relationship

When Only Memories Remain by @artsy-girl-76 | 3.4k | Tim x f!reader Trope: "shop" AU

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

🌞📖 Summer readin' 💕🕶️

It's been a loooong time since I've indulged in reading fic. Time is always the biggest issue, but if I'm being really really honest, I have a bit of a complex when it comes to reading. I never feel like I read enough, or I don't read widely enough, and the guilt got to a point where it's been been easier to not read anything at all.

I'm trying to reconnect with the joy of reading, so I picked a selection ok more like a smorgasbord of writers that I've always wanted to read but haven't yet (or in a couple of cases, to read more of). I had the best time delving into these amazing fics, and I will queue up my reblogs over the course of the week, in no particular order ❤️ I hope y'all get to read these gems too, and don't forget to reblog if you do 🥰

@guiltyasdave - Delicate | Modern!Oberyn Martell

@frenchiereading - Resting Eyes | Joel Miller

@schnarfer - The Cowboy & the Thief | Jack Daniels

@morallyinept - Till Death | Marcus Acacius

@trulybetty - Sequins | Joel Miller

@artsy-girl-76 - Date Night - An Evening at the Arcade | Frankie Morales

@perotovar - ásjá - A Winter Solstice Story | Pero Tovar

@sixhours - Looking for the Light | Joel Miller

@burntheedges - Good | Clint

@aurorawritestoescape - Hot For You | Joel Miller

@thosewickedlovelies - Press Play | Tim Rockford

@sawymredfox - Moonlight Flight | Pero Tovar

@wordywarriorwrites - Feels Like Home | Javier Peña

@ghotifishreads - A fake date with Joel Miller | Joel Miller

@missredherring - Dieter does Dorne | Dieter Bravo

@thelightsandtheroses - Everywhere, Everything | Joel Miller bouncer!AU

@604to647 - Hold On | Tim Rockford

@pascalispretty - Each Man's Mad Desire | Marcus Acacius

[wordywarriorwrites]

It's Not Goodbye...

It’s no secret that the waters have been choppy for a while.

Lack of engagement, exclusionary behavior, and an increasingly tense political climate in the “real world” have had a major impact on the community.

While Tumblr and the fandom itself are often deemed places of escapism, where happiness and joy reside, it has been challenging to find pockets of sunshine when everything has been so gray.

Unfortunately, the fandom I adore – alive, thriving, and comprised of some genuinely remarkable, kind, amazing writers – has become an unsafe space for me. To make a very long, very painful story short – I no longer feel welcome, and it genuinely hurts.

You can still find my work on AO3.

And I’ll keep the keyboard banging on my blog.

Until we meet again…

-wordywarriorwrites

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

We're gonna pretend this was sent on anon...

IT’S TRUE, SWEAR, SCOUT’S HONOR

YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WANTED AND BOY YOU GOT HER

BRAND NEW, FULL THROTTLE

YOU ALREADY KNOW, BABE

[freelancearsonist]

Hi, hi! Fellow Pedro Scout here, sending you an Asknado! What Pedro character is your favorite to read and/or write?

hello my love!

my favorite to read is a toss up, it really just depends on my mood 😂 i guess i read the most joel bc there's the most fic for him? but i ADORE a well-written ezra fic bc his voice is so unique and the world is so fascinating

i think right now i enjoy writing dieter the most? he's so eccentric and fun and there's a lot of character depth to explore djkasldja

thank you so much for stopping by!! <3

[wordywarriorwrites]

✨ happy new year! ✨

it's not yet 2024 where i am but it is where my love @ravensmadreads is, so happy new year already enjoying january 1st!

i usually overthink around my birthday as i march towards death but you lovely people have really made me think about 2023 as it comes to a close. i feel weird talking about myself (unless im drunk and we haven't started drinking yet so hold onto your butts for that possibility), so i'm just going to say this:

You all changed my life.

there, that's it. if you read this and you think it doesn't mean you, yes it does. not a day goes by where this place, this community does not bring me joy and warmth. i hope you get that job you wanted, or you get that fur baby adoption you've been hoping for, or you get accepted to that school you wanted to, or you graduate with all the honors, or you create the thing you've always wanted to, or you get the baby you've been hoping for, or the person who makes you heart flip says i love you. i'm nervous about next year because it truly feels like a year where anything can happen 🤍

now to the fandom stuff:

i've never done a fic rec list because inevitably, i'm a fucking moron and i leave someone out. i know it hurts when i'm left out of a fic rec list so i never want to do that to anyone here. what follows is a list of fics that spoke specifically to me. the old saying goes is that you don't write fanfic for yourself, you write it for the five freaks on discord that can't write coherent sentences after you publish -- and it's true. fanfic isn't about numbers -- i would much rather write for my five freaks on my discord (where my work has deep, emotional impact for them) than try to write for a large crowd that i will never ever manage to please all at once.

my wish for you in 2024 you all find your freaks. and i hope i'm one of them.

side note: there are a couple fics not on the list because i wanted to highlight fics that i didn't see much on other end of the year rec lists. but @iamskyereads 's Compulsion should be read in graduate programs and @whatsnewalycat already knows i'm going to name my first born child after her for her Psychomanteum. yall rock my goddamn world.

so without further adieu . . . these are the fics i read this year that tickled me pink.

God is a Woman by @wheresarizona the way arizona writes max is entirely unique. i love her descriptions of how cold he is and how he doesn't breathe. i read this and had to rethink everything i ever wrote for max

the impaler by @kiwisbell the dracula x johnathan x mina vibes in this are spectacular. this is a pairing i never thought i'd see much less enjoy so thoroughly. why is older tim being seduced by a younger max so hot??

night one by @haylzcyon this is one of the first fics i read by hayley and she pretty much set the standard for all marcus pike fics moving forward. his endless patience, his flirty attitude, how he see things the reader won't admit, and then the sleeping bag -- god i'd read a thousand more fics about this dymanic

blood & tinsel by @morallyinept so if i tried to list all of my favorite jett fics, we'd be here all night. but this one stands out to me because it's so well built. the description of the vampire "trance" or "glamor" or "compulsion" without using any of those words is INCREDIBLE. plus max is face-meltingly hot in this.

the world turned on its side by @idolatrybarbie this was a surprise that came outta nowhere, but it hit me like a fucking train. bea weaves a story that sticks with you and creates a frankie that makes my entire soul sing.

heat by @wordywarriorwrites okay, listen. the beauty of fanfic is that you can have insane, animalistic smut AND literary level writing. this fic is both. i have yet to come across another frankie abo fic that makes the dynamic more than a reason for the blorbos to fuck like animals. it's so well done, there's so much love here.

in fiction @sin-djarin yall know dieter is my boy so i am VERY particular about how he is written in fic. everyone's interpretation is valid, but for dieter fics to resonate with me, there has to be this special blend of humor, kindness, dorkiness, and a sexiness you didn't expect. this fic is all of that and more.

reminiscence by @projectionistwrites this was one of the first joel fics i read and there's something about it that just . . . feels right, feels natural to Joel. there's a raw honesty to both joel and the reader that just sunk into my chest. the back and forth over the drink, the SMUT, everything is just this beautiful snapshot of two lonely people in the apocalypse.

oct' 19 x ghosts by @trulybetty another author that if i tried to choose a favorite, i simply couldn't. betty created a lovely, lovely world with this one (and the rest of the prompts for this one and her december prompts). i love fics that add a new layer to dieter and this one opened him up in a way that made him glow!

renegade by @eupheme my personal favorite brand of joel is one that comes alive between reader's thighs. more boulder than human until you bring something to the surface. and this totally captures that. im a sucker for a good qz fuck-that-verges-on-love and i adore everything about it.

Dominica by @ohforficsake if you ever need proof that notes do not reflect the quality of a fic, look no further. the language, the mastery of tension, and beauty of these descriptions are one two punches that knock me on the ass. genuinely one of my favorite frankie fics of all time.

wanna bet? by @write-and-buried i debated putting this or her celestial navigation fic on this list, but this one just tickles me. i love it when authors throw in a confident, sex-obsessed dieter now and again and this makes me howl. and the DEBAUCHERY of the statue oh my god!

give it to me @sp00kymulderr okay now to be fair, this review is entirely biased. i genuinely love gideon and all that they bring to this fandom. plus, they let me scream about dieter and then sends me dieter pictures that make me scream even louder. this fic is SO important to me. dieter here is everything i need and want: hesitant, anxious, but so madly in love. if i could wake up in one single fic every day, it'd be this one.

stepwise by @the-scandalorian i joined this fandom through din and this has been, and always will be, one of my top favorites. the evolution of din from being touch averse to LUSTING after it, it kills me. it's a oneshot but so much is accomplished in such a short time. the writing here is simply superb.

salvatore by @devilmademewriteit i came for the premise, stayed for the smut, and continued for the banter. i go back to this one all the time for inspiration with my own writing and then i get sucked in and read the whole thing through -- twice. javi drives me absolutely wild in this.

a whole new can of worms by @hier--soir i accidentally read this out of order initially, but this was just reason for me to reread it from start to finish. fwb!joel can be really hit or miss for me, and primarily because this fic sets the standard. this feels like a real joel, a joel that has lost and found loved ones all through out his life and now in jackson, he can finally relearn what it means to be a lover. so good, so fun with the banter -- and the friggin' greenhouse scene -- woof!

telltale heart @astroboots i am a SUCKER for 'frankie fixes his life' fics and this is one of the best. there are consequences for his choices in colombia, one that almost has him lose his family, and the woman he loves. this a real, genuine struggle for two people to overcome a seemingly impossible challenge in their marriage. you know the phrase, love conquers all? yeah this is that fic.

brand you in the way it counts by @charnelhouse charnel was one of the first authors i read for the pedroverse -- and i mean i READ her. i read every single one of her fics at least twice and this one always sends me over the edge. it's such an inspiration to my own writing and i keep going back to her whole body of work to be reminded i can always improve my own writing

west by @radiowallet when people want to know why fanfic matters, i want to show them this fic. it is achingly beautiful and written with a loving and gentle hand. joel is a messy, broken man but still capable, still good, still wanting to find love in this and i adore everything about this. Oneshots can be more devastating than multichapters because they end and this is one of them that drags me back to it constantly.

And to that weird little dude out of Chile who has no idea how much light he brings to the world…

Much love, Taylor 🤍

[avastrasposts]

Long fic recs - Part 3

Had to do a part 3! So many fics!

I've got a very long flight in a couple of days so I asked for recs for long fics and boy did you deliver!

Most of these links are for Ao3 as you can read offline on that site. Where I know the author has a Tumblr account, I've tagged them. Unfortunately I don't know the Tumblr name for some of them, so if you see someone you recognise who's not tagged, please tag them too.

I've divided them by character, and as usual, you're responsible for your own consumption, so read the warnings. If you like the story, tell the author, it's always appreciated!

I've taken the liberty to tag my personal favourites with a little ❤️And in this final post I've also added a couple of my own long fics!

Enjoy!

Frankie

The Bachelorette @icanbeyourjedi-writes

31 October prompts @trulybetty

The Pilot and his Girl (my own)

❤️Designated Person @whatsnewalycat

General Acacius

In another life @punkshort

Joel

Calendar Girl @wordywarriorwrites

Woman @dancingtotuyo

Happy birthday baby girl @sixhours

Ezra

Nine Lives @mothandpidgeon

Fink the Fox

That Awoo Inside You @oonajaeadira

Tim Rockford

The Rockford Files @bluestar22x

Pero Tovar

The Outcast @bluestar22x

❤️The Cross @blueeyesatnight

Sassenach and the Spaniard @absurdthirst & @wardenparker

Marcus Pike

Baby Fever @bluestar22x

Marcus Moreno

Second chances @bluestar22x

Zach Wellison

Finding Eden @bluestar22x

Dieter Bravo

Unknown @bluestar22x

Javi Gutierrez

The Writing Contest @bluestar22x

Jack Daniels

The Traveler @silksaddle

❤️Fallout @lady-bess

Almost all the Pedro boys in one fic

A Baker's Dozen (my own)

[punemy-spotted]

Eeeeee thank you!!

The Price You Pay Chapter 8: Force Majeure

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader; Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Non-Con; Dub-Con; Workplace Sexual Harassment; Blackmail; Mentions of Murder; Dark!Steve Rogers; Soft!Dark!Andy Barber; Mafia/Political AU combination; Angst; Crying; (offscreen, minor) Character Death; Descriptions of someone with PTSD and Depression; Funerals; Gun Violence; Domestic(ish) Violence; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; I Killed Those Doves, Lemon.

Chapter Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat; Pregnancy; Allusions to Antenatal Depression and PTSD; Discussion of a Medical Nature; Alcohol Mention; Isolation; Semi-Forced Marriage; None of this is how the law actually works.

Chapter Summary: Andy Barber keeps his promise, for better or for worse. In sickness, and in health.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Masterlist

Notes: So… it’s been a minute. Hiatus-ing on and off, appearing, apologizing, disappearing again. I know I’m a mess. I’ve officially left legal — for now, pray higher education holds — and I’m finally getting my horrible menty health under control. Turns out, if you take your meds properly, you can manage to recover your lost muse and update a fic you’ve barely touched since [checks calendar] 2021.

I’m so sorry.

I hope I can keep up and this resurrected-from-the-dead update doesn’t, you know, disappoint.

Thank you for sticking with me even though I’m terrible! I really have missed talking to all of you and am… trying to get over that guilt and be around again. Your faith in me means the world and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Beta-read by my roommate, who is kinder to and more patient with me than I deserve. (love you, bestie. sending you this note via screenshot because you hate 2POV with a passion but it’s fine, we can still be friends.) There’s probably still typos, I’m useless.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

Senator Andy Barber’s Chief of Staff keeps a loaded gun in the glove compartment of every car he drives, a force of habit the Senator is probably grateful for right about now, even in absentia. While he pays for the final tank of gas he’ll need to get you both to where you need to go, you open it up and empty the clip, leave the bullets in the cup-holder save for the two you put back. He doesn’t bother questioning the sight of them when he returns, just glances at you briefly and proceeds to hand you a cup of watery, burnt coffee you almost immediately regret taking a sip of.

You drain the cup before the car’s back on the highway.

The road ahead is a lonely one, just the car’s headlights to cut through the snowy gloom. William “Billy” Russo barely speaks, the only driver half-insane enough to be driving through this particular stretch of the Appalachian Trail this late at night with a snowstorm raging all around the both of you.

You never picked up smoking as a habit, really �� too devout then, too late now — but as  the suffocating silence settles in alongside the cold in your bones, you can’t help but crave one. Just one. Just something to quiet the churning anxiety and growing dread in your belly.

You risk a glance over to Billy, take in the pale white of his knuckles deepening as his grip on the wheel shifts, his eyes catching yours when he feels the weight of your gaze on him, You getting tired?

Are you?

Exhaustion feels too far away, adrenaline still holding your eyes open, anxious twitches keeping your muscles uncomfortable in the passenger seat, unable to settle down. Even the shake of your head is too cautious to be definitive, too busy watching. Waiting. Say nothing.

Not long now, he tells you by way of an attempt at comfort, eyes back on the road, Safe house is just a few hours away.

Alaska.

Not the state — though you wouldn’t mind, all things considered. The house Billy pulls up to is… nice, if made gloomy in its snowy isolation. You almost wonder how a Senator’s newly-hired Chief of Staff even manages to have an isolated “safe house” just on the edge of the US-Canada border, with access to what seemed like a completely unmanned and unlicensed border crossing — and then you decide that question isn’t even top fifty on your list of questions you’ve had about your day.

Days, even. Days full of memories of caskets, graveside services, and Senator Andy Barber — bloody and battered — practically tackling you to the ground to remind you why you’re here, pulling up to a wood-and-brick prison rather than your palace of glass and steel.

Domain. Dungeon.

The snow outside is starting to turn into a full-bore blizzard, but the house itself is warm enough to boil your blood, fire crackling in the hearth and Billy handing you a mug of something warm and medically cleared for your consumption, I’ve got good news — he’s awake, he tells you, taking a seat in the armchair across from you with a glass of whiskey in hand, He’ll want to hear from you, make sure you’re safe.

Safe. The word feels all wrong, especially here. Especially now.

You are not safe, you will never be safe, he will find you he will always find you—

A pillar of the community has fallen.

It was a heart attack, the papers said.

This is a massacre, the television blares, traumatized reporter center stage. Here you sit, in the fallout of having been too close, far from escaping unscathed. Billy reads aloud the names of those mourners and sycophants too preoccupied with the performance of grief to notice the cracks in the foundation — tragic, tragic, couldn’t have happened soon enough.

Funerals are for the living, and amidst all this death, you might almost come alive.

Heart attacks, you know, are no more than convenient half-truths for the public to pretend, but this — this lays it all bare, exposes the rotten empire of Judge Alexander Pierce as it all comes crashing down around those who profited the most as his enemies decide to draw blood from his headstone.

And all it almost cost you was Senator Andy Barber

And all you had was Senator Andy Barber

Something rises in you at the thought, a bold of lightning through your chest as you feel yourself surge forward on that unraveling tightrope beneath your feet, teeth grinding together and muscles pulsing with the force of will it takes to keep you steady, tamp down the illness and anguish aching to pour from you the moment you open your mouth you are going to start screaming and you will never stop you will never stop you will never—the sight of Billy Russo’s concerned face blurs into practically nothing as you press down the growing pulse of both panic and pain, your stomach considering the merits of emptying itself entirely.

Are you alright?

He knows the answer to that. He knows what you’re about to say — if you could say anything at all — while you press your lips into a thin line and try not to glare too cruelly at him for daring to ask you something when opening your mouth is an impossible task.

The pulse of your jaw will have  to serve as answer enough.

Still. You manage. Abdomen sore and sour and a line of tears staining your cheeks, half-crumpled back into the couch while hands that are not Andy Barber’s try to hold you up.

You’ll try not to resent Billy for the sin.

Any being mired in politics eventually understands the value of things left unsaid, a fact you have never been more grateful for until now, as the pressure on the couch beside you lifts and you catch sight of Billy Russo’s blurry figure leaving your presence — and returning shortly, not long after you manage to clear your vision, met immediately with a glass of water and a metal straw.

And then the phone rings, leaving you alone again.

Barely secretly, you’re almost glad for the interruption.

How are you feeling?

Like I just woke up from having two bullets fished out of my ribs. Andy Barber’s voice is rough, smoke and gravel tinged with pain and whatever that medical team of his pumped into him to numb it while they sewed him shut. You almost wish you had coils on this damn phone, to wind around your fingers in absentminded anxiety while you press down the waves of stomach-churning guilt you’ve been contending with since you got here — and well before then, too.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse. You know these steps too well.

I shouldn’t have asked, you manage by way of apology, listening to the strained chuckle on the other side of the line.

Better you asking than anyone else, Sunshine. How are you feeling?

Like Hell, like I can never stop, never escape, like you’ve trapped me in a cage, like the poison inside of me is going to choke me and then I’ll finally be free, free, free—

Comparatively, or just in general?

It’s a game, always. A dance. A ruse. Andy Barber shouldn’t laugh with chunks of his left side gouged out by two bullets you can’t even remember the caliber of — but the tenor of it washing over your ears is enough to set you right.

You will never be okay again.

Give me both, Sunshine. I could use the hope.

Hope. Funny thing to have when you’re laid up in a hospital bed with stitches keeping you together, but you personally — well you’re starting to get it. Just a bit.

Worried about you, mostly. Do you know when they’ll let you out? It could almost sound sweet, the way you make yourself worry — the way Andy believes you when you do — if you felt there was any sweetness left in you at all. You ought to be grateful.

You did this, you did this, you you you you you.

Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward.

You almost miss it, Andy’s response, recalling just snippets as they break through your thoughts—check for sepsis… high security… not being very accommodating… stay in touch.

To be fair, I don’t think calling outside the hospital is within their protocol, you have it in you to sound like you might be teasing him, enough to feel a ghost of a smile tug at your lips when you hear another — stronger — laugh.

I’ll give them that. If they can give me the option of recovering at home, I might give them more.

You have to laugh at that, just a little.

It can’t last.

Sunshine… There it is, your laughter cut short by the shift in his voice, the smile you’d just begun feeling okay with tugging at the corners of your lips fading into nothing.

Andy, don’t—

No. Listen to me, this doesn’t change anything. I promised you I’d take care of you this time and I still mean it.

You can’t hear yourself for the blood-tide in your ears, waves of warning screaming at you to stop, to shut up, to run run run. You should not have come here. You should not believe him. You can’t trust him. You won’t. You cannot trade one cage for another, not this time.

It’s too late for that.

We’ll talk more when I see you again.

Turns out, that’s not for a while.

Still— Andy Barber keeps his promise.

You don’t mind at first, do you? It makes sense at first, doesn’t it? Billy Russo destroys your old phone before you and he have even left the hospital, erasing all its photos and memories and contact information of law school classmates you stopped reaching out to six months after you graduated, and it makes sense. Can’t be tracked this way. Be found. Be drawn back to that cage of glass and steel high above that city you’d moved to in some vain hope your past would leave you alone in that mess of people, politics, and pain.

Can’t let Steve Rogers know you’re still alive.

Can’t let him know what you’ve stolen from him.

So you don’t mind. You don’t mind the stillness — not even when the snow melts one uncharacteristically warm weekend and the woods around you feel almost devoid of life. You don’t mind the loneliness either, more than resigned to accepting your solitude as sanctions for your sins. You don’t even mind the way Billy dictates your days with careful ease — wait, no, you do mind that.

Don’t you have a Senator to look after? You question him one day, not long after your first silent and uncomfortable drive to a private clinic where you check in under the name Mrs. Barber and meet doctors and nurses whose pseudonyms you won’t bother to remember as they test your vitals and ultrasound your belly and act proud when you lie about how little nausea you’re feeling.

This is how he wants me to do that. He barely looks at you as he responds, practically rehearsed while typing away at his phone and gesturing vaguely to the stone-faced bodyguard who’s become more of a shadow to you than your actual one.

One cage for another.

This is the price.

This is your prison. Your dungeon. The life sentence you’ve won for your work. This cell of wood and brick, of double-paned and bullet-proof windows with roll-down metal shutters and bars pretending to be wrought-iron, of eyes always watching and waiting and reporting.

Andy Barber keeps his promises.

And all it costs you is everything you are.

I should do this right. He’d told you as much. I want to do this right.

You don’t ask him if this is what he defines as right when the ring shows up on your pillow after you return from yet one more heavily guarded visit to the clinic, terrified of the day you can’t hide — and deny — this reminder of Steve Rogers, all his lies and that scratched-out marble plinth in your heart upon which you’d once laid wreaths of surrender. You don’t ask him if this is what he defines as right when Billy hands you a pen and a marriage license backdated to the night you visited Andy Barber in his hotel room and almost told him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but  the truth so help you God, your witnesses Andy’s Chiefs of Staff and officiant a name you don’t bother to question.

An old law school lecture about marriages conducted in absentia and the lack of validity thereof comes back to haunt you.

Billy Russo waits.

You sign the papers.

Andy Barber shows up six weeks later.

You’ve almost lost track of time.

It is… not a very spirited homecoming. Hardly the sort of thing a Senator who’s just survived a shooting and recovered — especially when so few were privileged enough to do the same — would earn on Capitol Hill. No fanfare, no excited extended family waiting in the wings with cake and confetti to welcome him back. Just a sleek black car winding its lonely way along an isolated drive and — as it rolls to a stop in front of the house — another member of staff rushing to help him out of the back seat.

You should be down there.

You should be waiting for him the way a good wife ought, all smiles and happy kisses and gleeful adoration. Odysseus has returned home, to banish the wolves at your door, free you from this beautiful prison and give you something like hope.

After all, Sunshine — you should be grateful.

You signed a vow, sealed with a ring — in sickness and in health.

You should be down there.

Instead, you remain at your seat by the window, knees drawn up as close to your chest as your slowly swelling belly might allow, watching. Haunting the upstairs bedroom you know you are about to share with the man you are about to call your husband — out loud, at least. In person.

Instead, you watch as Billy Russo steps into the spotlight, greets his employer with enthusiasm you haven’t seen once in the almost two months since your confinement began, haven’t seen once in the almost two months you have been silently glaring at him and his staff — all outstretched hands and a too-broad smile you don’t need to see to know is on his face.

Instead, you watch as Andy Barber looks up towards your window, as if he sees you half-hidden behind the curtain, the ghost of all that you once were a year-and-a-half ago when you managed to stand up against New York’s most dangerous and — briefly, gloriously — won.

You watch the way he frowns with his whole body, familiar with the set of his shoulders and the terrifying purpose in his stride as he steps inside. Ready for battle.

Hello, Sunshine. He looks the same. Kept the same beard. The same perfect hair. The same crease in his brow as he leans against the doorway with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his tongue pressed against his teeth and jaw flexing with either disappointment or displeasure as he watches you. No different than the man who asked you to stay in his hotel room the night you tore Steve Rogers from your heart and made your choice.

The warmth of him is a sanctuary you have begun to resent as he forces the confrontation you have imagined having a thousand times in the last week alone, the honey of his voice too much of an invitation for you to tolerate as he waits. Watches. Far enough away to let you decide if you want to close the distance, a consideration you mull over as you turn away from the window and the nothing and the hate of you, reluctantly meeting his gaze, Andy. Welcome home.

There’s hurt to him. Voice warm and wounded, fresh blood spilling into the air between you, reaching for the familiarity of before. How are you feeling? A question he knows the answer to, one he also knows you will not give voice to.

You prove him right, daring to shake your head at it, I’m fine.

Liar liar liar traitor traitor traitor coward coward coward

I’m not sure you mean that, Sunshine.

Andy… It’s a warning, a plea, a confession. Ask nothing, you want to insist, want  to scream and keep screaming and scream and scream and scream—

Andy Barber closes the distance.

You’ll never be used to this. To the thunder rumble of his voice rolling over you, to warm hands at your waist, to the way your name sounds so sweet on his lips while he lets one hand lift to your cheek and convinces you to look at him with the softest nudge of his fingers, Talk to me.

Let me out let me out let me out.

You shake your head, try to wrench yourself away but suddenly you are weak in more than body — unable, unwilling to pull yourself from the embrace you practically dreamt of sinking into — all your hate and resentment melting under the heat of his gaze. No, it’s—I’m—I’m just going a little stir-crazy, is all.

An apology. A concession. A plea. You are beating your wings against the bars of your cage and Andy Barber just… tightens his hold, tucks you against him, wraps you in the trapper’s net of his embrace and hides you. Tight enough you could almost drown in it, in the cedar and woodsmoke of his cologne, in the drumbeat of his steady heart as he near curls himself around you — sharp contrast to the hummingbird panic in your own chest, sternum cracking from the pressure, I know, I know, and you could almost believe in his apology too, if you could believe in anything at all.

I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t be so—so what, you ask yourself before you can continue, dare stop yourself from apologizing for all that you shouldn’t have been in the first place.

You are more than this, more than her, she who languishes in this beautiful cell of a half-life she thinks she has earned. You are more than your cage and your broken promises and your guilt. You are—

Tired.

It sinks into your bones as easily as Andy does, so sure of himself and the choice and the life you had no say in him building for you, Don’t be, Sunshine. I can’t imagine this is easy for you.

I wasn’t the one who got shot.

That disarms him, at least, and you have an opportunity to smile as he lets out a laugh, lets you pull back enough to look at him, lets you stand on your own two feet with his hands at your waist again, watching you.

You can see the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, enough to steel you against the constant collapse of all you thought you once were. You never called me, after that, an accusation. A question.

I know. Fucked up of me, he admits it so readily it almost hurts to hear, until you see the flex of his jaw and the way his eyes slide from yours — guilt. You’ve been a lawyer long enough to know what that looks like — no matter how long it’s been since the last time you searched for it.

You wait.

I should have. Figured out some way of reaching you — but the Syndicate has more eyes looking for you than we anticipated. Rogers… Billy didn’t even want me coming out here, said it was too early, but I told him to make it work and so… here we are.

Billy. Your Chief of Staff. He orchestrated this? You fall into it so easily. The viper, the soldier, that arm of justice demanding answer and understanding and suddenly the light of  your interrogation is shining on him.

He can feel it too, the sharpness of your fangs as you consider sinking them into his throat, consider tearing into him and pouring out the venom you’ve built up in your veins. The look on his face is evidence of guilt, and so you wait. Wait for him to beg and plead and justify.

Chief of Staff is his official title. Think of him more as Chief of Security. I hired him after I got the news about Alex— if he notices the way you flinch at the name, he doesn’t comment —he’s been trying to make up for the funeral since.

And this is how. Not a question. But you’ll have your answers nonetheless.

Yes. Not quite. I didn’t—I should have told you, Sunshine. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry more, not with…

Not with the baby. Might as well say it. The baby. The last reminder of Steve Rogers, the proof of all that he’d done to you, all that you’d paid to rid yourself of your pain, the newest shackle of your suffering. The baby.

Andy just ducks his head in the barest of nods, Not good for your health. You’ve got Rogers on the warpath, Sunshine—had to make myself look like the gentleman from Vermont just to get here, and Billy’s still convinced there might be a drone tracking me.

So why now? Why not wait, why not hide you forever, why not seal you away and pretend you never were?

Why do you think? I need you, Sunshine.

That stops you in your tracks, your circuit around the courtroom you’d made of this argument ceasing as you fix your gaze on him properly, Andy…

The ring. The license. Those are real, Sunshine. I’d rather have done it right but it’s not like Rogers gave me much choice — we were running out of time. If he finds out, at any point, he’d…

He trails off. You don’t need him to finish the sentence. Steve Rogers’s hands wrap themselves around your throat again, the heel of his palm at your chin, forcing you to look up, up into the cold steel of his eyes, into the hate of him, the way he made it look like love—no.

Never again.

You want to believe him, more than anything. Want to believe Andy Barber left you alone in silence for nearly two months against his will, want to believe you weren’t trapped in a prison on purpose, want to believe you can still fight back.

You don’t always get what you want — no matter how much you try.

He sees it too, the way you tense, the way your hands fall to his at your waist, the way you wonder at pulling him off you and pulling away and suddenly his fingers are pressing in a little too much, suddenly he’s dragging you in a little too fast and your hummingbird heart is racing again and the blood-tide is in your ears and, Sunshine! Hey, hey, look at me, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe, you’re safe— Andy Barber is afraid.

It is the fear you forgive him for.

You don’t remember how you got here, sitting on your bed with Andy Barber holding your hands in his, a man with his heart out of his chest. Listen to me. I’ll do anything to keep you safe. I will. But if you hate this, if you can’t forgive me for this, I’ll—I’ll make something work. Just give me long enough to… He trails off. Watches you. There’s a sheen of hurt in his eyes and it makes your own well up and you could hate him for that too, the same way you could hate him for this, the shackles he’s sentenced you to, for the jury that watches you.

But you don’t, really.

You stand at the cliffside between the devil and the deep blue sea and as you look into the stormcloud eyes so earnestly fixed on you and feel Andy Barber’s fingers squeezing your own with something like hope wrapped in the curl of them, you feel the blood-tide roar past your ears as you take one step into the nothingness and fall.

I signed the papers, Andy, you tell him, choking through sentiment with the simplicity of fact, interrupting the apologies he wants to make, watching his brow first furrow with confusion and then smooth with dawning realization, barreling forward before you can lose your nerve, If I wanted to go back to him — if I wanted there to be a chance he could find his way back to me — I wouldn’t have. I would have just managed alone, would have refused to go with Billy, would have left this house, would—

—would have gotten caught back up in it. Andy finishes speaking for you, his shoulders seeming to fall from the height he didn’t know he’d been holding them at, relief calming the tide of tears that might have drowned you both as he breathes a sigh and just…

Holds you, again. A question. An answer. A relief.

I need you to trust me, Sunshine.

And you do.

[guiltyasdave]

inspired by @the-blind-assassin-12 i joined her march fic madness 2024 challenge, with the goal to read and reblog 63 fics in 31 days.

i’ve read waaaayyyy more than that, but i’ll keep going until march is over and add every new fic to this list later :) i’m also thinking about starting a weekly rec list of fics that i’ve read, i’ll obviously still reblog them individually but i think it would be nice to have them in one place, since things can easily get lost on the dash.

in an attempt to keep this somewhat organized, i’ll sort this list by character. i love every fic on here, but i do read some dark shit, so please pay attention to the tags/warnings and decide for yourself if something might not be for you <3

part 1 because this is how i found out that you can’t tag more than 50 people lol • find part 2 here!

joel miller

when i move you move & company assets by @ghotifishreads

dancing with a ghost & texas reznikoff by @huntingingoodwill

daddy next door by @cavillscurls

seasons don’t, no quiet on this earth, no loyalty in the apocalypse, save your tears & better run by @corazondebeskar-reads

homemade by @gutsby

a day beyond this night by @quinnnfabrgay-writes

between two lungs & knuckles deep by @ozarkthedog

woman by @dancingtotuyo

him. he. joel. by @undercoverpena

late bloomer by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

smother by @beardedjoel

declined by @alltheirdamn

nylon lust by @decembermidnight

for you, for me by @swiftispunk

creature comforts & kiss it better by @galactic-basic

amateur by @ezrasbirdie

into the woods by @sugarcoated-lame

new perspective by @thetriumphantpanda

garnish by @penvisions

hanging on the telephone by @macfrog

some nights by @pedroacrossthestreet

helen by @kiwisbell

the duke’s illicit affair by @hellishjoel

javier peña

scathed by @dancingtotuyo

the hounds of hell by @aurorawritestoescape & @milla-frenchy

tres besos by @mrsmando

bend over by @endlessthxxghts

dave york

extra credit by @mothandpidgeon

din djarin

live to rise, nobody is coming to save you by @corazondebeskar-reads

dieter bravo

personal shopping by @huntingingoodwill

uninhibited by @ozarkthedog

frankie morales

do me yourself, midnight strikes, where is my prince? & a debt to pay by @undercoverpena

home by @dancingtotuyo

object of my affection & sweet treat by @mrsmando

life is but a… by @wordywarriorwrites

acts of service by @swiftispunk

marcus pike

headshots by @secretelephanttattoo

jack daniels

sundress season by @kewwrites

marcus moreno

if it wasn’t for the nights by @simpingcowboy

the secret by @frannyzooey

tim rockford

moss by @5oh5

lucien flores

hungry eyes by @missredherring

two-pack habit & a motel tan by @trulybetty

like a moth to a flame by @ozarkthedog

precious by @jksprincess10

the party by @aurorawritestoescape

moaning, panting by @iamasaddie

boba fett (i don’t know how that happened, blame ang lol)

toys don’t talk by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

if you read any of these, please remember to show the writers some love! <3

[wordywarriorwrites]

Trouble

A03 | Pairing: Dave York x OFC | Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of violence. Language. Smut. Angst.

Summary: Dave's in hiding and always on the move. He knows better than to allow himself to be drawn in, but this time, he just can't help it.

A/N: For @yxtkiwiyxt's Never Have I Ever Challenge. Also, "Trouble" by Ray LaMontagne played repeatedly in my head while writing this.

A tiny café in Podunk town, with only two tables and no security camera. Their version of a morning rush (ten patrons – six women, four men) had come and gone an hour ago. Dave people-watched, mentally mapped out exit strategies, and sized up items he could use as weapons.

But he hadn’t prepared himself for her.

Black shoes, black pants, and a purple sweater. Dark hair and dark eyes. A lemon poppyseed muffin and a steaming cup three times the size he had in his hand. His mind calculated her. Assessed her. Turned her over until he concluded she was simply a late arrival and posed no threat.

“May I?” she asked, index finger pointed toward the empty chair across from him.

Dave knew what he looked like – unshaven, with threadbare clothes, unkempt hair, and an overgrown beard. He no longer bothered with the eyepatch because he was badly scared and had grown weary of trying to hide it for the comfort of others. He was clean but wanted to appear haphazard and unapproachable, and most people – especially women – averted their gaze or looked right through him, which was how he preferred it.

The other table, situated beneath a large, overly blurred poster of a coffee bean, had been taken up by a middle-aged woman with a cellphone that she was manically glued to. He'd gotten a brief glimpse of the screen and knew the lady’s poison was online slots. Addicts were everywhere, even in small towns, and her wild eyes indicated that she had zero intention of leaving the only place other than the library that offered free Wi-Fi.

“That’s Veronica,” she whispered gently. “She’s… Well, she’s struggling.”

Between the choice of sitting with him or the twitchy gambler, this woman seemed to find him the lesser of two evils. Dave wasn’t flattered or insulted by it. He could’ve left – just vacated his seat, taken his overpriced java and too-dry hunk of banana bread, and walked right out the door. He could’ve gotten back into his shitty car and kept on down the road, but he didn’t.

Instead, he looked up at her, and when he met her eyes, he realized the mistake in his assessment. She wouldn’t slit his throat – that much he was confident about – but she was trouble of a different kind, and something about her made a synapse fire in his brain. Dave hadn’t meant to nod because even the most innocuous things, like sharing a table with a stranger, could cause problems.

But then, she smiled, and that was that.

A nondescript Toyota, with a false VIN and fake plates – that was Dave’s home and mode of transportation. A flat tire should’ve been relatively easy to deal with, but he couldn’t get the damn thing off with the tools he had on hand. Being trapped had thrown him into an even higher plane of hypervigilance, and though several people had slowed down and offered to help him, he’d either ignored or refused them.

Then, she arrived.

Her vehicle – a dark green truck with an open bed and flashing hazard lights – slowed to a stop right next to his. There hadn’t been a polite offer for Dave to refuse or disregard because she hadn’t bothered with one. She simply climbed down from her truck, snagged her toolbox from the back, and joined him on the side of the road.

“Well,” she sighed as she rolled up the sleeves of her maroon-colored hoodie and crouched beside him. “Looks like you’ve damaged your nuts.”

In the past, he would have laughed and maybe even engaged in some light banter. But this wasn’t the past, and he wasn’t amused.

The silence that followed was broken only by an occasional car passing by. Her bolt extractor and hammer, his brute strength and stubbornness – a winning combination that saw the flat removed and the equally pitiful spare put into place.

She stood tall and wiped her hands on her dark blue jeans, “You’re going bald.”

Dave grunted and packed up the toolbox. The flat went into the trunk, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her gesture with a pointed toe encased in a leather loafer toward his back passenger tire. It should’ve been replaced thousands of miles ago, but he kept that to himself. He kept all his thoughts to himself and slammed the trunk shut.

If she thought him rude, she didn’t show it; she just recommended a shop a couple of blocks over that would give him a fair price on a set if he was interested.

He quirked a brow.

She retrieved her toolbox, waved, and took off without a backward glance.

Dave no longer had the pretty face he once had, nor did he have access to CIA-level tech, but he still could learn things about people when he put his mind to it.

He found out her name. Discovered she was the town’s resident bookkeeper, and she worked from home. Was informed that she preferred appointments, but also took walk-ins, and her standard order at the café was a triple-shot espresso.

And chestnut brown, Dave decided, was the color of her hair.

A small, one-story brick house on the end of Corduroy Lane, with an antique-looking business sign in the front yard that listed her services and credentials. A solitary concrete step that led up to a stoop too small to be classified as a porch. A bright red door. A brass claddagh knocker.

The last notes of the bell had just faded when she answered, dressed in black slacks and a pale green button down, face fixed into a professional expression. A practiced exterior that faded quickly, followed by a pleasant greeting and a smile – neither of which he returned. Instead, he held the coffee he’d purchased for her aloft and gestured for her to take it.  

She accepted it with a small nod, and as she sipped, Dave thought what an easy target she’d make.

A single woman who worked alone and most likely lived alone. The kind of woman who invited strangers into her home, trusting they wouldn’t hurt her as she poured over their financials and unwittingly learned all their dirty, little secrets. The type of woman who sat at tables with men she didn’t know, who stopped and helped them change flat tires and accepted coffee from them. A woman ignorant to the danger that could reach out and grab her at any time… 

“Do you like pizza?” she wondered.

Dave blinked. Nodded.

“Fiona’s - the bar around the corner - makes a good pie.”

That smile of hers appeared again. A car door slammed shut.

“Sorry to cut this short, but my next appointment is here,” she announced, eyes momentarily pulled to the delicate timepiece on her right wrist before returning to him. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Dave may have shrugged. He might not have. All he knew as he headed back down the sidewalk toward his car with its’ four brand-new tires that had depleted nearly all his savings was that she needed a better deadbolt for her front door.

By the time Dave arrived at the bar, she was already two slices into an extra-large meat lovers, and the pint of beer she’d ordered was half-empty.  

A high back stool with legs that wobbled like a newborn foal. Tomato sauce and oregano and maraschino cherries. A stereo that blasted Guns and Roses fought for dominance with a flat screen that had been turned on to the ballgame. A neon Coors Light sign. A sticky floor that made his boots squeak with every step.

“Beer?” she offered.

He nodded, and a few moments later, the bartender slid him a pint of whatever was on draft with an acceptably foamy head. While he settled in, she grabbed a handful of napkins from the pile by her elbow and dropped several slices onto a paper plate.

“Place is a shithole,” she declared as she placed the napkins and plate in front of him.  “But the beer is cold, and the pizza is good.”

Five pieces later, Dave agreed, and her unassuming presence, combined with nobody else joining them at the bar, helped keep his shoulders from crawling up into his earlobes. It was a lot for him – the noise, the smells, the people, the terrible lighting, but seated next to her…

“Diner up the street has fish fry on Fridays,” she voiced. She dipped her crust in a little plastic cup of ranch and shrugged as she brought it to her mouth. “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Dave sat back. Ran a napkin over his mouth. Her profile was soft. Her ears were pierced, but unadorned, and she had a freckle about an inch from her lateral canthus. The high-waisted bellbottoms and buttercup yellow sweater made her look warm. Approachable.

As she chewed, he tried to find something – anything, really – to explain why the hell a good-looking woman like her would bother to give a man like him the time of day. He’d been trained to sniff out subterfuge and knew exactly what pity looked and sounded like, but he could sense none of that.

He finished his beer. The bartender refilled it.

“Fridays?” Dave muttered.

“Fridays,” she replied.   

He nodded. She saluted him with her own refilled glass.

Dave met up with her at the diner on Friday.

Stupid, really, to allow himself to become entangled with her. A risk, too, because of her standing in the town and his unfortunate-looking face. People liked her. Knew her by name. The waitress who brought the menus and silverware covered in water spots eyeballed him hard, and Dave should’ve cared about that, but he hadn’t given a damn.

Because he was uncharacteristically horny. And suddenly starved for attention. Her attention. 

Pathetic.  

“I’ve never broken a bone,” she stated absentmindedly.   

The booth across from them was crammed with high school kids in nearly identical letterman jackets. One boy, maybe sixteen, was seated on the outside, leg outstretched to accommodate a rather large, neon-pink cast. The large “C” on his chest indicated he was the boss of the bunch, and the way the others sucked up to him confirmed it.

Dave had already clocked the rowdy group and the crutches against the wall when he walked in, but still, he followed her gaze until it returned to him. She popped a fry into her mouth and chewed politely while she seemed to consider him.

“Have you?” she eventually wondered as she reached for her drink.

The ice rattled as the straw passed her lips, and the thought of her mouth and all its unknown capabilities burned through him like a shot. Dave imagined how sweet her cola-coated tongue would taste. How nice it would feel wrapped around his cock. He wondered if she’d swallow.

Embarrassed and ashamed, he cleared his throat and looked away. The waitress chose that moment to return and glare at him some more, which he inwardly admitted he deserved. Outwardly, he ignored her. Refills, extra napkins, and more tartar sauce – the topics covered gave him time to compose himself, and when they were alone again, she prodded once more.

“Several,” Dave finally answered.

“Bad accident?”

“Pushed off a cliff.”

She paused mid-squeeze on a lemon wedge, but her eyes never wavered. Even when the waitress came back with their requested items, she didn’t look away. Even when the bell above the door chimed and announced the arrival of more customers, her stare remained focused.

Two toddlers in the booth behind him had been jumping up and down and singing the same refrain of Wheels on the Bus for a solid fifteen minutes. The couple seated behind her had been arguing over everything from the cable bill to the acceptable amount of pepper one should put on mashed potatoes. Someone dropped a plate, and the sound of shattered ceramic momentarily sucked all the noise and levity from the room.

Still, she hadn’t flinched.

Dave had told so many lies about his scars that it had become impossible to remember them all. Even the doctors and nurses who’d saved his life never learned the full details of what happened. She was the only person he’d ever told the truth to, and the unintended admission had somehow made the burden he carried feel less heavy – like simply telling her, even without the gory details, had halved the weight somehow.

Chaos resumed quickly, but the tension remained and stifled the little conversation they’d been having. Eventually, she transferred her purse to her lap and outed two twenties. Crisp, clean, and not at all like the bills he had wadded up in his pocket, she placed them next to her plate and polished off her soda.

The strap of her bag was thin, with a shiny silver buckle, and it slipped over the round of her shoulder without any fuss. When she scooted out of the booth, Dave followed suit, and the narrow, cramped space of the aisle put him in the closest proximity he’d been to a human being since his brush with death.

“I like you,” she asserted.

He stared down at her, “That’s unfortunate.”

Brow furrowed, she turned and headed toward the door. Dave followed her and silently admired her form as she stepped out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. He knew her truck was parked close to the building, which he thought was very sensible, and he escorted her to it.

She outed her keys, “Ever slept with someone on the first date?”

“No,” he answered.

“Me neither,” she admitted. "But I want to. With you."

Once the locks were disengaged, Dave reached for the handle and opened the door for her.

“This wasn’t a date,” he said.

She sighed, “You sure about that?"

It had been two weeks since fish fry Friday.

Well, thirteen days and sixteen hours, to be precise.

Dave’s primary focus had become getting out of town, which he needed money for – a few hundred, at least, if he wanted to put some real distance between himself and this woman who’d started to preoccupy his thoughts entirely too much.

Luckily for him, the town had enough small business owners who supported veterans. Once he’d told them his injuries were war-related, and that it had been hard for him to find steady work, they’d been all too eager to let him do odd jobs in exchange for cash. He was a liar, yes, but not a thief, and it would take a few more days – maybe a week – but only if he stayed focused.

It was Thursday. The clock on the dash signaled it was nearly midnight. He’d just gotten to his preferred parking space – a spot behind the animal shelter that offered direct escape routes, good coverage, and lighting that allowed him to see anything that might come at him.

There was another, smaller lot behind the grocery store, but he only parked there on nights when he couldn’t sleep. Tonight, he was tired. So, he parked at the shelter. And perhaps if he hadn’t been so tired, so focused on getting the hell out of town, on getting the hell away from her, he would’ve noticed her truck when he pulled in.

She emerged from the back door, bag of trash in hand. Head on a swivel, she scanned the lot as she marched toward the dumpster. She opened the lid. Tossed the bag inside. Dave stupidly held his breath, as if that would somehow prevent her from seeing him, but she knew his car.

As soon as she spotted him, she stopped.

Dave had a half tank of gas. The key was still in the ignition. But his treacherous hand went for the door handle instead. The hinges squeaked loudly, and as he slowly climbed out, she crept forward, until she’d moved out of the light and into the shadows with him.

“I volunteer here,” she said.

“I park here,” he replied.

She nodded. Shoved her hands into her pockets. Told him she’d made lasagna, if he was interested in that sort of thing, and headed back inside.

Twenty minutes later, when her truck eased onto the street, he followed.

Dave recalled washing his hands at the kitchen sink. He ate three servings of lasagna. Drank several glasses of water. Whatever happened after he helped clean up was lost on him because, like a fade-to-black moment in a movie, his mind blanked.

When he came back online, it was to the scent of dark roast and sunlight. Other details trickled in slowly, like the too-small couch and the ache in his lower back. The soft blanket draped over him and the pillow tucked beneath his head. Belt and boots off. Shirt and pants on. Big toe stuck out of the hole in the seam of his sock.

He sat up. Wiped the sleep from his eyes. When he looked around, he spotted her in the kitchen, robe donned and steaming mug in hand.

“You snore,” she voiced.

He grunted. Stretched. Got to his feet.

“Bathroom?” he yawned out.

She gestured toward a slightly ajar door with her mug. After Dave finished and stepped back into the living room, he looked around her home and took in all the minuscule details he’d only briefly glossed over the night before. Like the shearling rug beneath his feet, the candles on the coffee table, and the small television in the corner. Books. Magazines. A coat-and-shoe-rack combo with seasonal attire and several pairs of well-worn shoes. A fish tank without any fish. Gauzy curtains, creaky hardwood floors, and an antique mechanical calculator.

A pair of double doors with frosted windows – that’s what separated her personal and professional lives. A neat-as-a-pin space, with carefully situated office furniture, fake plants, and tall floor lamps. The desk was also tidy – just a laptop, a box of tissues, and a pen holder. There was a small filing cabinet within arm’s reach, a framed degree on the wall, and a sideboard with a Keurig.

A contradiction of spaces – one he took in the source and reason of when his eyes finally stopped ping-ponging and returned to her. Adorned in a clownfish orange robe and holding an obscenely large cup with the phrase Save the Whales on it. A bruise on her shin and toenails painted a deep berry color. Her hair glowed in the sunlight, and when she turned and opened the cabinet nearest her, the hinge squeaked.

“Name’s Dave,” he confessed to her back. 

She stilled for a moment. Then, both mugs were carefully placed on the counter. She didn’t say anything – just turned her head slightly, revealing the slope of her nose, the apple of her cheek, and the barest, upturned corner of her mouth.

A few footsteps – that’s all that existed between him and her, and he shortened the distance until his hands could reach the frayed fabric of her robe. The rounds of her shoulders fit perfectly in his palms, and her hips filled his grip when he squeezed them. The robe had been worn in, made softer by repeated washing and wearing, but it was nothing compared to her skin. A tiny sliver of it was revealed to his eyes and touch because there was a tear the size of his thumb just above the belt around her waist, and it was enough to make him ache.

“What do you want, Dave?”  

"You," he admitted, eyes trained on the flutter of her lashes.

She let out a ragged breath, “Okay.”

Throat tight, he swallowed hard and reached for the tie beneath her belly button. Dave tugged at it until the belt gave way, and the halves of her robe split open like a curtain, revealing to him what he could have only imagined just seconds before. A bare line of flesh, from collar bone to pubic bone. The curve of her breasts. The soft swell of her belly. Another tug and the robe became a forgotten heap of cotton on the floor at their feet.

He paused. Allowed his thumb to find a home in the space between the vertebrae in her tailbone. The coccyx – a small, curved bone at the base of the spine – was extremely difficult to break, but he’d done it before. He'd made it look like a slip-and-fall accident. He could do it again if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered as he guided his hands up her sides. He cupped her breasts and squeezed gently. “I won’t hurt you.”

"I know," she replied, tone strong and certain, bowing into his touch. "I know you won't, Dave."

He closed his eyes, pressed his nose to the crown of her head, and nudged at her ankle with his foot. He hadn’t said a word, but still, she’d listened beautifully and shifted her stance. That action alone was enough to get him buzzed, to fill his cock, and make his mouth water. When he opened his eyes, the sight of her ass stuck out and her hands braced on the counter made him groan.  

Dave unbuttoned and unzipped. Shoved his jeans and underwear past his hips. He knew he no longer deserved this, but he wanted it. He wanted her. Was starved for her. His body practically vibrated with a need so strong that it felt as if he could be broken all over again by it. His mind was so wild with anticipation, with such an overabundance of eagerness, that he nearly froze. 

“This morning,” she exhaled shakily, voice now tinged with shyness. “I touched – but I couldn’t. I tried. I’ve been trying…”

The immobility that had threatened to overtake him fluttered away and was replaced by something akin to empathy. Teeth dug into his lower lip, Dave carefully reached between her thighs and found the evidence of what she’d barely managed to admit to. Hot. Wet. Swollen with arousal. He slowly spread his fingers around until they were coated in her slick, and she whimpered when he slid two deep inside her warmth.

She pushed back against him eagerly, and Dave may have been rusty and nervous as hell, but he hadn’t forgotten. The addition of another finger and slow, firm strokes to her clit with the pad of his thumb – that's what made her flutter and roll her hips. He pushed her hard toward her orgasm, not because he wanted to rush, or because he wanted his turn, but because he could sense just how badly she needed it. She needed it desperately – almost as desperately as he did. 

“How long?” Dave demanded gruffly. “How long have you been like this?”

She held the countertop in a white-knuckled grip, “Since the restaurant.”

It happened fast for her, just as he'd hoped. Her thighs twitched, and then, her knees wobbled. Pressed up against her as he was, Dave felt the way it trembled through her, the way her chest vibrated as she vocalized sounds of relief. He saw her through it, let his touch absorb the delicious aftershocks, and when he slowly slid his fingers out from between her legs, she whined in protest. 

“Still want it?” he asked against the shell of her ear.  

“I want it, Dave,” she exhaled with a nod. “I want you.”

Fingertips dug into the meat of her hips, Dave guided himself into her, right down to the base. He clocked her gasp. The way she strained on tiptoe. How her plush ass flexed against his groin. She adjusted, surrendered, and squeezed down hard around him like she’d be content to hold him within her, just like he was, for however long he desired.

Jaw clenched, eyes fixed on where they were joined, Dave eased back and pushed forward again. He watched, transfixed, as he disappeared inside of her. She was drenched, and his cock glistened with every retreat and thrust.

Paces matched, rhythm found, gratification coaxed until it burned painfully hot and bright. Hips sharply angled. Fast and deep. She whisper-chanted his name as he strummed her clit, and the scent of her shampoo, the soft backs of her thighs, her hands splayed wide across the countertop – so erotic, so beautiful…

“Feels good,” she murmured, words soft and blissed out. She pushed back down on him and stuttered out a breathless curse. “You feel so fucking good, Dave.”

Head drooped, the line from the nape of her neck to the slope of her shoulder was fully exposed. Compelled, without consideration or reason, suddenly greedy and inexplicably possessive, Dave sank his teeth into her flesh. An untamed sound escaped her throat, one that instantly became imprinted on his brain, and when she gushed around his cock, his head spun.   

He stroked her already oversensitive bundle of nerves until she jolted and whimpered and knocked what would’ve been his mug of coffee into the sink. Dave could feel the way her body warred, how eager she was to both drown in and escape from the onslaught. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, and with her face upturned and her eyes on him, he felt truly seen. 

And completely safe.    

“You want it inside,” Dave stated, words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Don’t you?”

She croaked out an unashamed, “Yes, I want it inside,” and that spurred him into doing perhaps two unwise, but wholly necessary things. Dave came inside her – rocked his hips and ground himself deep as his release rushed through him. Then, he kissed her – used his tongue to pry her mouth wide open and plunder. And she reciprocated, all muffled mewls as she held him within her, thighs pressed tight, and walls furiously clamped.

He grazed his teeth over the shell of her ear. Ghosted his mouth along the hinge of her jaw. Felt a pang of displeasure when he eventually slipped from her – an emotion that was almost immediately replaced by something dark and ferocious as he watched his come trickle down her inner thighs.

She turned slowly toward him and smiled, “Wanna go get tacos?”

Dave’s stomach growled and served as an answer. When she smiled, he decided she was more than worth the trouble.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

[angelofsmalldeath-codeine]

Hemmy's Recommendation List - Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

Hi! I am Hemmy and live in a delusional world where I am the female companion to Frankie Morales, Joel Miller and Javier Peña. The amazing banner by the incredible @proxima-writes @pr0ximamidnight; mid-banners and dividers by @cafekitsune

This is my first-ever recommendation list and I am trying to figure out the best format.

These are fics that I have read and enjoyed. I am sure there are many more out there that I have yet to discover. If you have any suggestions, please comment so we can all add them to our 'to be read' lists.

Link to Masterlist

Self-plug: if you need a beta reader or want help with Spanish for the ones who write Javi P and Frankie, hit me up!

Disclaimer:

These creators are putting out content for free and do not have to cater to your personal preferences or expectations of how this or that character should be written.

If a creator has not explicitly asked for feedback on their work, keep your opinion to yourself. If they have asked for feedback, mind your manners.

You are not forced to read through it. Feel free to abandon a series or one-shot halfway through if it is not working for you.

Heed warnings and tags, if you don't like soft!Javi, don't read anything with that tag. It is THAT simple. Apply that logic to everything else that is not to your taste.

Warnings and tags on each fic. Read at your discretion. You are responsible for the content you choose to consume.

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales

GIF by uuuhshiny

Series

A Fond Farewell  @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Amaryllis  @gracie7209 Because Of You  @kteague Delta Palms Tropical Resort  @linzels-blog Fix You  @astoryisaloveaffair Forest Ranger  @the-ginger-hedge-witch Grays I & II  @fuckyeahdindjarin I like the way you   @undercoverpena-fics Just a Number  @linzels-blog King Of Your Heart  @ruinedbylanadelrey My tears and my beers and my candles  @proxima-writes Shadow Of The Past  @lotrefcp Something Else  @pedrostylez Table For Two  @hellishjoel Take Your Time  @romanarose The Layover  @goodwithcheese The Melting Point  @penvisions The Road Ahead  @bellofthemeadow Third Time Is A Charm  @jwritesfanfics Those Ocean Eyes  @iamdesibell Worlds Get In the Way  @jokersfangirl84

One Shots

Always Here For You  @jwritesfanfics Burning Hearts  @wordywarriorwrites Bush Pilot  @legendary-pink-dot Cherry Flavoured  @pedrostylez Easy Like Breathing  @louswrld11 Focus  @pedrostylez Frankie's Way  @morallyinept Friends Don't Do This  @forever-rogue Gold Band  @moralesispunk Home From The Bar  @pedrostylez Not A Day Too Soon  @criticallyacclaimedstranger Over When It's Over  @gnpwdrnwhiskey Partner In Crime  @romanarose Seven Minutes In Heaven  @tieronecrush The Day 3 Words Are Said  @undercoverpena-fics The Day Frankie Meets You  @undercoverpena-fics Touch Me Like You Never, Push Me Like You Never  @quinnnfabrgay-writes Working Hard  @pedrostylez

Link to Masterlist