#fic: there be wine

[scuderiahoney]

Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader // Strawberry Wine Pt I

Strawberry Wine Series

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

Word Count: 4.3k

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schatje, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max Verstappen #fanfic #max verstappen fluff #fluff #honeywrites #mv1 #strawberry wine verse

[reflectionsofacreator]

“You know, it’s generally not the best idea to sneak up on a vigilante. Let alone someone like me,” Red Hood drawled as he rest his hand on his gun holster. 

The floating teenager chuckled at him, and it sounded tired. “Yeah, I’m not known for ‘em, sorry.” 

He was about the same age as the girl with the undercut, maybe around seventeen to nineteen, and the dark bags on his pale cheeks were highlighted by the glowing toxic green eyes that stared straight at him. A fringe of white hair floated around his head like it was moving through water, just barely hiding how his ears swept up into a point and when he grinned at Jason, all his teeth were pointed. He was wearing a black body suit that Nightwing would be jealous of, with white accents that highlighted his lean, masculine frame. 

“You with them?” Hood asked, and jerked his chin in the direction of the van. 

“My sisters, yeah,” the guy said with a shrug. The motion seemed a bit wrong somehow, but Jason couldn’t figure out why. “Sorry, I know I should have better manners than this, but things’ve been… uh. Bad. I meant to bring you a gift and ask if they -- if we could stay here, but uhm…” 

“A gift.” Red Hood stated, and didn’t move save to cock his head curiously to the side. 

Green Eyes rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and lifted up his other hand in a half shrug. “Sorry, I don’t really have much to offer, and I’m so sorry about messing up the vibes of your haunt. You probably felt us for hours, huh.” 

He didn’t react to that, save to let his considering noise drag through his vocoder and render it a staticky, low pitched hum. It unnerved a lot of people, but surprisingly the teen only winced and didn’t look scared. 

“Yeahhhh I was kind of afraid of that,” he huffed. “Okay. My name’s Phantom. I promise I’m not trying to mess with your haunt, I’m just… trying to keep an eye on my sisters after everything that happened. Keep em safe, you know? I swear they won’t get into trouble, we just need a place to live.” 

“What about you? You going to get into trouble?” Hood asked and shifted his stance to be about ten percent less threatening. It worked, because Phantom brightened, literally his eyes flared, and he looked a bit more at ease. 

“Me? Naw, I’m just going to haunt my sisters and that’s it. Won’t get into trouble, I promise.” 

“The fuck you mean, haunt your sisters? You some type of ghost or something?” Hood huffed. 

Phantom winced. 

“The fuck.” 

-dry wine rebirth, ch 1

Summary

Learning that the new family of maybe-metas had their dead brother for a ghostly protector was not on Red Hood's bingo sheet, and Jason getting roped into a date with one of the sisters was even less on that damn thing. But something's off with the Nightingales, they're running from something, hiding, and it was the same thing that killed their brother, Jason's sure of it - and Phantom's ominous warning that he might be next is getting under his skin.

Hm. Hm. Yeah no, I don't have a defense for this. I got sucked into this niche little crossover. I dunno how much brainspace this is gonna eat, but have what I've gotten so far.

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton #jason todd #creator writes #fic: dry wine rebirth #dead on main

[thefreakandthehair]

a little fluff for @starrystevie's birthday! hope it's the absolute best day! ✨

Eddie misses Steve.

It's equal parts cute, and maybe a little pitiful because it's only three days in Chicago for his friend's Bachelor Party, but it's already been two days and he misses Steve. Bandit digs his claws into Eddie's thigh as he makes biscuits and begs for pets, curling up comfortably next to Eddie's lap and leaving Steve's side of the couch overwhelmingly cold and empty.

"I know, kid. I know," Eddie coos, scratching their cat behind the left ear as he purrs.

He's glad that Steve had been able to get the time off from work to go, and he's glad that Steve's made friends on his recreational basketball league, and he's not jealous. At all. Not even a little bit.

... Okay, maybe he is a little bit jealous that Brandon gets to see him sweaty and gross in the June heat, running around doing whatever jock-activity they've planned in the backyard of their rented house all weekend, but who can blame him? Steve never gives him a reason to feel insecure so he knows this isn't about Steve. It's not rooted in anything even remotely related to him or their relationship— it's all about Eddie and the nasty voice in the back of his head that pulls out a bullhorn and screams not good enough on a loop.

Condensation from the beer in his free hand drips down his wrist as he rests his elbow on the arm of the couch. It's not the first time he's felt this way, and Steve himself has admitted to feeling the same way from time to time, so he knows that it'll pass. He just needs to focus on something else: DND campaign planning, sketching, writing, cracking out the ol' guitar. He could rewatch Howard the Duck for the hundredth time, or maybe even Labyrinth—

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

Eddie's phone buzzes on the coffee table and he fully expects it to be Gareth or Jeff, or maybe Robin. They have plans later that night, both of them missing Steve and all. What he doesn't expect is a series of text messages and 19 photos from Steve.

How funny. It's been five years since they'd become EddieandSteve but seeing Steve's name and smiling photo on his phone sets his little hummingbird heart aflutter even still.

steve 👑: it's so goddamn hot here steve 👑: we're playing cornhole now and just threw a football around steve 👑: sweating all the beer and vodka out as a I go, that's healthy, right? don't worry, I'm drinking a shit ton of water.

Steve includes a selfie of himself, smiling closed-lipped with a baseball cap on backwards and the neck of his tee-shirt drenched in sweat. Eddie wants to lick him dry and that's a thought he'll never tell a living soul, probably not even Steve. No, no definitely not Steve. He'll never live that one down.

steve 👑: oh, and fishing was good! we made some bets on who could catch the most and then who could catch the biggest. I tied for first place for the biggest and I caught 17. brandon got 20 so he won that bet. I'm only letting it go because it's his bachelor party lmao

Eddie swipes to the next photo, one of Steve and Brandon holding their two biggest catches. Steve's sunglasses are sliding down his nose, no doubt from the sun warming his glistening skin, and he's smiling wide against the railing of a boat. As much as he misses him, Eddie can't help but mirror his smile. Call him lovesick or 'down bad', as Robin says, but seeing Steve happy makes him happy.

He continues swiping and reading the little blurb attached to each photo, some of which don't even include Steve but Eddie appreciates them all the same. They don't include Steve, but it feels a lot like Steve trying include Eddie in the weekend. The last picture is one of the entire group, all dozen or so guys lined up on the ship. Brandon stands in the center surrounded by the rest of the group with Steve shuffled in no meaningful spot but to Eddie, Steve is the center of every photo, every moment, everything.

Eddie starts to type a response when his phone dings again. This time, Steve sends a voice message and Eddie presses play so quickly, he nearly knocks poor Bandit off his lap.

Hey, takin' a break from cornhole. I won, by the way, had to make up for losing to Brandon in the fishing bet.

Steve laughs and Eddie's stomach flips. Robin's right. He's down very, very bad for this man.

But I just uh, I miss you, and I know maybe that's sorta lame but I do. The party's great and all, but I can't wait to get back home tomorrow. Tell the kid I said hi. I love you, Ed.

He replays it a few times and shamelessly taps Keep so it doesn't disappear before sending his own voice message.

It's no more lame than me sitting here with Bandit sharing how much we miss you, so you get a pass. I mean, you get a pass on everything all the time, but don't let that go to your pretty head, okay? I'm so fucking glad you're having fun and sowing your jocky oats, but selfishly, I can't wait for you to get home. I'll make it worth your while.

He huffs air through his nose and laughs low in his throat.

Oh, and Robin's coming by in a little bit so I'm gonna grab a bottle of wine. Don't be surprised if you get a FaceTime call later. I love you too, Stevie. So goddamn much.

Eddie sure does miss Steve, but it stings a little less knowing that Steve misses him, too.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie ficlets #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things ficlets #st fic #st ficlet #myblurbs #myfic #alcohol cw #eddie and robin do indeed facetime steve later a little wine drunk and steve obviously answers immediately #he misses his boyfriend and his best friend so fucking much #he gets to pass the phone around a little bit and introduce everyone #proudly (and a little drunkenly) proclaiming how much he loves his two favorite people #they play two truths and a lie over facetime with the rest of the bachelor party #when steve gets home the next day eddie and robin get standing invites to everything forever <3333 #no one look at me this idea came from nowhere and i know it's not any of my wips BUT the worms drive the bus

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

title card by my sweet love @inklore 🤍

before // during // after

a story about second chances.

summary: you meet joel miller long before the world implodes. a summer fling that ends before it really has a chance to begin. (the before) the world ends and your lives are ripped apart at the seams. joel finds his way to boston almost five years later, and finds a new version of you he isn’t expecting. (the during) refusing to leave joel again, you leave boston with him and tess to bring ellie where she needs to go. (the after)

warnings: canon-typical violence/injuries, swearing, angst, trauma, allusions/description of PTSD, grief, death, unprotected p-in-v, oral (f and m receiving), spit play, ass play, super light dominance, badass reader, non-canon joel miller (like, still canon but not EXACTLY canon, ya feel me?)

title from the noah kahan song of the same name - you can find it here and the strawberry wine playlist here.

part 10 onwards, reader is a named OC, still written in reader format, as little description as possible! read more about Liv here.

read on ao3

before

part one

part two

part three

part four

during

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

part eleven

part twelve

part thirteen

part fourteen

part fifteen

part sixteen

part seventeen

part eighteen

part nineteen

part twenty

after

part twenty-one

part twenty-two

part twenty-three

part twenty-four

part twenty-five

part twenty-six

part twenty-seven

part twenty-eight

part twenty-nine

part thirty

part thirty-one

part thirty-two

part thirty-three

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers #joel miller x oc #joel miller x liv stone

[f1version]

MEET ME AT THE GALA ★ DR3

pairing: daniel ricciardo x famous!reader (she/her)

summary: Everyone knows you and Danny have a crush for each other, but you have never met, only texted once or twice. Now you he says he will be at the Met Gala, you don’t believe him, at first.

I had half of this ready for yesterday but this request inspired me so much I had to add the crush factor <3

notes: just me working faster than a red bull

yourusername’s insta story • close friends

direct messages • danielricciardo

themetgalaofficial

Liked by danielricciardo, taylorswift and 75,715 others

themetgalaofficial Y/n Y/l/n at Met Gala 2023

themetgalaofficial

Liked by yourusername, harrystyles and 98,715 others

themetgalaofficial Daniel Ricciardo at Met Gala 2023

yourusername's insta story

#‎ “ ࣭⸰ ★ my writings ! #daniel ricciardo #dr3 #danny ric #danny ricciardo #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo social media au #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x y/n #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo drabble #daniel ricciardo fluff #dr3 wine #dr3 x reader #f1 #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #daniel in redbull #daniel ricciardo smau #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 2023 #f1 smau

[xulips]

i hope u don't mind but ur tokoha drawing singlehandedly killed my writers block and now this exists inspired by it!! ty for Them it bought me insane amounts of joy <3 have a nice day!!

i enjoyed it quite a bit

#ask #req #UWAGGHGHGH IT WAS SOOOO SOSOSO SOOO CUTE #i enjoyed reading it a lot. actually. sorry i lied #vee bee besties ....... oh i'm winning. i'm wining si hard #thank u for ur contribution... i enjoyed reading all of ur fics a lot. have this as my personal thank you to you #project sekai #prsk #toya aoyagi #aoyagi toya #kohane azusawa #azusawa kohane

[becca-e-barnes]

The Study

Not only is this the start of my 'Moving In' series, I'm also calling it my birthday piece! I turn 24 on Tuesday and I'm trying hard not to think about the fact I'm overdue a quarter-life crisis.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.7K (oops)

Warnings: Pleasure Dom!Bucky, sub! reader, spanking, use of a vibrator, forced orgasms, kinda Dom vibes but totally consensual, degradation, safe word system but safe word not used, pet names

Summary: Bucky spends the weekend at your new house and you take him on a tour.

Minors, do not interact

Turning the key in the front door still feels odd. One of the very first changes you made to the house was installing a new locking mechanism on both doors and it hasn't had a chance to stiffen up yet.

The smell of paint is starting to dissipate but it hits you hardest when you open the front door. The hallway was one of the last areas of the house to be redecorated so the smell seems to be most noticeable right at the door.

"Damn, this place is deceptive." Bucky's remark makes you smile to yourself while you hang your jacket up. "It's a whole lot bigger on the inside than I thought."

"It surprised me too. All of the rooms are a nice size."

The house had ticked so many boxes for you. More than two bedrooms in a quiet development, a low maintenance garden, off road parking, a downstairs bathroom and the whole house has plenty of potential. The plan isn't to live here forever, after all. It should be easy enough for you to sell when you decide to move on.

You flick a few lights on in the hallway and toss your keys into the bowl on the hall table before you turn your attention back to Bucky standing in your living room. Despite the fact you hadn't removed your own shoes, he's taken his off, leaving them neatly at the doorway of the living room beside his travel bag.

He's respectful of your space; he always has been but it's nice to just have him in your space. It's nice to have him be part of it.

He walks slowly around the little living room, looking at the few ornaments and picture frames you'd collected. "That's cute." He's looking at a picture of you and your best friend, sitting on the floor of your old kitchen, laughing yourselves to tears over the fact your Christmas tree was three inches tall and cut out from the back of a cereal box. The photo brings a smile to your face every time you see it.

"Are you hungry? You've had a long day." You move over behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his clothes while he looks at your pictures on the fireplace. He's had to travel for a few hours just to get here so you imagine he's bound to want something.

"I'm okay for now." You nod at his response, taking in the fact he's actually standing in your home.

The time you have with him is limited. That's how this works but for just less than two days, he's yours. After that, he'll go back home so you've learned to make the most of the time you have with him.

"Help yourself to whatever you like. Kitchen is down the hall." You don't even really want to move but you can't stand like this forever.

He turns in your arms so he's facing you and captures your lips in his. It's a soft, slow, gentle kiss; the kind you've been dreaming of since you last saw him. You need him to feel exactly how much you've missed him without having to tell him.

The kiss lasts for minutes, far beyond its natural end but neither of you care.

After what feels like forever, your lips part but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you determined not to pull away.

"I still haven't gotten the grand tour." He's got the most beautiful eyes and they're locked on yours to the point that you'd almost forgotten he's never been here before. "But I want to start in your favourite room."

"Well, the study is my favourite. I converted one of the bedrooms into an office space."

"Show me."

You don't protest. Instead you head out of the living room and up the stairs to the furthest end of the hallway, with Bucky following closely behind you.

"These all used to be built-in storage units around a headboard for a bed. I took all the doors off the cabinets and made it into shelving." You'd turned the room into a space that you love. The walls are painted a light shade of cream with houseplants lined up between books on the shelves. Instead of storage around a headboard, you now have book shelves, arching around your desk. The other side of the room has a sofa that converts into a bed for extra guests and there's a beanbag in the corner by the window to read on.

"I see why it's your favourite. Odd mix of books here though." Bucky's eyes flick over the titles, ranging from your collection of political figures' autobiographies, the 'Diary of an Oxygen Thief' trilogy, the selection of books providing commentary on the criminal justice system and a good few classics.

"It is. But I like this room. It'll be cosy in winter once I get some fairy lights and nice and bright in summer. Somewhere to unwind." You're thinking out loud as you reach up to close the window and that's when you feel Bucky step behind you.

"I think we should celebrate." Bucky’s voice is low, his lips trailing up the side of your neck, heading towards the spot just behind your ear that he's always loved to kiss.

"I think..." He stops briefly on his path, taking a second to inhale deeply, determined to slow down. "I think we should make love in every room of your new house this weekend."

Fuck.

"Are you sure you're up for that? Because I can really stretch it out. I'm not sure how we're going to make it work in the pantry or the downstairs bathroom but I'm happy to try."

"Your 'pantry' is a cupboard." Bucky's breath is hot on your neck, and you feel his lips have curled into a smile.

"I know. You promised every room though." You can't help but tease him, although you're half serious. It's not your fault that you're keen. Not when he's kissing down your neck like that and holding your waist so your back is flush against him.

"You're a handful." You feel his fingertips graze the bare skin of your waist and you remember how nice it is to just be touched the way he touches you.

"I might be a handful but I can promise if I have my way, after you leave here on Sunday, you won't even be able to think about cumming again until Thursday at the very earliest."

"Jesus, that's one hell of a promise." He turns you around to face him and you notice his eyes are damn near twinkling with excitement.

You've got all weekend together; there's no need to rush but you can't help the overwhelming need to feel him sliding into you. That's when you feel closest to him and it's the closeness you're craving more than anything.

Your hand cups the side of his face, your thumb tracing across his freshly shaved jawline and you allow yourselves a second to just be together.

He smells familiar. The heat of his body against yours makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.

"I want to start with you though. I brought you a little something." He kisses your lips gently and smooths a hand down over your hair before he retreats downstairs to the bag that he'd brought a few changes of clothes in.

He returns with a small cardboard box with the tape on one end already cut.

"I didn't have time to wrap it. It arrived last minute." You're so busy trying to get into the box that you hadn't even noticed.

Inside the box are a few instruction manuals, a thin white cord and a black satin pouch. Inside the pouch is a neon pink toy that's thicker at each end, narrow in the middle and nicely curved.

"I've already charged it and paired it to my phone. This end slips inside you." He points to the thicker end, studying your face to make sure you're okay with this.

And why wouldn't you be? This is pretty damn close to a dream come true.

"Remember what you said last time I saw you? You wanted me to spank you. Maybe we should take it a little further." He's always been hesitant to do anything that would hurt you and that fact is the very reason you want him to. You know how much he wants to protect you and knowing he cares about you has you convinced that he's the right person to explore this with.

"Please." You whisper, beyond excited at the thought of getting everything you've begged him for. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'm thinking about you bent over this desk with this inside you and we'll start off with a couple of light taps to that pretty ass." He presses the button on the narrow part of the toy and it give a short buzz, coming to life in his hands.

Fuck, you're into this man. You're into his hesitation just as much as you're into his willingness to try something new.

"Traffic light safe word system. 'Red' and I'll stop, 'amber' and I'll give you a break, 'green' to keep going." He wants to be fully sure you know you're in control here, not that you ever had any doubt.

You nod and stretch up on your tiptoes to kiss him, this time with as much passion as you can manage. Your hands run through his hair while his trail over your body, your tongue flicking gently against his.

Just being around this man makes you wet, not that you'd ever admit that to him. Even the thought of him has you throbbing with arousal so now that he's here in front of you, your whole body feels like it's buzzing.

He touches you like he can't get enough. He can't get you close enough and it's beyond thrilling to be the subject of his need.

It's almost embarrassing that you get yourself worked up so easily but from the hungry look in his eyes when you undo the button of your jeans, he doesn't seem to mind.

You step out of your jeans and panties and Bucky helps you out of your top and bra, leaving you naked in your study.

"Look at you." Bucky sounds like he's almost in awe, no matter how many times he's seen you naked.

He kisses you again, matching the same passion he'd had earlier, trailing his hands over your soft, warm skin until his fingers are nestled between your thighs.

"Fuck, you're soaked." His fingertips trail between the folds of your sex, gathering the wetness he's responsible for. "Good girls don't get this wet at the thought of being spanked. You know that, don't you?"

You're almost too turned on to even respond to him. "Bend over. I want to see how well you take your toy."

You do as you're told, bending over your desk while Bucky drops to his knees behind you to slip the toy inside you. You feel him trail the thicker end of the toy against your slick cunt, gathering enough wetness to let it slip inside you comfortably.

Within a minute, the toy comes to life inside you and there's no way to stifle the moan that catches in your throat.

Not only is the internal part vibrating at a low, delightful buzz, the other end is pressed right to your clit and is stimulating it at the same strength.

"Did I say you could make a sound?" Bucky quizzes, sounding harsher than ever and when he gets no response, his hand comes down on your ass with so much force that it makes you yelp.

It was a hell of a spank and you can feel heat blooming under the skin of your left cheek, quickly followed by another spank to the right.

"For the record, you can make as much noise as you need to. But only because I've told you that you can. You see the difference?"

You force yourself not to nod and it has the effect you were hoping for. Two more harsh, painful spanks are delivered, one to each cheek, the same as before.

You don't know if you imagined it but the toy inside you feels stronger. You can't be sure if you're just focusing on the pleasure over the pain or if Bucky really has turned it up.

"Does that feel nice, sweetheart?" He needs to know you're enjoying this because a little part of him is surprised at just how much he's into it. He gets to control both your pleasure and your pain because you want him to and the trust alone is enough to get him off.

"Feels amazing, fuck. Making such a mess." Stringing sentences together isn't easy but you swear you're about to cum already. Your nipples rub delightfully against the wooden desk and you swear every sensation is heightened.

"I wish you could see the mess you're making. Looks fucking delicious." He turns the toy up ever so slightly but that's enough to send you spiralling, gripping the edge of the desk as pleasure ripples through your entire body.

You can do nothing but sob, cumming relentlessly because he's refused to turn the toy down. Even after you're done, he keeps it at the same intensity, moving on like nothing happened.

"You say the sluttiest things. That promise of yours to totally drain me. Who says shit like that? So fucking filthy."

"I mean it. I want every drop of cum you can give me. And then more." You know saying something like that will earn you another spank and it does.

"You're not just acting like a slut. You are a slut. You spend your life hiding it from everyone else but you can't hide it from me." A shiver runs down your spine. You almost feel like you've been caught. Like he's figured you out and now you have nothing left to hide. "Say it."

It's a clear instruction but saying it makes it real.

Your hesitation earns you another sharp spank, heat prickling both your face and your ass at the same time.

"Don't make me tell you twice." For someone hesitant to slip into a dominant role, he's absolutely nailing it.

"I'm your slut." Your voice is less steady than you would've hoped but the words at clear at the very least.

"My slut?" He almost sounds like he can't believe what he heard.

"Yours. Your slut." You repeat, wishing you could see his face.

"Oh sweetheart, that's cute." He means it too. He turns the toy up as a reward and even though it's only at half its full strength, you can't help but cum again, pleading your way through another blinding orgasm.

"Such a good girl for me. That's it. Cum nice and hard. Give that slutty little pussy what it needs." He lands one more harsh spank on your ass and you swear it only makes you cum harder, to the point that your legs are shaking.

But all of a sudden, the sensation stops completely.

"B-Bucky?" You ask, turning around to look at him, wondering if something went wrong.

"Don't want to wear you out, sweetheart. I think that'll do for now." You agree that it's probably a good place to stop and you have no problem taking the toy out for a while.

He pulls you in close, resting your head on his chest, letting you catch your breath while he holds you and kisses your forehead.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" His voice is soft, hoping that you'll tell him the truth.

"No. It was perfect." You smile, capturing his lips in yours, hoping to relieve some of his fear. You're almost giddy with excitment. It truly was everything you needed and you fully intend to thank him for it before the weekend is over.

"Good. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would." He's back to the gentle, tender touches that you're so used to from him and it's a blessing that he can flick so effortlessly between both personas.

"How about we order in and stick a movie on?" He suggests, kissing the tip of your nose. "Go put on something comfortable. I'll find a takeout."

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x you #dad’s best friend!bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes fic #dbf!bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader smut #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #writing this was unexpectedly nostalgic #one of my favourite photos is of Amy and I sitting on the floor of my student flat in December a few years ago #we were drinking wine and working on an assignment and she noticed the only Christmas decoration we had was cut out from a cereal box #she laughed so hard she cried #I got to tell her recently about the house #but I hadn't even thought about the fact we can make as many happy memories in my new place as we did in my old uni flat #and that's made me even more excited #it's so weird to think that this is my last birthday in this house though

[jadewritesficshere]

Happy Birthday

Steve Harrington x female!reader

Summary: Steve gets a video from you for his birthday.

Warnings: masturbation (male and female), f masturbation on video, pet name (baby), no use of y/n

18+ only

Steve sighed contentedly as he flopped onto the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. He surveyed the destruction across his living room and smiled. Balloons were strewn about, streamers falling off the walls, and random cups that had been forgotten. Robin had thrown a surprise party, and though part of him thought he was too old for a party being in his 20s, he couldn't help but feel elated. Cherished even.

He glanced at the pile of gifts he had received. Eddie had gotten him an album, Nancy had given him more clothes in yellow, and Robin had gotten him tickets to a hockey game. You had given him three movies: one was a favorite of his, the other a new release he had wanted to watch, and then a home movie. You had asked him to watch it alone, claiming it was too embarrassing to show everyone and that you had been emotional in it. You made him promise, and Steve tried not to break his promises.

Steve hoped you were emotional because you confessed you liked him. Steve and you had a flirty relationship, but neither of you had "officially" said anything. One drunken make out session kiss was enough to fuel his fantasies for months, a kiss that you didn't seem to remember. Steve wasn't sure if he should bring it up, afraid of rejection. He wondered if you were silent for the same reason, or if you didn't even remember.

However, you could be emotional because one of the times you had your camera, you had found a stray dog. Both you and Robin were bawling about how the dog had been abandoned, leaving him as he wrestled with the dog from hell. Steve cursed that stupid rat dog, he would even curse the breed if he knew it, as it had scratched him relentlessly. Giving the dog a bath was funny in retrospect, but at the time Steve was fuming over this dog soaking both him and Robin and causing Robin to somehow fall into the tub, yanking Steve down with it. Of course, you were recording the whole time. The only good part was hearing your laugh.

Or maybe it was the time everyone had went to the lake. A seagull, which made no sense to Steve as it was the lake and not the sea, had stolen Eddie's sandwich. Eddie had taken off chasing the bird, yelling and cursing the whole way. Steve remembered laughing so hard he was crying, and he remembered the way your face had beamed at him. The way you pushed the hair out of his eyes.

Or it could be the party where everyone had gotten drunk, except for him. Sure, he had done a few keg stands in his days, but he wanted someone to be sober to take care of you. You had been rambling about something before stopping and calling him "pretty". He had blushed and tried to deny it, somehow making you think that he didn't find himself pretty. You had started trying to convince him, getting more sad that he felt bad about himself. Which Steve didn't feel bad about himself, but he wasn't going to complain as you gave him compliment after compliment. You even wrapped your arms around him and cuddled him. You were so warm in his embrace. How he wanted to embrace you in other ways.

Steve snapped the VHS case open and stared at the tape. He was alone now and his mind was going crazy with what ifs. He probably was overthinking it. He popped the VHS in the player and grabbed the remote before sitting back on the couch. He hit the power on and-

Steve's eyes widened and he dropped the remote. He wasn't sure what he was expecting but seeing your chest in red lacy lingerie was not it. The swells of your breasts pushed up slightly. He wanted to kiss and suck at your chest. Red lace contrasting against your skin. Your chest moving up and down as you breathed. Your hand comes into view and gently grasps your breast, squeezing it. Steve wished it was his hand.

Steve inhaled deeply and his hand shook. Holy. Fuck. His jeans were unbearably tight as he watched you slowly remove the bra. Your nipples were hardened-God, how he wanted to lick and tease them. You pinched one and let out a moan. Steve wanted to make you moan like that, but just hearing you? He was harder than he ever had been in his life. You sounded sweeter then anything he could imagine. You sounded like an angel, and he was in Heaven.

Steve unbuttoned his jeans and peeled them down enough for his cock to bob up and hit his navel. He was already leaking. He spit in his hand and wrapped it around his hardened length. He focused back on you and-

Steve moaned. You had moved the camera down to the red lacy panties you were wearing. "See that Baby?" You were out of breath, barely speaking above a whisper as you traced a finger over your clothed pussy. A damp spot was noticeable in the fabric and you sighed as your finger traced over the spot," See how wet I am for you, Baby?"

Steve's eyes closed instinctively before he snapped them open. He didn't want to miss a second of this. Steve's hips bucked into his hand as he stroked up and down his dick. On screen, you removed your panties, and his mouth watered. Steve bit his lip as he got a clear view of your pussy. You were so wet; he wanted to lick every drop. He wanted to taste your arousal. He wanted to hear you scream and writhe against his tongue as you came. He wanted his face covered in your release.

Your fingers on screen played with your clit before circling your weeping hole. One of your fingers easily slid in due to how wet you were. Steve moaned at the site of you adding another finger and pumping in and out. You moaned and ground against your hand. You added another finger and Steve couldn't help but think of how small your hands were and that it wouldn't even prepare you for his dick. As you picked up your pace and started to buck your hips wildly, Steve sped up to be at the same pace as you. He imagined that it was his cock spreading you open. How wet you would be. How warm. How tight. Your mouth dropping open in pleasure, your whimpers under him (or over him he wasn't picky).

"Steve!" You let out a gasp and moaned on screen, fingers getting drenched by your release. "Oh fuck shit fuck," Steve rasped out in between whines as he came all over his hand. His chest was heaving. Brain foggy from pleasure. His hair was stuck to his forehead from sweat. Steve sighed as he grabbed a napkin off the table and cleaned his hand, rubbing at the hem of his shirt that had gotten dirty. He looked back up on the screen to see your smirk. "Call me Stevie, next time you could do this to me yourself." The screen went black as you covered it with your hand. He could faintly hear,"Oh God what did I just do fuck ok this is fine, he'll like it right?" It took Steve all of two seconds to jump up and grab his car keys to head to you. Oh he definitely liked it. Fuck calling you though. The only calling that would be happening tonight was you calling his name.

#Not me having a part two already been started #Listen yall Steve deserves a great birthday first off cause I know his parents never really cared #But secondly that man deserves to be wined dined and fucked #Anyways uh have this #Is this self indulgent? Bro you telling me you don't want Steve to get off to the thought of you 🤨 #Anywho keep an eye out for part 2 i guess uh its gonna be awhile #But I got the start of it but uh I have like 6 other WIPs rn so #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #Steve Harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x female!reader #Steve Harrington/female!reader #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington/reader #Steve Harrington/you #Stranger Things fic #Jade is Talking

[judasofsuburbia]

no because...chrissy cunningham who moves in with robin buckley and nancy wheeler sophomore year of college and learns quickly why it’s only a two bedroom dorm. chrissy who is confused but keeps her myriad of questions to herself. chrissy who watches nancy and robin’s gentle affection: soft kisses, hand holding, squeezing hips, hands through hair. chrissy who is happy for them but conflicted because she’s never seen two people love each other in the way that robin and nancy do.

chrissy who gets a little flustered when robin is making breakfast in a tank top and boy shorts. chrissy whose mind goes blank when she watches nancy apply lipstick in the entryway mirror. chrissy who never hears them, because they’re respectful and wait until she leaves the dorm, but comes home from the library early one night. chrissy who stands frozen at the front door, unsure of whether to make her presence known or not. chrissy who has never heard sex sound like that and is warm all over.

chrissy who suppresses it and tries to meet nice men on campus but their kisses and touches are wrong in a way she can't explain. chrissy who gets drunk at a frat party with nancy and admits she’s never had an orgasm. nancy who shares a knowing look with robin and says, “come knock on our door sometime when you’re not half a bottle of wine deep.”

chrissy who doesn’t stop thinking about that comment for weeks. chrissy who is turning down guys left and right. chrissy who is trying, trying, trying to make herself feel the way she hears them feel but can’t. chrissy who puts on a cute pajama set and hypes herself up in the mirror. chrissy who hears robin and nancy giggling behind their door as her fist hovers over the wood. chrissy who raps her knuckles faintly.

chrissy who watches as the door opens to robin’s grinning face and nancy waving her in on the bed behind. chrissy who ends up lounging on the bed as nancy and robin run their hands all over her. nancy whose lips taste like cherry lipgloss and robin whose lips taste like carmex. robin whose tongue is on her neck while nancy takes her pj set off. robin whose hands are more possessive while nancy's hands are more explorative. chrissy who can't think straight as both of their hands are her, someone inside and someone rubbing circles into her clit. chrissy who nods her head when robin asks if she's close. chrissy who gasps when nancy holds up a toy that vibrates against her. chrissy who moans brokenly into robin's mouth then gets tilted to tangle her tongue with nancy. chrissy who has never felt this good in her life. chrissy who spends the rest of the night learning robin and nancy's bodies. chrissy who can't stop smiling because she feels so seen, so appreciated, so loved. chrissy who falls asleep squished and tangled between them. chrissy cunningham who starts to think that maybe a one bedroom dorm is the move for next semester.

#oh so she listens to red wine supernova by chappell roan and has thoughts about ronance + chrissy throuple??? is that it?????? #IS THAT IT #i wont start another wip i WONT #anyway #emily writes #chrissy cunningham #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance #buckingham #wheelingham #ronance fics #buckwheelingham #chronance

[scuderiahoney]

🍓 lover // strawberry wine valentine

a mini Valentine’s Day strawberry wine blurb based on fun fact #5 from this post! Words in italics are said in Dutch!

Max has been speaking Dutch to you since the day you met, to varying degrees. He’s called you lots of nicknames in the language, ones you’ve wished you understood.

“Hi, schatje.”

“How was your week, liefje?”

It had taken you far too long to catch on to the fact these weren’t just friendly nicknames. Once you did realize, he moved on to full sentences, sometimes full one sided conversations in Dutch. It drove you absolutely nuts.

Now, on your first Valentine’s Day together as husband and wife, you’re much more practiced in Dutch.

When he wakes up, rolls over, and says “good morning, my love,” in Dutch, you respond with a “good morning, baby,” in English.

Later in the day, you’re out for a walk through a park with him. His hand is in yours, the air lightly chilled, and you lean into him. He points across the grass to where a dog is running around, a giant stick in his mouth. He laughs, eyes crinkling. You’re reminded again how much you love to see him happy like this. How lucky you are to spend time with him like this. He’s yours. You’re his. Valentines, forever.

It’s like he knows what you’re thinking, because he leans close and kisses your temple. You giggle and lean into him. He’s your favorite person in the whole world, you think. Nobody else you’d rather spend time with.

“I’m the luckiest person in the world,” he says. It’s Dutch, but you understand it.

“No, I’m the luckiest,” you say back , and he laughs brightly.

“Your Dutch is getting good!” He says, brushing his thumb against your cheek.

You laugh and continue your walk, fingers interlace. When the wind blows, you barely feel the chill.

Later, he takes you out to dinner at your favorite restaurant, a table for two reserved in a secluded corner. There’s strawberry wine on the table before you even sit down, and it makes you smile wide and soft. He holds your hand through the whole dinner, and you hook your foot around his ankle under the table. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, really. A life shared with him. The way he looks at you with soft eyes makes your chest ache in the best way.

“The love of my life,” he says, smirking like he thinks you won’t understand. “My pretty strawberry.”

You grin and lean close. The language feels foreign on your tongue, but you’ve been practicing for months, now. “I love you, Max. More than strawberries, even.”

His eyes light up, and then he laughs, squeezing your hand and leaning over the table. He kisses you quickly, a light peck on the lips, his cheeks turning red the way in that you love.

He shakes his head. “You learned? For me?”

You nod proudly. “How’s my pronunciation? Your mum and sister have been helping me.”

His grin widens. “It’s good. Very good. You’re…” he sighs, shakes his head again, this look on his face that you can’t explain. “Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you repeat.

You finish dinner with happy smiles and even happier hearts. He suggests strawberry shortcake for dessert. With a smirk on your face, you suggest taking dessert to go. He laughs and agrees, raising his brows suggestively.

On the way home, he turns to you, arm around your shoulders, and says, “Du hast kein Deutsch gelernt, oder?”

You look at him, bewildered. He laughs and shakes you gently by the shoulders.

“Perfekt,” he says. “Weißt du, ich kann es kaum erwarten, dich nach Hause zu bringen. Und ins Bett.”

You roll your eyes at him and elbow him. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t!” He teases. “You love me.”

When he stops on the sidewalk and kisses you, you can’t find it in you to complain about his speaking German. You’re just happy to be his.

translation:

“You didn't learn German, did you?”

“Perfect,” he says. “You know, I can’t wait to get you home. And in bed.”

Taglist: @4-mula1 @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @ggaslyp1

#max verstappen blurb #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 blurbs #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 blurb #formula 1 oneshot #formula 1 fic #formula one blurb #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 blurb #strawberry wine verse #strawberry wine #mv33 #x reader #honeywrites #blurbs

[cuubism]

physical therapy, part 6.

--

Hob's been wavering on things like timeline with Dream because, well, he doesn't want to push, but he does obviously want more. There's a lot that he wants, and he thinks Dream wants it too. But Hob can be patient. Definitely. For sure. He's the epitome of patience.

In any case, after a few more dates which are oh so very patient, and in which Dream seems to be gradually coming more and more out of his shell, Hob finally takes the plunge and texts him:

If you want, come over to my place this weekend and I'll cook for you, and adds his address.

He paces nervously while waiting for a response. Dream coming over... he doesn't know how that would end. Well, it would hopefully at least end in Dream eating a proper meal, but other than that...

It's really not so long before he gets a response, though it feels like an eternity.

Okay, writes Dream, with a smile. 🙂 Should I bring anything?

Just yourself, writes Hob.

A shame, for I was planning to arrive incorporeally.

Hob smiles to himself at the comment. Dream is so much brighter once he decides he’s allowed to be.

On the agreed-upon date, Hob spends a truly excessive amount of time getting ready. He’s not even cooking anything elaborate, as he felt convinced he’d wind up fucking it up out of nerves if he did. But really, the quality of his food isn’t the wild card. What he’s nervous about is Dream’s response to being in his home. To being alone. Whether he’ll be okay with it. He doesn’t want to make Dream nervous.

But Dream arrives on time, and he’s smiling when Hob opens the door. He’s also carrying a huge canvas.

Oh!” Hob says, distracted from even kissing him hello. “What have you got there?”

“It is for you,” Dream says, and turns the canvas around so Hob can see it.

It’s a large painting of a rather clever-looking cat, bright colors and bold swathes of paint. It reminds Hob of Dream’s finger paintings, actually, but far more precise in technique. It’s lovely. It’s so cute. And much more playful than Dream’s older art, the pieces he had shown Hob from before his injury.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,”  he says, and Dream smiles shyly. “I take it your grip’s been feeling steadier, then?”

“Somewhat,” Dream says, following Hob deeper into the flat, as Hob takes the painting and sets it on top of a low bookshelf, propped against the wall. Later he’ll have to hang it up properly. “I am. Enjoying painting again. I think.”

It’s so good to hear. Each time Hob sees Dream he seems incrementally better. Less frozen. More outgoing. And it always makes Hob realize that he’s only gotten to see a fraction of the life that truly exists inside of him.

“I’m so glad to hear that, darling,” he says.

It hurts to think of the version of Dream that might have been there before being hurt. But Hob likes the Dream that he gets to know now.

He leads Dream into the kitchen and bids him to sit down at the table while Hob serves their food, which is staying warm on the stove. Normally, when he invites someone over, he’d offer them wine, but he doesn’t want Dream to get the wrong idea. God, he’s probably massively overthinking things. He’s being totally paranoid, he knows it. But it feels so important that it be right. He’d never forgive himself if he made Dream feel unsafe around him, even if it was by accident.

“I am curious what you’ve prepared to attempt to persuade me to change my habits,” Dream says, after taking a sip of the water Hob’s handed him.

“Something with a lot of butter,” Hob says, and Dream laughs softly. Dream needs it, though. He needs something that’ll stick to his bones.

What he has is tarragon chicken—fried in, truly, an excessive amount of butter—served over rice with string beans. If this can’t encourage Dream to eat real meals, nothing can.

And, gratifyingly, he’s right. Dream devours it, and has seconds. As he eats his own serving more sedately Hob wonders when the last time was that somebody actually cooked for him.

They barely even talk, but Hob doesn’t mind. He just wants Dream to eat.

“You can cook,” Dream says, and Hob laughs.

“Was that in question?”

A light blush graces Dream’s cheeks. “When you first mentioned cooking for me, I had the thought that you were a catch. For that reason among others.”

Hob can’t help himself from smiling—and perhaps blushing a bit, too. “I’ll have to keep it up, and maybe you’ll keep me.”

Dream looks down at his food, but murmurs, “I would like to.”

So Hob takes his hand on the table and squeezes it.

Later in the evening, when they’ve been ensconced on the couch for a while watching mindless telly, Dream’s head on his shoulder, Hob says, “You can stay over if you want. No expectations. Just don’t want you walking home in the dark.”

He’ll walk Dream home if that’s what he really wants, but it’s already midnight and it really might be easier to just stay put.

“Am I allowed to stay over in your bed?” Dream asks, and Hob’s pulse jumps.

“That’s what you want?”

Dream nods.

So, heart still beating hard, Hob says, “Alright. Come on, then.”

And Dream takes his hand as Hob draws him up.

He gets Dream situated with some of his pajamas, which are far too large on him, and with a spare toothbrush and so on, and when they’re finally ready he tries not to be too awkward or nervous as he climbs into bed and gestures Dream to follow, saying, “Come on, love.”

He expects Dream might hesitate, but he doesn’t, just crawls into bed after him and presses himself all up against Hob’s body, laying his head on Hob’s chest. And— God. He’s really decided that he trusts Hob. It puts a lump in Hob’s throat.

He feels like a fucking teenager again, stomach all fluttery just at the feeling of Dream lying against him. In past relationships, Hob had mostly jumped in sex-first, questions-later. But maybe there are more benefits to taking things slow than he thought. It makes every tiny thing feel monumental.

“Comfortable?” he asks, and Dream nods, hair brushing Hob’s chin.

“Yes, thank you.”

Hob pulls the blankets up over them, pets his hair. Dream lets out a long, happy sigh, and snuggles closer.

I’m going to keep you, Hob thinks. “Goodnight, Dream,” he says.

#a nice moment before ANGST #you didn't think we were done with angst did you XD #physical therapy fic #dreamling #my writing #tarragon chicken is a family recipe--thin chicken cutlets breaded and fried in butter with white wine wash and tons of chopped tarragon #i recommend

[lunarharp]

hehe. almost christmas!

#ace attorney tag #narumitsu #partial nudity / #2nd and 3rd things inspired by playing the first game and Uhh... why is phoenix accusing men of being lovers and being certain of it #and just generally containing the core of bisexuality within him #also there's that part i recall in maybe the..3rd game? where he's like Wow.. I'd Fall For Him Too... about that cinnamon swirl looking man #learnt lately that the writers upon learning that ace attorney was very popular with BL people immediately started reading BL #to understand the genre. i think phoenix would also do such Research in college. to Learn About People. About The World. #so now he feels that he has gaydar and is a good Ally etc. But actually maybe...you're also just bi too ! #too bad you'll have to get kissed by a criminal to work that out! Hang in there <3 #i reread my fic today !! I'm in the christmas mood now ! Sort of ! ooooh the 7 year gap.. at least we are in the 7 year gap years irl #Somewhere out there they ARE drinking wine romantically gazing at snow on a balcony in germany. thank GOD for that fr #so i shall be drawing things from THAT era next i need to depict men finally kissing NOW !!!!!! #can't do it with orufrey..can't draw cute happy romantic wintry art of them..didn't finish processing my current divorcecore arc era cycle

[fanaticsnail]

how do I convince you to make at LEAST a part 2 to The Sword and Spear?! Cause omg I need more! I wanna know if Mihawk eats his words once reader is dressed more in the way he prefers and then just the aftermath of MIHAWK showing up STARK NAKED to see GARP!!

Please I beg of you- if not a full part then you can do a short little imagine but please at least something to quench my hunger!!

I hope you have a good rest of your day/night! :)

Wine and Warlords

Masterlist Here, Part 1 Here

Word Count: 700+

Synopsis: Celebrating your victory by goading in the arms of a fellow warlord.

Themes: Mihawk x f!reader, warlords, drinking, drunk kissing, swearing, flirty dialogue, name calling, secondhand embarrassment.

Notes: This little drabble was brought to you by a couple of glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, and by you, beautiful @h0n3y-l3m0n05. Thank you for your ask, it ate at me. Part 2 Drabble to your initial request, @sexc-snail.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @gingernut1314 @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @vespidphoenix

Lulling your head onto his shoulder, his arm draped in a soft shroud over your torso. His smile tickled the shell of your ear, a soft puff of wine-tinted breath beckoned your attention closer.

“Finally got the feral filiform in my arms,” he whispered in a slow and slurred breath, “And in such a pretty black dress.” He swayed in his seat, wineglass laying limply in his hands as he swirled the deep rouge in the ballooned base of the glass stem.

“Such a flatterer, for such a conceited cunt,” your own voice slurred back at him, smiling broadly within the lap of your fellow warlord, “Particularly one who just walked in: balls out and dick swinging in front of the marine council and the world government.”

Joining with his soft laughter, you attempted to lean away from his embrace to collect the bottle of wine atop the bar; only for him to tug at your body to pull you in closer. He reached his left hand down to collect your chin, turning your face with the tip of his index finger. His lips parted, lazily descending to claim yours beneath his own.

“Not so conceited as you may think,” his smile cracked the corners of his eyes in a playful twinkle.

“Still a cunt,” you taunted back, flicking your tongue to brush with the tip of his nose.

Lips engulfed your mouth, whiskered flesh brushing and chafing the soft skin of your face as his hands drew you in closer. Turning in his arms, you braced your hands against him: grasping his opened shirt in clenched fists as you gasped into his mouth. His tongue darted out, rolling lazily with your own and tinting your tongue with the subtle hint of red wine.

His hands wandered over your back, molding the flesh beneath his firm palms and skilled fingertips. Your knee knocked against his crotch, a moan a few times higher than he truly intended falling freely from his lips.

“Let me get the wine, Hawk,” you murmured against his mouth, taking his bottom lip within your clamped teeth and tugging at it, “Let's drink in celebration of my victory. Again.”

“Go and get it then, Hyena,” he taunted you, “And I'll drink as many glasses as you require of me to cement your win. Go on,” he taunted you, his amber eyes fluttering dangerously with an air of danger. His nose scrunched in a small twitch, his lips snarling in a smirk, “Get it.”

“Oh,” you taunted him in return, eyes mirroring a similar dark intensity as his own, “I’ll get something, alright,” you cooed down at him.

Your fingers found his pectorals, the pads of your digits circling the sensitive flesh of his nipples as you descended your lips once again to claim his. Licking, biting and molding your lips atop his, he was held helpless beneath your ministrations.

Uncharacteristic moans, whimpers and cries fled from the world's greatest swordsman as you journeyed your hands over his torso. He cupped the backs of your knees, ushering you to straddle his waist and angled his chin in a circular rotation to deepen the oscillation with his skillful, needy lips.

Snapping your head away from his, arching your back up and offering him a winning smile, you reached for the wine bottle and raised it to your lips. Gulping back a hefty swig, Mihawk's eyes both held mortification and awe.

“You absolute savage,” Mihawk praised you, easing back into the chair and staring up at you with glassy eyes: obs blown with unbridled lust.

Mischief danced over your face, your eyes holding him at ransom beneath your ferocious intensity. Leaning down, you split your lips and fed the deep, red wine to him through your mouth.

He whistled a hum through his nose, shock evident on his features as he gulped down his favorite vintage through the partition of your lips. Humming in momentary bliss, Mihawk cradled your body against himself and humbled himself to be truly at your mercy.

Pulling away from his body, you used your thumb to cast aside the few droplets spilling over his bottom lip. Elevating your thumb, you sucked at the digit as his fingers brushed your thighs dangerously higher.

“Go on, big boy,” you taunted him, snarling with a small smirk, “Show me all the ways you can please a woman.”

Horrified eyes, shocked lips and tense shoulders were littered throughout the tavern. Cadets, marines, generals, admirals and other warlords dare not spare the two of you more than a subtle glance before returning their attention to their tankards.

Not a breath was huffed, nor a murmur mentioned at the prior exposure of Mihawk's bare ass in the sandstone building. Although none spoke it, all eyes held an intense silent understanding they all shared.

Both warlords were in for a wild ride.

#one piece #x reader #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #mihawk #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #he just needed a kiss #and some wine #thank you for the ask #ask snail #snail answers

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

before - part one

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

it’s summer in austin, and you and joel meet for the first time.

a/n: the joel miller brain rot is real and your advocate is here to help! masterlist will be up shortly, special thank yous and shout outs to @psychedelic-ink @allfoolsinluv and @gnollengrom for letting me scream about this fic in your dms 🤍 I have thought of little else for the last 48 hours

word count: 3.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI - this part is not explicit but other parts will be, masterlist has further warnings, but no real warnings for this part except a lot of fluff?? and banter?? and I’m obsessed kthanksbyeeeee

✨I no longer have a taglist - if you’d like to be notified of new works/chapters, follow @friskito-library and turn notifications on!✨

You meet Joel Miller long before the world implodes.

It’s 2001, you’re fresh out of college, relocated to Austin, Texas where your parents have taken over an old hardware store that once belonged to your grandfather. Nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for the time being, you spend most of your time in the store, stocking shelves and chatting with customers, learning the different things the store keeps on hand, what has to be shipped in special order. It’s not much, but it’s something to do; you’re just happy to be back with your family after four long years at college. Sure, you came home for holidays when you could, but it wasn’t the same.

It still isn’t the same, not really.

The house you live in is foreign to you, not the same roof you grew up under. The people are the same, your parents clearly happy to have you back, your little sister overjoyed to have someone in her corner again. Austin is nice, the weather warmer than you’re used to after four years in Michigan, but it’s a welcome change. Summer seems to go on forever, and your weekends are spent basking in the sun, finding new places to explore, wandering the shops that neighbour the hardware store and beyond.

And then one day, everything changes.

You’re stood at the end of one of the aisles, fixing a stubborn display of plaster tubs that won’t stay upright, when you hear the bells over the door chime, announcing the arrival of a customer. You don’t stray far from the display, calling out a good morning! and returning to your work. Your sister is perched behind the register, flipping through an old magazine, and you hear the tell-tale squeak of work boots on the linoleum, the sound now all too familiar to your ears.

The boots move in your direction, but you pay the sound little mind until it grows closer. Most people who come into the store know what they’re looking for, and your parents had been careful to keep everything in the same aisles and shelves they’d been on for the past decade, so as to not disrupt the regular customers. From the corner of your eye, scuffed, dark boots step a little closer, and your eyes drag over from the display, taking in the man before you.

You try really hard not to let your eyes linger everywhere, but it’s hard. He’s…well, he’s hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, patchy facial hair that really shouldn’t work as well as it does. Long legs covered in dark jeans, a t-shirt that’s definitely seen better days and is straining against his broad shoulders and thick arms. It’s a classic look you’ve come to associate with every guy who works construction in Austin, but right off the bat, you know there’s something different about this one.

“Hi there,” he says, his southern drawl not as intense as some other folks you’ve talked to, but still there, coupled with a little quirk to his lips, an almost-smile that makes you instantly desperate to see the full thing.

“Hi,” you breathe out, curling your fingers around the metal shelving in front of you, abandoning the plaster display.

“I’m lookin’ for a quarter-inch drill bit,” he spits, nearly stuttering the request out. You’re stuck still for a moment, absolutely enamoured by the man before you. And it makes your own lips twitch, the way his cheeks flare red and he drops his gaze after a moment, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m also assuming you work here but I now realize you don’t have a name tag or anything so I’ll just—”

You clap a hand over your chest dramatically. “Shoot. Must have left the stupid thing in the back.” He lifts his head, eyes going wide, the almost-smile returning. “Follow me.”

He follows you like a little lost puppy a few aisles down from where you were standing. He’s taller than you, by nearly a head, those broad shoulders almost blocking out the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. You may or may not let your hips swing a little harder as you walk.

“Any specific brand you’re looking for?” you ask over your shoulder, coming to a stop in front of the pegboard that holds bits of all sorts of sizes. “Or just a quarter-inch?”

“As long as it fits in my drill,” he answers, and you turn to the board, scanning for the right size. You can feel his eyes lingering on you, and you’re basking in it. When you find the right one, you pluck it off the hook and hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, shoving your hands in the back pockets of your jeans after he takes it from you. “If it doesn’t fit, just bring it back and I’ll make sure you get the right one.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he looks between you and the little package a few times, tapping it against the flat of his palm. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, but then your sister calls your name and your head snaps up.

“Come on up to the front when you’re ready,” you say, feeling a little bold and touching his arm as you step past him, “and I’ll cash you out.”

He watches you walk away, too.

“I need coffee,” your sister declares as soon as you’re within view of the front counter. “You want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you reply, stepping behind the register, righting a cup of pens that’s fallen over. She slips down from the stool, flipping her magazine shut, and brushes past you, just as a now familiar deep voice reaches your ears.

“Thanks again,” tall, dark, and handsome says, approaching the counter with the drill bit and a tub of plaster from the display you’d been fixing in his hands. Your sister steps around him as he walks up, and turns to look at you over his shoulder, her jaw dropped, giving you two thumbs up. Your cheeks flare with heat, but you ignore it, taking the bit and the plaster when he sees them on the counter. “Are you new here?” he asks, and then rubs his hand up the back of his head, turning sheepish again. “Here being Austin, I mean. Haven’t seen you around before.”

You can’t help but grin back at him. “New-ish. Moved back at the beginning of the summer after I finished college. My parents took over this place after my grandfather died, and I can’t afford rent in the city, so here I am.” You ring up his purchase, tell him his total, and he fishes for his wallet, digging in the front pocket of his jeans. “For now, anyway.”

He presses his lips together as he pulls a twenty out of his wallet and hands it to you. “Maybe I’ll see you around again sometime.”

You punch in the right amount, letting the register drawer hit your hip as it shoots open. “Maybe you will.” You hand him his change, and as you press the bills and coins into his waiting hand, you offer your name with it.

“Joel,” he says by way of answer, and your chest puffs a little with the knowledge. “Miller. Joel Miller.”

Your grin widens. “Well, you have yourself a good day, Joel Miller. Hope I see you soon.”

He takes the bit and the plaster and takes a step backwards, walking directly into a display stand holding rolls of bright green and blue painters tape, sending it toppling to the floor. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry,” he grumbles, and you step around the counter, dropping to your knees, catching the tape as it rolls in a million different directions.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him earnestly, righting the stand and getting back to your feet. “Now I have something to do.”

“You sure?” he asks, straightening, his cheeks burning red. “I’m sorry, again.”

“Don’t worry about it, again,” you laugh, gesturing towards the front door. “I’ll see you, Joel.”

“See you,” he replies, tacking your name onto the end, and you have to ignore the way the sound of your name on his lips sends a prickle up the back of your neck.

You watch as he walks out the door, the bell ringing again as he departs, getting into a pick-up truck that has definitely seen better days parked at the curb. He scrubs a hand over his face as he starts the engine, and then turns and looks at you through the glass, lifting a hand in a wave before he pulls away from the store. You lift your hand to return the farewell, and your sister walks through the door a moment later, two coffees in her hands, pushing one into your grip even though you said you didn’t want one. You sip it anyway.

“Who was that?” she asks, bumping her hip into yours.

“Joel Miller.”

+

He comes into the store nearly every day for a week. Always looking for something new, another drill bit or packages of nails and screws, a hammer, rolls of tape. He’s a carpenter, you learn, and goes bright red when you hint that must mean he’s good with his hands.

Your conversations are always brief, but sweet. He asks what you went to school for, admits he never got past a high school education, laughs when you tell him he seems to be doing pretty well for himself despite that. He shows up one morning with coffees for both you and your sister, and a box of doughnuts, earning a squeal from your sister and a bright thanks Joel from yourself. One afternoon, he’s in a hurry, having run out of drywall screws, cursing that he left his wallet at the job site, and you wave him off, all but pushing him out the door with a new box.

Then Monday rolls around, and you find yourself watching the door, waiting for the bell to signal his arrival. Every time the bell does ring, you jump, stepping out of whatever aisle you’re in, checking to see who’s walked inside. 

“I’m sure he’ll come by tomorrow,” your sister says when the clock hits two and there’s still no sign of him. “He’s probably just busy.”

“I know,” you say, brushing it off best you can.

The rest of the day passes like molasses, the minutes ticking by so slow you’re half sure the clock on the wall is broken. You even go so far as to check the batteries, earning a laugh from your sister. You curse yourself for flinching every time the door opens, doubly so when your father arrives to take over for the evening and you jump so hard you drop the stack of sandpaper boxes in your hands. “Sorry, honey,” he laughs, helping you pick up the boxes. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” you reply, putting the sandpaper on the right shelf before heading for the counter to grab your bag. “See you at home!”

Your father waves without looking, but calls your name before you can walk out the door. “Someone’s at the house, just so you know. Your mother’s home, of course, but I hired a guy to look at the back porch, asked him to fix the light in the hallway too.”

“Shouldn’t you be able to fix that yourself,” you joke with a smile, “since you own a hardware store and all?”

He just waves you off. “Get outta here.”

You laugh, pushing the door open, the bells jingling above your head as you step through. It’s just before dinner time, the sun starting to hang a little lower in the sky. The inside of your car feels like a sauna when you slide into the driver’s seat, and you blast the air conditioning, turning up the radio loud enough you can hear it over the noise. It’s a quick drive from the store to your house, and you’re too distracted by the song that’s playing on the radio to notice the rusty pick-up parked at the curb.

If it makes you happy, it can’t be that bad.

Your mother is sitting in the kitchen when you walk through the door, calling her hellos, and you dump your keys and bag before bee-lining for the bathroom. The house is all one level, one bathroom shared between the four of you, and you flick on the light, turn on the shower, strip down quickly. The warm water is a balm for the long day, the tension that had been sitting between your shoulders melting away beneath the spray.

You wrap yourself in a towel afterward, collecting your clothes from the floor before flicking the light off again. You’re still humming the song from the radio as you open the door, wiping a drop of water from your cheek and—

“Joel?”

“Shit!” he mumbles, dropping the screwdriver in his hand. He’s standing right outside the bathroom, balanced on a step-stool. Fixing the light; you remember what your father had said. You’re instantly flushed, starkly aware of the fact that you’re basically naked except for a towel, dripping water and your underwear is basically dangling from your hand. “I’m sor—fuck!” The stool wobbles and out of instinct, you grab for him, planting your hand on his stomach. He’s reaching over his head still, and the bottom of your hand meets bare skin, his t-shirt riding up slightly.

“You good?” you ask, pressing your lips together as he balances himself. You move your hand, carefully bending your knees and picking up the screwdriver from where it landed on the floor. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, taking it from you, jaw working as he chews the inside of his lip. His cheeks are as red as your whole body feels. “Sorry, I’m—”

“I should go!” you say quickly, and side-step him, bolting out of the bathroom doorway and straight into your bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. Your clothes tumble to the ground as soon as you’re inside, clapping a hand over your mouth as the towel nearly slips off of you. “Oh my god.”

+

You open the store by yourself the next day, your sister claiming she has the flu, your father with a golf game he can’t miss, and your mother with ‘far too many things to do around the house’. You don’t mind it; it’s usually quiet in the mornings, with the exception of the week of Joel, where he’d shown up at nine o’clock nearly on the dot each day.

Once your father got home last night, you’d all but interrogated him. Turns out, Joel had stopped by the store late the night before, walking in just before closing, and he and your dad got to talking. When the subject of the creaky back porch and the broken hallway light came up, Joel had offered his services, and your father had accepted.

A minute after you’ve flipped the sign from closed to open and unlocked the door, a now-familiar pick-up truck pulls up to the parking spot outside the curb. You inhale sharply, nerves and embarrassment in your gut, and you turn away from the door, heading towards the counter, you back to the door as it jingles open.

Joel Miller calls your name. You nearly freeze, but continue your steps until you’re safely behind the counter. You hear his boots squeak on the floor as he approaches, but you can’t bring yourself to lift your head until he’s standing right in front of you, saying your name again.

“Morning, Joel.”

“About yesterday,” he says instantly, a hand reached into the space between you, landing in a loose fist on the countertop. “I had no idea that you were—that it would—” He blows out a breath, ducking his head before meeting your eyes. “I’m sorry, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Y’know, I usually make a man buy me dinner before he sees me half-naked,” you say, the line rolling off your tongue before you can stop yourself. Joel balks, and you clap a hand over your mouth, nervous giggles pouring out of you. “Oh my god, that was cheesy, I’m sorry. And it’s okay, for the record. I should have checked the hallway before I walked out.”

He laughs, you laugh, and the idea sparks in your mind. Your hands move of their own accord, reaching for a pen and a scrap of receipt paper. You scribble out your phone number, accompanied by a little smiley face after the last digit.

“Here,” you say, pushing the paper across the counter, nudging his hand with your own. “Why don’t you take this, and maybe we can see each other someplace besides the paint aisle or outside my bathroom.” When he doesn’t answer right away, that sick feeling of rejection crawls up your throat, and you nearly snatch the paper back. “Or we could just pretend it never happened.”

“Can’t do that,” he murmurs, and his voice is so low and inviting you can’t help but lean across the counter slightly. His eyes dart to the clock on the wall and he curses under his breath. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” He grabs the paper, folding it up and tucking it into the pocket on his t-shirt. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, nodding, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he touches his hand to yours, fingers glancing over your wrist before he pulls away. He steps backward again, eyes not leaving yours. Thankfully there’s no display in his path for him to topple over, but he only looks away when he reaches the door, that almost-smile you’ve been chasing since the first day you met spreading into a full-blown grin that sends butterflies shooting through your stomach. “Bye, Joel.”

“Bye,” he replies, your name a near-whisper afterward.

As soon as the door shuts, the tinkle of bells echoing, you slump across the counter with a squeal. The bells ding again a second later, and you shoot upright, schooling your face into a normal-looking smile and greeting the customer that’s just walked through the door.

+

It’s nearly ten o’clock that night, when your phone rings.

You’re lounging in bed, a book propped against your knees, Sheryl Crowe crooning out of your stereo. The robotic ring makes you jump, and you hit the answer button quickly, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Joel says, and you smile, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Had a long day, and I almost didn’t call, but I really wanted to.”

“I’m glad you did,” you reply, letting the book fall shut on your lap. “What made your day so long?”

It’s easy conversation, the two of you chatting for a good hour. He talks about the job site he’s been working at, his brother that works with him, how his truck nearly broke down when he went to leave, making him late to get home. The call only comes to an end when you’re both making each other yawn, mumbling apologies every time.

“I should let you get some sleep,” Joel nearly whispers, his voice so soft through the phone you barely hear it. “Didn’t mean to keep you up so late.”

“I’m sure you can make it up to me,” you quip, rolling onto your side, keeping the phone pressed to your ear. “But I like talking to you, just for the record.”

“I like talking to you, too,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Just for the record.”

“Are you making fun of me?” you ask, faking shock. He laughs.

“Nah, I just like the way you talk, darlin’,” he says, and the pet name makes you shiver. “I’ll let you go.”

“You didn’t ask,” you say quickly, and he pauses, dead air on the line for a moment.

“What?”

“I said you could make it up to me,” you tell him, rolling onto your back, glancing out the window at the moon, big and white in the dark sky. “That was your opening to ask me out.”

Another pause, and you’re holding your breath, chewing your lip.

“Have dinner with me on Friday?”

You hum, beaming into the phone. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Joel barks a laugh, the biggest one you’ve gotten out of him yet, and you smile harder. “You’re trouble.”

“You’re the one having dinner with me,” you shoot back, and he laughs again, softer this time. “Goodnight, Joel.”

You can tell he’s still smiling. “Goodnight.”

NEXT

#my fics #strawberry wine #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #the last of us #the last of us fic #the last of us spoilers

[koocycle]

over wine; series masterlist (j.jk)

pairing. jungkook x ex-model! fem reader

rating. mature, 18+

au/genre. rich couple! au, established relationship! au, married couple! au, (semi) sugar daddy! au, suburban couple! au, angst, fluff and smut.

warnings. will be mentioned at the beginning of every chapter.

note. as over wine is still in midst of the writing process, certain information mentioned below could change over time.

DRABBLES

1; screw up | 4.1k (fluff)

In which Jungkook wants to make your first date special and unlike any other night you’ve had before. Only one thing; not everything goes according to his plan.

2; at all costs (a, f, mature)

It is 2 in the morning when you and your boyfriend cut your night short and return back to his dorm after a massive argument hit. All he wants to be is your go-to person, the boyfriend you need during times where you might need a hug. But how can he when you keep shutting him out?

I. OVER COCKTAILS AND DIOR-BOWED ROSES

↳ Designer dresses, spa weekends and rare wines are no longer enough to keep your relationship afloat. With your husband gone from home and a marriage standing on shaky grounds, you stumble back to your neglected career that could possibly fulfill the void in your life. You’re ready to take the risk, whether that is with the emerald cut diamond around your ring finger, or without. (m)

word count. 37.8k

II. OVER HOTELS AND BUSINESS PROPOSALS

↳ Jungkook doesn’t believe you found your passion in life the way you’ve been attempting to convince him. He is assured that all you need is a little push before you run back to your perfect life back in the suburbs. Plan gone to waste without a quick game of cat and mouse. May the best players win. (m)

release. tba

III. OVER PROMISES AND CLEAN SWEEPS

↳ Things have changed and there’s nothing to be gained from going over old grounds, you’ve decided. Though old grounds are all you can hold on to, and you need to make decisions.

This time, rather quick. (m)

release. tba

© koocycle 2022

#jungkook #jungkook au #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #koocycle #jungkook series #fic: over wine #over wine masterlist #over wine

[cherrycola27]

Red Wine, Fall into me

Warnings: Language, Alcohol consumption, Smut. 18+ (Phoenix x Female Reader) banner by the wonderful @thedroneranger Fic inspired by the Chappell Roan song "Red Wine Supernova"

...........................................

You know they say not to waste a Friday night on a first date.

Yet, here you were, in a nice dress, walking into a cocktail bar, to meet some guy, from some app, on a Friday night for a first date. You'd spent a ridiculous amount of time doing your hair, makeup, and picking out the perfect outfit that was the right balance of "I'm a good girl," and "I just might let you take me home if you play your cards right."

You texted your date that you were there and that you'd be at the bar. You were there a few minutes before your agreed upon time, so you walked up to the bar top, which had a middle-aged couple at one end, and a pretty dark-haired brunette at the other.

You took a seat a few stools down from her and ordered a glass of merlot from the bartender. He sat it down quickly in front of you as you checked your phone to see if your date had responded to your text. You felt immediately defeated to see that it still had not been read.

A few minutes ticked by, and it was now the time you and your date had set to meet. You fired off another text asking if he was there, with no response. Several minutes later, you sent one asking if he was on his way and nothing. Finally, a full thirty minutes and a second glass of wine later, he sent you a message saying that something came up, and he wouldn't make it.

You huffed as you sat your phone down on the counter and groaned. Of course, this would happen to you. This was the last time you agreed to a date from an app.

You sighed and finished the last sip of wine in your glass and rummaged through your purse for your card. Before you could pull it out, though, you heard a soft voice speak. "Put her last two on my tab, and bring us another round if you don't mind."

You look up and see the pretty brunette from earlier handing her card over and taking a seat next to you. "Thank you, but you don't have to do that." You smile at her. "I know, but I want to." She smiles back at you, extending her hand for you to shake, "I'm Natasha, by the way. What's your name?"

You tell her your name, and she repeats it back, slowly, savoring every syllable of it like it's a fine wine. You don't think your name has ever sounded as good as it does coming out of her mouth.

"So, what's a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?" She asks you. "I was supposed to have a date but—he stood me up." You sigh. "His loss is my gain then." Natasha says as she brings her own wine glass up to her lips. You blush at her words.

"What about you?" You fire back at her. "I just wanted a nice quiet night out, away from the crowds. Somewhere that I could relax and make a new—friend." She winks at you and slides her stool closer to yours.

"So, tell me about yourself." She says, and she rests her foot on the bottom of your stool. Your thighs part just enough to accommodate her toned leg that's exposed from the slit in her dress.

A shiver runs down your spine as you tell her about your job and some of your friends and what you like to do for fun. Her eyes stayed glued to yours, and she nods and questions and seems genuinely interested in you. "What about you?" You ask her when you finish.

"I'm in the Navy. I'm an aviator." She says as if it's the most casual thing in the world.

"Oh. So I guess you're used to going fast and doing what you want then." You smirk at her. "I can go fast." She says as she leans into your space. "But—" she sighs as she places her hand on your thigh. "—I actually have a partner in the backseat that I have to listen to, so I'm very good at taking directions. And, there are so many controls in the cockpit, that I have to be excellent with precision." She breathes out.

Natasha leans in closer to you. "I've always been amazing and zeroing in on my target and finishing the job. She whispers in your ear before pulling back. You swallow thickly and shift in your seat, unable to ignore the wetness pooling between your thighs and the heat that you feel in your belly that isn't from the wine.

"Is that so?" You say, cocking your head to the side. "Now, what exactly would one have to do if they want to see these skills in action?" You pry. "I think after a few glasses of wine and a dance or two, I might be convinced. Care to find out?" A crimson smile curls at her lips as she extends her hand to you.

You nod your head and slip your hand in hers. She places her palm on the small of your back, just a tad too low to be considered decent as she guides you to the dance floor. She presses closer to you to avoid the other people already there. You can smell her perfume. Floral and spicy with a hint of sweet. It is so intoxicating that it makes your head spin more than any glass of wine ever could.

Natasha drags you directly to the middle of the dance floor amongst all the other couples. She spins you around and presses your back to her front. There is absolutely no space between the two of you, and you can feel every soft curve of her body pressed against yours.

You sway to the beat of some song you don't know as her hands skim up and down your arms before resting on your hips. She pulls your hair over one of your shoulders and rests her chin on your newly exposed skin. You shiver as she places a gentle, fleeting kiss on your shoulder. You feel the blush in your cheeks spread all over your body.

"You okay there, pretty girl?" Natasha asks you. "Y—yeah." You stammer out. "Just a little warm is all."

"Why don't we go get some air." She whispers hotly in your ear. Her breathy voice has you weak in the knees. You nod your head in agreement, unable to trust your own voice.

It's quieter outside. So quiet you can hear your heartbeat racing in your ears as the two of you make your way to a secluded spot on the far side of the deck. The fresh salty air fills your lungs as you try to take a deep breath to calm yourself. You lean against the deck railing and watch the waves roll in as the moonlight dances across the dark ocean.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Natasha says as she comes to stand beside you. "It's breathtaking." You say as you turn to face her. "It's not the only breathtaking thing out here." She says, looking you directly in the eye. "No, it's not." You counter.

You inhale deeply as she takes a step forward and places on and on your hip, drawing you closer to her. She uses her free hand to brush a few stray strands of your hair away before cupping your face and pulling you closer to her.

Her lips are pillowy soft when they connect with yours. Her hand slides to the back of your hair, tangling in your locks to hold you in place. You wrap both of your arms around her neck as she trails her tonuge across the seam of your lips, asking for permission to deepen the kiss.

You gladly grant her access, and you moan as her tongue caresses yours. The kiss is sweet, with the last drops of your wine still on each other's mouths.

You moan and lean into her when you feel her fingers dig into your hip. She takes a step closer and pushes your back against the metal deck rail, her lips never leaving yours as her kisses become more hungry, more demanding.

She pulls her mouth away from yours, and you gasp as she trails her perfect pout across your chin and jaw before grazing your ear lobe with her teeth. You inhale sharply, and it's like music to Natasha's ears.

She continues her assault, trying to draw even more new sounds from you. Her lips skim over the sensitive flesh of your neck. You find yourself arching towards her, silently begging her for more. You feel her smile against you before she carefully grazes her teeth over the sensitive flesh before pulling back and laving it with her tongue. She repeats the action and your hand tangles in her dark strands, holding her in place. She chuckles and continues to work the space between your shoulder and ear, surely leaving a few dark marks behind, but you don't care. You want her to mark you up—claim you as hers.

You draw her mouth back to yours and kiss her until you're breathless. She pulls back and her lips are swollen, and her cheeks are red.

"I don't normally do this, y'know." You confess to her.

"Neither do I." She tells you truthfully.

You heave a sigh of relief. "I don't think I've ever done this, actually. But there's something about you that's—magical." You say as you bite down on your lower lip and bat your eyes at her.

"If you think I'm magic here, you should let me take you home. I've got a wand and a rabbit that I can show you all kinds of tricks with." She smirks at you.

................

A few minutes later, the two of you are in the back of an Uber going to Natasha's place. Her hand rests brazenly on your upper thigh, and her nimble fingers are tracing deft patterns across your skin. You squim in your seat, trying to keep yourself calm, when really, all you want to do is plant yourself in her lap and kiss her again.

The two of you somehow make it up the small path that leads to her front door. She unlocks it and pulls you in. Once the door is shut and she's clicked the lock, she pushes you up against it and kisses you roughly. You meet her kisses with passion. Both sets of your hands roam over each other, desperately.

Natasha has enough sense to practically drag you into her bedroom. You stand there a little awkwardly until she comes up behind you and slowly unzips you dress. Her lips trace your spine, leaving faint, wine colored kisses from her leftover lipstick on your flesh.

The garment drops to the floor, and you turn around to face her. She admires how your nipples are peaked and perky with anticipation. The scrap of lace, that could barely be called underwear, that you chose to wear tonight has an obvious dark spot on it. "Such a shame you date didn't get to see this." Natasha breathes out as she lightly grazes the front of it.

You shiver, and she lets out a breathy laugh. You reach for her, catching her wrist and pulling her to you. Your hands reach for her zipper. "Fair is fair." You mumble against her lips as she lets you pull it down before tugging the fabric off of her.

"Lay dow for me, pretty girl." Natasha says when she's kicked her dress to the side and shimmied out of her underwear. You take a moment to take in her form as you slip if your own panties.

Her dark hair falls gracefully over her shoulders. Her breasts are perky and lovely. She has a neatly shaved landing strip that draws your eyes to where you most want to be.

You lay back on her bed, making yourself comfortable on her pillows. Your breathing is shallow as her eyes rake over you.

"You're so fucking beautiful." She says as she crawls towards you. Beautiful. Not pretty, not hot, beautiful. You love how she talks about you. How she makes you feel seen.

"Thank you." You say before you can even think about it. She laughs as she reaches into her nightstand and pulls out the wand and rabbit that she mentioned earlier.

She sets them to the side before gently straddling your hips. She leans down to kiss you. Slowly, this time, it's more deliberate and precise. The two of you let your hands roam over each other's body. She tweaks your nipples, rolling them between her fingers and your arch toward her touch.

Not to be outdone, you wrap your lips around one of her peaks, and she lets out a gorgeous breathy moan that has your heart racing. She whines when you release the flesh with a soft pop but groans and leans into you when you repeat the action on the other. She subtly grinds her hips against you, seeking friction to relieve the ache between her thighs. You grab her thighs and help guide her, and she hums before stopping and sliding off of you.

"Mmm, not yet beautiful. There will be time for that. Let me take care of you first." She smiles at you. You huff a little, but don't protest. Natasha trails her lips across your breasts and chest and down your stomach. She circles her tongue around your navel before placing a kiss on your cunt, right about your clit.

You sigh as you sink deeper into her pillows, inhaling more of her intoxicating scent from earlier. She carefully parts your thighs and slots herself between them.

She grabs your left leg, and feathers kisses up from your knee towards your center and back down, a few times before switching to the right. She's taking her time building you up. And just when you think you are going to burst from her teasing, she places a fleeting kiss on your clit. You squeal and rock your hips upward, chasing her mouth.

She does it again, gently parting your folds with the delicate tip of her tongue, circling the sensitive bud and sucking it into her mouth.

She laps at your core, drinking in the taste of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Wanton moans leave your mouth, and your chest heaves. One of your hands tightly fists her sheets, the other curling on her hair to hold her right where you want her. You squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back as pure ecstacy washes over you when you cum.

Natasha works you through it until you push her head away. You lean up on your elbows and meet her eyes. She has a satisfied grin on her face. "How was that?" She asks almost cockily.

"Fantastic." You reply breathlessly. "I'm not done with you yet." She tells you as she reaches for her wand. You swallow and spread your legs for her.

She turns it on a low setting and starts by rubbing it over your nipples and down your body to get you used to the sensation. Slowly, she lowers it to your clit. You jump, still sensitive from your first orgasm, but you relax as she circles it around you bundle of nerves.

You feel one of her slender fingers circle around your entrance. "So fucking wet. All this for me, pretty girl?" She asks you. "Yes." You breathe out. You're jilted by a smack to your cunt. "Say my name, pretty girl. Tell me who's got you like this? Who got your pretty pussy absolutely dripping?" She commands.

"You—you did, Natasha. It's all for you." You babble out. She's satisfied with your answer and rewards you by sinking not one, but two of her long digits inside you and curling them upwards. You cry out her name as she finds your gspot impossibly fast. It should be a crime at how well she already knows your body as she strokes it with the perfect amount of speed and pressure.

She gages each sound you make and adjusts the wand on your clit and her fingers in your cunt. You have to give it to her, she wasn't lying when she said she could take directions.

Your head thrashes from side to side, and you're babbling out her name as she brings you closer to a second orgasm. Your toes curl against the mattress and you bite your bottom lip in an effort to keep your sounds at bay.

Natasha immediately tells you to be loud for her, and you're too for gone, and she has you so damn pliant that you'd do anything for her right now. So you release your lip and scream her name as you cum, gripping her fingers tightly, never wanting them to leave you.

When she does pull them out, you whine at the loss of contact, but it's short lived, because Natasha is crawling up your body and tapping her fingers on your lips.

You obediently open your mouth and close them around her digits, dutifully cleaning them for her. You groan at the taste of you on her hands. Once you've cleaned her, you pull off with a pop and kiss her. Your tongues meld together as you pull her onto of you.

You cradle her head and hook your legs around her waist and flip her under you. "Mine turn." You giggled as she looks up at you, bewildered. "Okay, then." She smiles down at you.

You cup each of her breasts in your hands and roll her nipples between your fingers. She lets out a small gasp as you kiss the tops of her breasts and the valley between them before continuing your journey south. You leave wet kisses across her hip bones and suck a dark mark into her right one, a little reminder of you for later.

You don't tease her like she teased you. You're too impatient. You've been dreaming about what she tasted like ever since you watched her bring that first glass of red wine to her lips this evening.

You tenderly part of folds before licking a long, broad stripe from her opening to her clit.

Natasha arches up off the bed, her hands flying to the sheets, clutching them for dear life. You repeated the motion over again before hooking one of her thighs over your shoulder. She's much more squirmy than you expected.

You work her over and over, tongue diving into her her sopping wet opening, nose bumping her clit.

She cries out your name, fingers in your hair, as you blindly reach for her other toy from earlier. You silently cheer as your hand wraps around her rabbit vibrator.

You turn it on and pull your mouth away from her. Natasha groans at the loss of contact but whimpers when she feels the tip of the vibe at her entrance. You push it in slowly until it is fully seated in her tight, wet, perfect cut.

She lets out a shaky breath as you slowly withdraw the toy and push it back it. You repeat the motion, picking up speed with each thrust. Soon, her hips are meeting it, and the sounds of lewd, wet fucking mixed with cries of your name are bouncing off her walls.

"Guess you had a few tricks up your sleeve, too." She laughs and rolls on top of you and sits up she slides down your body until you can feel her warm pussy right above yours.

Her walls grip the toy tightly, and her voice rises in pitch as she cums hard for you, back arching so hard that you're afraid she might hurt herself. "Fucking magical," you praise her as she comes down from her high. You slide up beside her on the bed. She's panting, trying to catch her breath.

"Think you have one more in you, pretty girl?" She asks you. "Yes, ma'am." You reply. She smiles at you before drawing you up to her lips.

She kisses you tenderly, rocking your hips together, creating a delicious friction between your clits. Your previous orgasms have both of you so wet, that you glide along each other with ease.

Your fingers dig into her thighs as you help guide her, pulling her tighter against you. You feel that familiar coil curling deep into your belly, and your head drops to her shoulder as you roll your hips to meet hers.

Natasha wraps a hand around your throat and draws you back to her. There is a glassy look of pleasure in her eyes, but she squeezes just enough to let you know that she's still in charge. "Cum with me." It's not a request, it's a demand, and who are you to deny her when she's making you feel so good?

You cum together. It's hard and messy and absolutely the most amazing feeling you've ever had. You collapse on the bed, and Natasha falls into you, both utterly spent.

Sometime later, when you can both feel your legs, the two of you make your way to the shower. After cleaning each other, you help her change the sheets, and the two of you get tangled in each other's arms and fall asleep.

..............

Six weeks later, you're slipping your hand into Natasha's as you follow her into the Hard Deck on a Friday night. This time, you're not meeting some guy from some app that you deleted ages ago. Instead, your girlfriend is introducing you to her coworkers.

You had already met Bob, her backseater, a few weeks ago because he insisted on meeting you because Nat, or Phoenix as she was known to her friends, couldn't stop talking about you.

Natasha quickly got the two of you a beer before weaving through the crowd to a pool table in the corner.

She takes her time introducing you to each one of them. You smile and wave and try not to be awkward.

"Well, what do we have here? If it ain't Phoenix." A male voice draws out. You turn, and you have to bite your lip to stifle a laugh. "Bagman." Natasha replies flatly. "Always a pleasure, Nix, but what I want to know is who is your friend?" The tall blonde asks.

"This is my girlfriend, jackass, so don't get any ideas." Nat says. "Babe, this is—"

"Jake. Right?" You say cutting her off. "Yeah? How did you know that?" She looks at you with a questioning glance. Jake looks at you equally, confused, trying to decide if you're familiar or not.

"Remember my date that stood me up a few weeks ago, the night we met?" You ask her.

"No. You're kidding." Nat smiles before belting out a laugh. Suddenly Jake's eyes go wide as he connects the dots on who you are.

"Son of a bitch, Bagman, I think I owe you a drink." Nat laughs as you and her other friends join in. Jake's cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Nat wipes a stray tear from her cheek. "But seriously, Jake. Thank you for being a dick. If you hadn't stood her up, I might not have met this amazing woman. Seriously, I owe you one." Natasha smiles at him before pulling you in for a kiss.

............

Eeeekkk! I hope yall enjoyed this! This was my first time writing for Nat! Let me know what you think with a comment or reblog!

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @mak-32 @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @withahappyrefrain

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