⤷ GONE FISHING, BE BACK SOON !! (on hiatus for two weeks)
formula one
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ daniel ricciardo
la luna está llena
sharing a cigarette (and a past) with daniel
senza peso e cadere sul tuo corpo
enjoying your high with daniel... in more ways than one
blurbs
domestic mornings w danny ricc
trying to bake with danny ricc
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ logan sargeant
la vida es tan dulce (contigo)
race day with dad!logan
pas besoin d'un faux sourire
learning to parent with dad!logan
blurbs
girldad!logan hcs
comforting logan
going to logan's frat party
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ max verstappen
segreti, più di uno
forced on an undercover mission with spy!max
stoepen achterna jagen
five times you start the conversation, plus one time max finally does
blurbs
max taking care of you when you’re drunk
max on a first date
max looking after you during finals season
glitter eyeshadow
pillowtalk with max
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ carlos sainz jr.
veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo
fucking carlos in a bathroom at the club (pt 2 to this blurb!)
blurbs
meeting carlos in the club
slow sex with carlos
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ oscar piastri
il faut que je te dise quelque chose
a new years party? i bet absolutely nothing will happen.
blurbs
seven minutes in heaven
you and oscar's wedding day
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ charles leclerc
un rosso inconfondibile
attending a fashion show (and scoring yourself a date in the process)
blurbs
breaking up with charles
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ lando norris
ik zweer het, ik kan aan niets anders denken
lando gets turned on texting you while he's at work. now he can't wait to come home.
rien n'a autant d'importance
running into lando— your ex— at a party gives you the perfect opportunity to remind him that there really is only one girl for him.
blurbs
lando's stream keeping you up at night
lando helping you clear your head during finals season
｡౨ৎ ˚⋅ george russell
rovinare l'amicizia
george is your best friend, and you would never risk that friendship for the silly feelings you have for him. a few drinks in monaco might change that.
warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, fluff, sexual tension, reader is a college student, age-gap (reader is early twenties, bucky is presumed mid 30s) voyeuristic and exhibitionism, homoeroticism, "slut" "good girl" "whore" public sex, fingering, dry humping, groping, dirty talk, degrading, size difference, mechanic!steve, slight steve x reader, reader is a pervert but bucky is too highkey, player!bucky, bisexual awakening!!!!
word count: 10.2k
main masterlist
a/n: happy pride month!!! if it wasn't obvious enough, yes, it is based on the song call me maybe by carly rae jepsen. real ones know the parodies to this song on youtube. wasabi productions ifykyk. gif by sebstangif
synopsis:
There’s a new guy who moved in right across from you. He’s a total mystery, but his looks certainly aren't. Since he's subtly trying to get your attention, how could you not entertain him? Especially when you have your best friend, Steve, in your ear telling you to go for it.
Hand washing the car on a hot summer’s day was something you would never normally do.
You always let your dad handle a job like that. He’d always tease you for being ‘spoiled,’ always hitting you with the typical line of, “What happens when I’m gone? How will you take care of yourself?”
And every time he hit you with that line, without fail, you would find yourself grabbing the plastic bucket, soap, and sponges out of spite, just to prove a point.
Now, you were outside, drenched in a mixture of sweat and water as the sun beamed down. You were splayed over the hood of the car in a way that looked anything but sexy. You had on a tank top and shorts—natural, given the heat—but despite the porn director approved outfit, you looked anything but pornographic.
Matter of fact, if someone were to come up to you now, they would probably lose interest instantly.
“Hey there,” a familiar, deep voice called from behind you. “Looking pretty hot.”
Normally, you would scramble to make yourself look at least somewhat decent for anyone who approached you in this state.
But it was your best friend—so who cares?
“Steve,” you huffed, raising a leg to balance yourself on the hood of your dad’s car. “Are you going to help me or just taunt me?”
Steve crossed his arms, watching you slip and slide all over the green station wagon that looked like it was ready to fall apart at any given moment.
“Has your dad seen you like this yet? I’m sure if he saw what a poor job you were doing, he wouldn’t ask you to clean it again.
You puffed a strand of hair out of your face. “The reason I’m cleaning in the first place is to prove to my dad that I’m perfectly capable.” You mumbled under your breath, “… He called me spoiled.”
Steve chuckled lightly. “Can’t say I disagree.”
Sneering, you spun around and hurled your wet, soapy sponge in his direction. It landed right in the center of his chest, dampening his snug t-shirt with a dark spot that began to spread. He laughed, catching the sponge before it hit the ground.
“Get off the hood before you hurt yourself,” he grinned, taking a step closer.
You grunted as you slid off the car. As you stood up, your eyes trailed past Steve’s shoulder—something unfamiliar catching your attention.
The house across from yours had been unoccupied for months, but someone had recently moved in. Days had passed, and you hadn’t seen the new neighbors yet. But for the first time since the ‘FOR SALE’ sign was removed, you were finally seeing the man who lived there.
He was tall—maybe around Steve’s height. He had dark hair that fluffed messily at the top, and he was covered in dirt, looking as though he’d been doing yard work all morning. The sun hit his eyes, and he squinted, shielding them with a large hand.
As he looked up, his gaze drifted across to your lawn, and his eyes met yours for a long moment.
A warm, friendly smile tugged at his lips, and he waved. You blinked, a light smile forming on your own face when you realized he was waving at you. You waved back shyly, and his smile grew wider.
“He waved at me,” you pointed out.
Steve, curious, glanced over his shoulder. When he caught the man’s eye, he gave a quick, short nod—a casual greeting between guys.
“He seems nice,” Steve shrugged. “Your new neighbor?”
You nodded, stealing a few more seconds to look at the man across the street. He bent over, his large traps tensing against his cotton tank top as he shoved a pair of gardening gloves over his rough hands. He crouched, his dirty boots and jeans digging into the soil as he began to pull at stubborn weeds.
A man. Hard at work.
The best kind of man.
“He is,” you breathed, looking back at Steve. “And he’s hot, too.”
Steve huffed a laugh, stepping out of your way and towards the car, sponge in hand. “You trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing a spare sponge from the soapy tub. You stepped up to the opposite window from Steve and began to scrub.
“You know, I’ve seen this play out in movies and stuff—” Steve shouted from the other side of the car. “The girl who washes her car and catches the eye of the conveniently attractive neighbor across the street.”
You quirked a brow. “In movies, or in porn?”
Now, it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Point aside, you should go for it.” He peeked at you over the roof and nodded in your neighbor’s direction. “You’ve been single for quite a while now. It wouldn’t hurt to dip your toes back in the dating scene.”
You snorted. “Whatever happened to you being jealous?”
Steve shook his head at your comment. “I’m just saying—you’re young and pretty. You could grab that guy’s attention if you really tried.”
Pausing your sponge, you glanced over your shoulder, catching your neighbor’s gaze again. He had been staring at you—for how long, you didn’t know. Either way, your heart did a little flutter in your chest, your face warming at the thought of him watching you.
“You really think so?”
Steve hummed. “Have I ever lied to you?”
Since that day, and with the help of Steve’s encouragement, you found yourself spending more time outside just to catch your neighbor’s eye.
Most mornings, he was already out there working on the front of his house—mowing the lawn, painting fences, or tending to the plants.
The job itself didn’t matter. It was the man behind it all who suddenly made this boring, textbook suburban neighborhood interesting.
Despite only a few days passing since you last washed the car, you miraculously decided to wash it up again the day Bucky was working on the front of his house. How convenient!
Grabbing your tools while wearing a tank top—thinner than the last one—and shorts that rode so far up they were bordering on a wedgie, you stepped out with a confident stride that immediately caught his attention.
He glanced at you from his spot on a ladder, squinting as he smiled.
“Good morning!” you chirped.
“Morning,” he shouted back, nodding to the same car parked on your driveway. “Cleaning again?”
“Oh, yeah,” you smirked, motioning to your bucket. “Just something I like to do every few days.”
If Steve or your dad were here, they would be laughing in your face.
The man’s eyes slowly raked over the car—taking mental note of just how pristine and shiny it already was—before trailing back to you. “Must be a high maintenance girl, huh?”
It was just something about the way he said it—his voice deep and textured with a rasp that made every syllable sound flirtatious. You chuckled softly, your face warming.
“Something like that.”
He chuckled in return before getting back to work.
You dunked the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and got to work. Most of your time was spent focusing more on suggestive poses than actually getting the car clean. You stretched your arms high to reach the roof so the hem of your tank top rode up, then leaned low over the hood, letting your short shorts ride up to reveal the curve of your ass.
It didn’t take long for your clothes and skin to be covered in soap and water. The sun was in your favor today, catching the water as it glistened on your skin and the soap as it trickled down your thighs.
One quick glance over your shoulder made your heart stutter.
You knew you were doing it right because he was looking right at you.
He slowly began to descend the ladder. Before you knew it, he was walking in your direction, crossing the street until he reached your driveway. You had to bite back a smile as the sound of his boots scuffed closer, stopping just behind you.
“I believe we haven’t properly introduced ourselves,” he called out to grab your attention.
You didn’t turn around right away, careful not to make it too obvious. You glanced over your shoulder first, your back arching in a way that felt a bit of a strain—thanks to your usually terrible posture—then slowly stood up, trying not to groan at the sudden soreness.
“I don’t believe we have,” you said, setting the sponge down and wiping your wet hand on your damp shorts. Good enough.
You extended your hand and gave him your name.
He returned the gesture with a smile, his grip warm and rough—the hands of a working man.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Bucky,” he huffed. “Bucky Barnes.”
He looked around, appearing almost skeptical to be standing in your driveway. “You look young,” he pointed out. “Are your parents home? I’d like to introduce myself, being new to the neighborhood and all.”
“They’re on vacation,” you explained. “I’m a student over at Jepsen University.”
“A student, huh?” He rubbed his chin with his left hand. No ring. “A pretty thing like you oughta’ be careful at Jepsen. There are a lot of nasty frat boys roaming around campus.”
You chuckled, a light sway in your movement. “You went there?”
He nodded. “Graduated top of my class.”
Even though there was no ring, you still needed verbal confirmation before throwing yourself at him.
“How are you and the family liking the neighborhood so far?” You tested.
Bucky took it upon himself to lean against your car, making the frame creak slightly. He didn’t seem to care about the soap dampening his jeans.
“Well, me and my girl are liking it so far,” Bucky said. “It’s quiet, and plus, I get a good view across the street.”
You made a face at his explanation. My girl. He had a wife? Or a daughter? He was deliberately flirting with you, wasn’t he?
Bucky caught your expression and laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively.
“My girl Alpine,” he clarified. "She’s the cat loafing on the windowsill in my living room, always staring out.”
You felt your face warm, and your posture eased up instantly. Not only was your neighbor hot as hell, but he was single—and a cat dad! There was a bit of an age gap, but that wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.
You crossed your arms, the movement accentuating your breasts beneath the thin tank top, and jutted your hip out to emphasize your curves. You smiled pridefully, watching as Bucky’s gaze traced a slow path from your eyes down your body.
“Like father, like daughter, then.”
His grin widened handsomely. “What can I say? We like looking at pretty things.”
You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. He was such a natural flirt—and despite all your attempts to grab his attention, your words suddenly failed you when the time came.
Bucky glanced around the driveway as if he were still searching for someone. Then, he asked, “That guy who usually comes over to help you out—” he brought up slyly, still looking around, “he your boyfriend?”
You blinked at his question. The way he was subtly trying to fish for information made your stomach do a flip in celebration.
“Steve?” you asked, your voice coming out breathier than intended. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”
You noticed the way Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words. He was jealous.
“He goes to Jepsen, too?” He questioned.
“Yeah, he’s my senior.”
“Ah,” Bucky drawled. “A frat boy, then?”
You couldn’t help but laugh at his endless questioning. “I wouldn’t call him that. He’s my best friend,” you reassured him, watching the way his blue eyes searched yours. “He just comes over sometimes to help out—or more like he comes over to make fun of me while I do all the work.”
Bucky chuckled a deep, gravelly sound that was effortlessly charming. “Best friend, huh?” He pushed himself off your car, taking a step closer to you. Fuck, he even smelled good. “Well, I can’t say I blame him for wanting to hang around. Though, if you ever need a man who’ll actually help instead of just laughing at you, you know where I live.”
He tilted his head toward the house across the street, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“You said your parents were away on vacation?” he asked.
You nodded.
“For how long?”
“Just for a couple of days,” you replied.
Bucky hummed, an amused smile playing on his face as he looked at you. He leaned in, his voice releasing a low murmur as his warm breath tickled your skin.
“A couple of days, huh?”
You caught his gaze tracing a path down your tank top before he met your eyes with a devastatingly slow smirk. If he had this much confidence at his big old age, he was definitely a troublemaker when he was in college, that’s for sure.
“Would you look at that? That’s plenty of time for us to get well-acquainted.”
He watched the way your breath hitched and smiled, looking satisfied. He pulled away and turned back towards his side of the street. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he heard a small whine escape you.
“See you around, neighbor,” he called over his shoulder with a charming smile, sauntering down your driveway and back towards his own.
As he walked off, your heart was beating with excitement—beating far too fast to keep up. And the only thing you could think about was how much you were going to gloat about this to Steve later.
You sat across from Steve at the same dingy diner where you two met every Thursday for brunch.
While you sat cross legged on one side of the booth, Steve sat opposite from you in a crisp navy blue collared shirt with a name tag that read HYDRA’S MECHANIC! and the name Steven on the top right.
“He has a cat, Steve. A cat!” You smiled, dipping your toast into a pool of egg yolk. “Her name is Alpine—and he called her ‘his girl.’ Isn’t that so sweet? I nearly had a heart attack right there in the driveway.”
Steve held a coffee mug in his hand, watching you. He was supposed to be heading into work in twenty minutes, but he was currently occupied with the girl in front of him—and her endless rambling.
“And he’s single,” you continued through a mouthful of toast. “No ring, no wife—just a gorgeous, ripped cat dad with a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a smutty audiobook.” You paused, taking a quick sip of your drink. “I mean, yeah, he’s definitely got a few years on me. He’s a little older, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. It just makes him more…” You sighed dreamily. “Capable.”
Steve didn’t say a word. He set his coffee cup down, picked up a fry, and dipped it slowly into a side of ranch with a lopsided smile.
“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you caught his grin.
“Nothing,” he said simply, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Steve. I know that face,” you pointed out. “That’s your ‘I’ve got something to say, but I won’t’ face mixed with something else. Come on, tell me! What are you thinking?”
Steve chuckled, wiping his hand on a napkin before leaning back in the booth. “I don’t know how I feel about you going after some guy who’s that much older than you. He seems like the type of guy you have fun with—not someone you bring home to your parents.”
Your eyes went wide. “What? You encouraged me to go for it!”
Steve held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know! It’s just… I don’t know. Can’t a guy worry?”
You couldn’t help but smile at his bashfulness. “Aw, you’re worried over little ol’ me, Stevie?” You tilted your head, taunting him.
He rolled his eyes. “You know what? Forget I even said anything—”
“No, no,” you leaned in, resting both arms on the table “Okay, fine. I’m hearing you. What can I do that’ll make you more comfortable in this situation?”
Steve shrugged, lifting the coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. “Could start by meeting the guy, I guess.”
“Okay,” you agreed casually. “He did mention you, actually.”
Steve quirked a brow, eyeing you over the rim of his mug. “Did he?”
You nodded. “He asked if you were my boyfriend.”
He scoffed a laugh. “Boyfriend? He’s already getting jealous? God—how old is he again?”
You gave him a look. “He was just curious, Steve.”
“Sure, and I’m a superhero fighting crime in New York.” Steve set his mug down, dipping another fry into ranch and plopping it into his mouth. He gathered his phone and wallet, quickly tucking them into his pockets. “I gotta go. Shift is starting soon.”
“Wait.” You sat up straight. “My dad won’t stop texting me asking if you can fix the wagon—it keeps making this weird noise and he won’t leave me alone until you look at it.”
“I’m free tomorrow after work. I’ll swing by then. I’ll consider this—” he motioned to the table, where the bill sat squarely in the middle with your name on it, “—payment for the repair.” Steve pushed himself out of the booth, licking the ranch off his thumb before pointing a finger at you. “I’ll text you. And don’t screw the guy ‘til I meet him.”
You couldn’t even get a word in before Steve was already rushing out the door, the bell jingling after him.
“Yeah. Okay, Dad.”
After paying for brunch, you drove home feeling giddy.
Turning the corner onto your street, you spotted Bucky right outside his house, mowing the lawn. This time, he was shirtless.
You purposefully slowed down to get a good look at him, but the moment he looked up and spotted your car pulling into the driveway, he smiled—aiming it right at you through your fishbowl wagon on wheels.
Parked in the driveway, you took a quick look at yourself in the pull down mirror, checking to make sure there weren’t any crumbs on your face or a stray strand of hair sticking out. Smoothing down your top and adjusting your shorts, you stepped out of the car—aiming for casual. But with the way your heart was beating, you were anything but.
Bucky had killed the mower engine and was wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked hypnotizing, his chest and stomach glistening in the afternoon sun.
“Eventful day, I take it?” He nodded towards your car. “Noticed your wagon was missing from the driveway this morning.”
He had noticed you were gone? You tried your best not to smile.
“Oh, yeah,” you leaned against trunk nonchalantly. “I went to have brunch with a friend.”
Bucky crossed his arms over his chest—a move that did very interesting things to his biceps that were hard to ignore—and leaned his weight back on one leg.
“Let me guess,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Steve?”
After Steve’s comment about Bucky being jealous, you couldn’t help but bask in confidence. You quirked a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Are you jealous?”
Bucky tilted his head, pretending to contemplate the question as he looked you up and down.
“Only a little,” he admitted with that handsome smile of his.
You grinned. “Well, there’s no need to be jealous, I assure you,” you explained, pushing yourself off the car.
Taking a step back, you gestured vaguely to his yard. “I’ll let you get back to it, though. You look pretty busy,” you said, despite how much you actually wanted to pull up a folding chair and just stare.
You turned to head towards your front door, but you didn’t get far before his voice stopped you.
“You know,” Bucky called out as he began crossing the street. “Your car is looking a little dirty.”
You stopped and turned back, your breath catching as you watched him make his way onto your driveway. Shirtless and confident, he looked even more imposing standing on your property than he had the other day. He came to a halt beside the green wagon, glancing at the circle of bird poop sitting right on the roof.
Then, he looked back at you with a smile—as if he already knew you wouldn’t say no.
“Need some help cleaning?”
“I…” Your eyes trailed to his bare chest slicked with sweat. You didn’t know how you were going to control yourself, but despite it all, you swallowed hard and said, “Yes.”
Minutes later, you found yourself grabbing all the supplies needed to get the car cleaned. Bucky stood by the bucket, holding the hose as the water filled the plastic. It took everything in you not to stare at the way the sun was shining down on his tanned skin, sweat and water glistening down the hard lines of his stomach.
His jeans sat dangerously low on his hips, the hem of his briefs peeking out over the top. He hadn’t even started cleaning the car yet, but he already looked hotter just standing there than you ever felt trying to look appealing while washing the wagon.
When the bucket was full, he lifted it by the handle without much struggle. You watched as his biceps and forearms flexed against the weight of it. His eyes caught yours, and you swallowed hard, quickly forcing your gaze away.
Bucky stepped to the passenger side, opposite where you were standing. He didn’t seem bothered by your staring.
Actually, he seemed to be feeding off the attention, especially after catching you several times.
“This is a nice car,” he commented, dunking a sponge into the soapy water. “Vintage. I’m surprised she’s still kicking around.”
While Bucky scrubbed down the passenger side, you kept trying to sneak glances through the untinted windows. From where you stood, you had a perfect view of his chest muscles and his stomach pressing against the glass as he worked.
“Uh—yeah,” you cleared your throat, forcing your focus back. “It’s from the sixties. It’s my dad’s, actually. Steve just helps me fix it up.”
“Your friend Steve,” Bucky mused, peeking at you over the roof. “He a mechanic?”
“Yup,” you nodded. “So if you hear loud car noises coming from across the street tomorrow when he fixes it, you can blame him.”
“This Steve guy sounds like a total catch,” Bucky said with a light laugh. “You sure you’re not dating him?”
You weren’t sure why Bucky was so insistent on you having a secret relationship with Steve. You had your fair share of insecure men who were jealous of you hanging around with someone like Steve Rogers, and you figured that habit died out once men hit the age of twenty five. But with Bucky standing across from you, poking at your relationship with Steve, you were starting to think that wasn’t the case.
“I swear, I’m not dating Steve.” You raised a pinky so he could see it over the roof. “Besides, he’s like an older brother to me.”
Bucky blew a raspberry.
“Poor kid,” he chuckled. “But really, I’m surprised he hasn’t made a move on you.” He bent down to clean the rim right above the tire, letting his eyes trail over your body through the window. “If I had a pretty girl like you in my life... we wouldn’t have been friends for long.”
You felt your heart stutter.
What did that even mean?
Did he mean he would make you his girlfriend?
You wanted to hear him say it—to blurt out the answer himself.
You dumped your sponge in your bucket, letting yourself get damp with the soapy water.
“Is that so?” you challenged, trying your best to play it cool. “And what would we be then?”
He stood up with a low groan, looking at you over the roof. He began making his way towards your side of the car, moving purposefully slow as he dragged his sponge across the hood—hardly even pretending to clean it anymore.
“After watching you wash this car—looking like a woman straight out of my dreams? We’d be a lot of things,” he said smoothly, locking eyes with you as he reached the corner of the bumper. “But ‘friends’ sure as hell isn’t one of them.”
You grinned, allowing him to be the one to approach you as you continued scrubbing.
“So,” you kept your voice playful, a little teasing. “You’ve been watching me?”
Bucky didn’t bother denying it.
He stopped just inches away from you. He let his tongue run slowly over his bottom lip, his eyes traveling shamelessly down your body. He was mesmerized with the path of the soap bubble trickling down your collarbone, sliding between the curve of your breasts before disappearing into the thin fabric of your tank top, where your perky nipples were poking right through.
It was hard for him to ignore. They were practically begging to be licked.
“Hard not to,” he rasped, stepping closer until he was standing directly behind you. He propped one strong arm against the roof of the wagon, locking you in. “Especially when you’re giving me a view like that from across the street.”
You let out a shaky breath—one that you hoped he didn’t catch, but he did. You stared at him through the reflection of the window, and his eyes were on you—tracing your face, leaning in to smell you.
It was this very moment that made you remember the age gap, because he was moving and talking so smoothly, like it was all natural to him. As if he had been swooning women like you for years.
But you weren’t going to let that shake you up.
You pushed your hips back subtly, letting your damp ass press against his hips. You tried not to gasp at the straining bulge that was waiting for you between his legs.
“Well, I’m right here,” you said quietly, staring at him in the reflection. “So, what then?”
Bucky looked around, his gaze sweeping across the street to make sure no one else was near.
With one hand still propped against the car, the other found your hip, giving it a firm squeeze to keep you right where you were with your ass pressed tight against his cock.
“Do you want to know what I love most about being in this neighborhood, aside from the fact that I have a super attractive neighbor living across from me?”
He rocked his hips forward, letting his hard bulge nestle perfectly between the curve of your bottom. His cock was fighting the restraint of his jeans, and just from that small movement alone, you could feel how big he was.
Bucky pressed his lips against your ear, murmuring low and tickling your skin with his warm breath. “I love how quiet it is. There’s rarely anyone outside, or even driving by... so when I touch you like this...” His hand slid up from your hip to cup your breast through your tank top. “No one will even notice.”
You gasped as he fondled your tits, his rough fingers flicking the sensitive peak of your nipple. As he dampened your shirt with his wet hands, the water seeped through the thin fabric, making every bit of friction feel even more sensitive than the last.
“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.
“Oh,” he let out a low, rough breath. “You’re so reactive. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”
Bucky’s hand left the roof of the car to wrap around your eyes, pulling you even closer against him. He rocked his hips—back and forth, in a steady rhythm—dry humping you right there against the green wagon in your driveway where anyone could see.
The friction of his denim against your damp, thin shorts made a warm heat pool in your lower belly. Every grind of his hips was met with a hard twitch in his jeans, making your body ache for more.
His hands were everywhere. One hand gripped your hip, tickling the skin beneath the fabric as he gave your flesh a possessive squeeze.
The other continued to fondle your tits, tickling your nipple through the wet cotton. His thumb and forefinger would catch your nipple, rolling it until you were arching your back and whimpering his name.
“Cute noises coming out of you,” he murmured against the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “I wonder what kind of noises you’ll make if someone were to drive by and see what I’m doing to you?”
You shuddered as his hands roamed lower, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. He undid the button with just one hand, letting his fingers trace the skin of your mound, grazing low until he found your clit—lightly rubbing the nub of his finger against it.
A moan left your lips as you arched your back deeper against him. He groaned as your ass rubbed against his throbbing cock.
While Bucky’s fingers toyed with your clit—rubbing in deep, circular motions—he rocked his hips, seeking pleasure of his own. You were moaning, breathing hard as you stared down at him playing with you.
“Bucky… I… mph—” you moaned, your voice pitched high. You ground your hips against his hand, fucking yourself onto his fingers.
With Bucky standing right behind you, he looked down at the soapy water trickling over your chest, his cock growing harder by the second.
He wasn’t lying when he said you looked like a woman straight out of a dream. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes apart—which he could do easily—and fuck you right on the hood of the car he’d been watching you parade yourself on for the past few days.
He was so horny, he needed to sink into you—fast.
But first, he needed to see how much of him you were willing to take, starting with his fingers.
“Gotta test you, baby,” Bucky rasped against your ear. “See how much your little pussy can take.”
His hand traced down from your clit to your folds. He groaned once his fingers made contact with your slick heat. You were so wet, so easily riled up, and so ripe for the taking, yet he wanted to make this last.
Bucky glanced around one more time—the coast was clear. He shoved your shorts down, exposing your ass to the cool air, and pushed your lace panties to the side. He probed his middle finger against your entrance, dancing his digit in a curling motion to prepare you.
“So wet,” he murmured, grinning at your little gasps and mewls. “Could easily slide my finger right in.”
His middle finger slowly eased into your pussy, the warm flesh of your entrance accommodating him smoothly. There was a bit of a stretch, sure, but he could easily finger fuck you right now with no struggle at all.
“How many can you take?” he asked.
You felt your face warm at his question. “… Two.”
He hummed against your ear. “Two, huh?”
Without warning, his ring finger took a quick drag against your entrance—already stuffed by his middle finger—and slid in slowly. Your mouth dropped as a broken gasp tore from your throat. The stretch was burning. His fingers were long and thick, and having two of them inside was enough to fill you completely.
“Fuck—Bucky!”
Bucky didn’t give you a chance to fully adjust to his two fingers before he started moving—thrusting in and out, curling deep inside you as he searched for every sensitive spot. With his free hand still clamped onto your hip, he humped you from behind, groaning as his denim jeans grew even tighter around his throbbing cock.
He was so hard it was painful.
His need to sink himself inside you was spiraling out of control as he felt his pre-cum soaking into his waistband. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he watched the way your ass bounced against his hand, swallowing his fingers with every move.
“Christ,” he hissed against your neck. He slowed his hand just enough to hook a third finger against your entrance, probing the tight and overtaxed muscle. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, baby.”
He looked at you through the reflection of the window, and you stared back, caught in his dark gaze. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
You nodded with a whimper.
Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and without warning, he pressed the tip of his pointer finger against your stretched entrance.
Your eyes flew wide at the sensation as he slowly began sinking that third finger in, forcing you to press your tits and hands into the glass window for support.
“Bucky,” you gasped. “What are you—!”
“Think you can take three?”
He couldn’t even sink his third finger in all the way, your body simply wouldn’t allow it.
The stretch was a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure, your hips going stiff as you struggled to take him in. He was breathing hard against your ear, and you could feel every heavy throb of his cock right behind you.
“Oh my—fuck, Bucky! It’s too much, I can’t—”
He continued rutting his hips against yours, silently encouraging you to accommodate all three fingers. You could tell he was trying to hold back. His fingers stayed there, unmoving, while his hips did all the work.
“Shit,” Bucky cursed, his hand stilling completely inside you. “Three’s a little tight, huh? Come on, baby. Try for me. If you can take three, then you can take my cock with no problem.”
You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax the muscles that were fighting him.
Slowly, you began to push back, easing yourself onto those three thick fingers and sinking down until you felt the base of his hand press against your folds.
Bucky groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he felt your tight cunt finally give way to accommodate him. He was hard as hell, his balls growing heavier and his cock thickening against your lower back with every heavy breath he took.
“Fuck. That’s a good fucking slut,” he hissed, his hips rutting in an uneven motion. “Taking all three fingers—God, you’re being so good for me.”
His teeth traced the column of your neck, biting gently to make you gasp. His lips closed against your skin, sucking and marking you as he murmured filth in your ear.
“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “Been watching you for days, thinking you were going to be untouchable—just eye candy for a man like me living across the street.” He curled his fingers, hitting your sensitive spot and making you cry out his name. “Who knew I’d have you right here, pinned against your daddy’s car, being stretched out in broad daylight.”
You watched him through the reflection, your pussy clenching around his fingers at the dark way he was staring at you.
“Oh, you’re such a little slut for your neighbor, aren’t you?”
Your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers fucking you so thoroughly you felt like you could cum.
“Bucky,” you whined, your hips twitching as you tried to clench your legs together. “I’m—I’m gonna—”
“No,” he grunted, his voice deep and rough. “Not yet.”
If he had fucked you for even a second longer, you would have cried out in pleasure and came right there in your driveway.
But instead, he abruptly yanked his fingers out, the vulgar squelch sound following after. You let out a cry of frustration, your body slumping against the window as he left you feeling cold and aching.
Behind you, Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours in the window’s reflection as he slowly licked your juices off his fingers. The act was so unapologetically filthy that your face burned with embarrassment.
“You even taste sweet, too,” he murmured.
He took a step back, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. He gave himself a quick squeeze through the denim before finally freeing himself.
You couldn’t help it. You looked over your shoulder and your breath hitched.
Now, you understood exactly why he wanted you to take three fingers first.
His cock was massive, thick and pulsing for you. He stepped back into the space between your legs and slapped his cock against your lower back. It was hot, hard, heavy, and already wet at the tip where he leaked pre-cum. His breathing was labored as he grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip against your bare ass—smearing his slickness and marking you from behind.
Bucky moaned at the sight of his pre-cum glistening on your soft skin.
“What a pretty, pretty whore,” he cooed. He leaned over you, his thick arm hooking around your waist to bend you over while your hands pressed against the window.
He couldn’t wait any longer. He slapped his cock against your wet pussy, making you wince as your body hummed with anticipation.
“Your pussy’s all stretched out now, ready to take me.” He grabbed his shaft, positioning the head right at your entrance.
The tip of his cock nestled perfectly between your wet, aching folds. Just the sensation of it alone was enough to make him groan in pleasure.
It felt as if your entrance was giving him warm, wet kisses, welcoming him home.
“So, it should just slide right in,” he rasped, slowly drawing his hips forward and beginning to sink into you. “Fuck.”
He couldn’t even make it past the head because of how tight you were squeezing him. His face scrunched in a twist of pleasure and pain, his arm wrapping you tight as he fought for control. You mewled and whined so sweetly—the sound of it should have made him feel bad, but it only made him want to tear you apart more.
“Fuck—how the hell are you still so tight, even after everything?”
Every time he tried to draw his hips forward, your body buckled and clamped down, refusing to give an inch more than the head of him.
“God,” he hissed, forehead dropping to the back of your neck as he struggled to breathe. “What a tight pussy fuck.”
He tried to rock into you again—slow and agonizing. He was gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, his cock pulsing as your cunt fluttered around him, desperate to stretch around his size.
“F—fuck, Bucky, I’m trying—” you whimpered.
“Come on, baby,” he rasped, rocking his hips and trying to find pleasure from what little was already inside you. “I already stretched you out. I know you can take me. You’re just so fucking small.”
You looked at him over your shoulder, and your breath caught. His face was twisted. He looked almost angry—snarling from how difficult this was for him.
You tried pushing your hips back, wincing from the delicious stretch.
“Is this hurting you, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out more timid than you’d like. “Are you hurting because I’m so tight?”
A raspy, deep groan tore straight from his throat. You were asking out of genuine concern, but he took it as a challenge.
“God—you fucking—are you trying to test me?”
Bucky kicked your legs wider, his hands clamping down on your waist. He hauled your body back into his, then completely sheathed his cock into your tight pussy.
The air left your lungs the minute your ass pressed against his pelvis. His dark curls were hot against your skin as he finally, finally buried himself all the way inside you. He was in to the very hilt, but you were still so tight that moving was nearly impossible.
He stayed perfectly still for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he let the sensation of your tightness settle.
In the window’s reflection, it looked as filthy as it felt—a large, shirtless, and sweaty man mounting and rutting into you from behind like an animal, his broad shoulders swallowing your frame as his heavy arms circled you, keeping you pinned close and tight.
“Fuck,” he choked out. “There it is. There you are.”
After a moment of adjustment, he began to rock his hips. He drew in and out slowly, fucking you with deep, hard strokes that made the car creak.
“Christ, look at you,” he hissed, his eyes fixed on your reflection over your shoulder. “Stretched wide open—fucked like a whore for the whole neighborhood to see. You’re taking every goddamn inch of me, aren’t you, baby?”
Your face twisted in pleasure, your bottom lip hanging open as you moaned a litany of words. “Don’t stop... Please, Bucky, please.”
“This was why you were putting your body on display for me, huh? Hoping I’d finally cross the street one day and fuck you.” He fought for his breath as his hips increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you, relentlessly making you his. “You’re a smart cookie, too. Made sure your parents were out of town so you could act like a total slut.”
You moaned, eyes rolling back at his filthy words as your body clenched in reaction. “Yes! Yes, Bucky! I’m a slut for you!”
He groaned as he tilted his hips, forcing himself even deeper into your abused pussy.
“Squeezing me so tight... I can only imagine how you’d react if your parents were to drive down the street right now. Imagine them seeing their precious daughter getting split open by her older neighbor—a man they haven’t even met yet.”
He felt your body begin to tremor, your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. He leaned in even closer, his hot, raspy breath dancing against the shell of your ear.
“Now, what would happen if your poor best friend—Steve, was it?—drove down here expecting to fix your car, only to find you with your tits pushed against the glass, stuffed full of my cock? How would you react then?”
Your knees wobbled and your eyes rolled back at the image. Your body convulsed, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight at the filthy thought of it.
“Oh, my god—S-steve...!”
Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh, followed immediately by a deep, guttural groan at the sensation of you clenching around him. He didn’t even care that you moaned another man’s name when he had you stuffed.
“Fuck, so goddamn tight,” he rasped, his arms wrapping around you tighter as you shook. “Shit, you like it, don’t you? The idea of getting caught by your best friend? Fuck—what a goddamn nasty whore you are.”
His hips began to blur against yours as he fucked you harder, the car creaking and groaning with every thrust.
“Bet he doesn’t even know how you’re clenching around me just at the thought of him. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him?” He leaned over, biting your shoulder to stifle his own grunt. “Would you let your best friend watch me split you open like this?”
You nodded frantically, sweat beading at your temple from being used so thoroughly. The talk—the idea of it was filthy, a dream that you would’ve never considered doing, but Bucky was fucking you so good that anything he said at this point was hypnotic.
“Yes, yes, Bucky, please! You both can take turns using me!”
“Nasty little slut,” Bucky hissed, his teeth biting gently at your skin again. “Fuck. I’m getting close.”
You nodded hard again, your knees nearly giving out if it weren’t for his big hands holding you back. “Me—me too, shit—!”
Bucky’s grip on your body tightened, pulling you close against his bare and sweaty chest.
After three hard thrusts that bottomed out against your womb, he let out a deep grunt against your neck, his body going stiff as he finally came.
His cock pulsed as cum began to spill out of his tip, pumping you full of his seed and staying completely stuffed inside you until you were filled to the brim. Your head tossed back as a cry left your throat, your overworked pussy clamping down on him and pulsing in a way that milked every last drop out of him.
He held you tight, breathing deep into your back as you both fought for air. “Fuck—you’re draining my balls dry, sweetheart.”
You both started to laugh—deep, tired, and rumbling laughs at everything that had just transpired out in the open, right in your very driveway.
Bucky looked down, pulling out slightly and watching with blown out pupils as his cum trickled out of you and onto the concrete, where it mixed with the soapy water.
“Dirty, dirty girl.”
You spent the following afternoon in your room, going through lectures, though you were hardly paying attention to them. With your cheek resting on your palm, your eyes kept drifting to the open window that gave you a perfect, convenient view of the house right across the street.
Bucky’s house.
The driveway was empty, and the lights inside were off. The blinds were pulled open though, and you could see Alpine—the little cat he mentioned—loafing on the windowsill and staring back at you.
In that moment, the two of you were exactly the same.
Just waiting for Bucky to come home.
The silence of your bedroom was overtaken by the rumble of a truck engine. Sitting up and peeking out the window, you recognized Steve’s battered pickup truck turning into the driveway before the engine cut out.
Steve climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking as exhausted as ever, but he had still shown up for you.
You smiled, racing down the stairs to meet him outside. In the driveway, it was clear that his shift at Hydra’s mechanic shop had done a number on him. His navy blue collared shirt was stained with sweat and motor oil, with dark streaks smeared across his jaw and down the length of his thick forearms.
“Steve,” you breathed with a smile. “Thought you forgot about me.”
Steve shut the door, the truck shaking from the force. “Could never forget about you. Work was just running me late.” He reached for his tools in the flatbed with a tired groan. “How’s your car holding up? Been using it since we had lunch yesterday?”
Your face warmed at the question.
Using it wouldn’t be the right term for it, you thought.
“Not really,” you said, trying to hide the bashful expression on your face.
“Still making that weird creaking noise?” he asked, walking over to the front and popping the hood.
You bit your lip and nodded. “Yep.”
Steve stood over the engine, glancing at wires and mechanical parts that were completely foreign to you.
“How’s it looking?” you asked, hovering over his shoulder.
He didn’t look back as he lifted a straining wire with his pointer finger, examining it closely. “Looks like she’s been through it.”
You had to bite back a snort. You would’ve complimented him on his sense of humor—if only he had known any better.
“Thanks for doing this, Steve,” you said, giving him a pat on his sweaty back. “My dad’s going to be real grateful.”
Steve nodded. “How are you and that neighbor doing?” He still kept his focus on the wires, his voice casual and unassuming. “You two didn’t screw each other after my warning yesterday, right?”
You were so glad he was focused on the engine—the face you made would’ve given it all away.
“What kind of girl do you think I am?” you scoffed playfully, crossing your arms defensively.
Steve glanced up at you with a chuckle. “A good one, I hope.” He brought his tools to the edge of the car, rummaging through the kit. “You two exchanged numbers yet?”
“Do I have to?” you shrugged. “He lives right across the street.”
Steve tilted his head, agreeing. “You make a good point.” He looked back at the engine. “When are you going to introduce me to the guy?”
You leaned against the car with a roll of your eyes. “Steve, you’re sounding an awful lot like my dad. And why are you in such a rush to meet him, anyway?”
Steve shrugged, pulling a wire stripper out of his toolbox before setting it back down on the ground. “I’m your best friend, alright? It’d give any man peace of mind to know what kind of person you’re talking to. Hand me a wrench, would you?”
Crouching, you dug into his toolbox until you found something that resembled a wrench. You handed it to him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the tool from your hand. His brows furrowed as he wrestled with a stubborn bolt, the muscles in his forearms and biceps flexed hard, giving you an up close and personal view of a working man.
After the filthy things Bucky hissed in your ear yesterday, you couldn’t help but stare. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him? Even worse was the memory of what you cried out in response. You both can take turns using me!
You wanted to slap yourself for the secondhand embarrassment you were giving yourself.
You wouldn’t consider it—no, you couldn’t. Steve was the person you grew up with, the one who fended off your bullies in kindergarten. Steve was the one who drove you to school every morning in high school. Steve was the one who took you to prom when no one else did.
Steve was family.
But as he stood there, covered in motor oil and sweat, you finally understood why a man like Bucky would be jealous over you hanging out with a man like Steve Rogers.
The wrench slipped, clattering against the frame of the car before hitting the driveway with a noise that made you flinch.
“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He bent down to pick it up. He stood up straight—reminding you all over again of just how big he was compared to you—and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
While you were having filthy thoughts about your best friend, he was standing there in an increasingly sour mood. Between the long shift at Hydra’s and the oppressive heat of the bright afternoon sun, he looked completely spent.
You didn’t know the first thing about wire strippers or engine blocks, and you felt useless just hovering over his shoulder.
“I’m going to go make you a lemonade,” you said, giving his shoulder another supportive pat. “I’ll be back, okay?”
Steve didn’t say anything. He just gave a single, firm nod to let you know he heard you.
As you retreated inside, a car that Steve didn’t recognize pulled up to Bucky’s driveway.
It was a sleek, black convertible sports car. Steve couldn’t help but clench his jaw at the sight of it. Of course Bucky drove a sports car.
He stood no chance against his rundown pickup.
Bucky stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his hair. As he turned to glance at your driveway, expecting to see you, his blue eyes landed on Steve instead.
For all that talk about wanting to meet him, Steve really only cared to do it if you were there, bridging the gap. So for now, until you returned with his lemonade—which he was sure would make Bucky jealous—Steve tried to keep himself too occupied to notice him.
But he kept catching movement in his peripheral vision. Then another. Then another. A stupid, persistent movement that wouldn’t go away, like a goddamn fly.
Steve finally lifted his head and saw Bucky still in his driveway, waving.
Waving?
At what?
Steve turned around, expecting to see you standing right behind him with the lemonade, but you weren’t. The porch remained empty—meaning Bucky was waving at him.
“Need any help there?” Bucky called out from across the street, resting his hands on his hips.
Steve pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I’m good!” he called back. Short, straight to the point, and friendly enough.
He looked back down at the engine, but it didn’t take long before a bright spark jumped from the terminal with a loud popping sound. Steve jolted back with a hiss, snapping his hand away from the burn. “Shit!”
Across the street, Bucky was already making his way over with a smug grin that Steve caught—and one he especially wanted to wipe off.
Jesus. Where were you?
“Here,” Bucky finally reached him, occupying the small space between the car’s engine and where Steve was standing. “Let me help you with that.”
Before Steve could fight for his spot, Bucky was leaning over the hood, adjusting the wires in a way that made Steve—the man wearing an actual mechanic’s uniform—feel like a fool.
Steve stepped up to the hood, propping his arm against it as he looked the man over. “So, you’re the new neighbor that moved in not too long ago, right?” He already knew the answer, but this was at least him trying for short conversation.
Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes slowly tracing over his uniform. Steve felt his eyebrow twitch.
Was Bucky silently insulting him?
“Yup,” Bucky drawled with the pop of the p. “And you must be my pretty neighbor’s best friend. The one she always talks about.”
It was getting harder by the second for Steve to go along with this. Bucky acted like the very frat boys at Jensen that Steve had warned you to avoid at all costs—and this man was in his mid-thirties, for crying out loud.
“Yeah. That’s me,” Steve mumbled.
Bucky stood up straight, extending his hand for a shake. “Bucky.”
Steve was wary, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the offered hand before finally reaching out to take it.
“Steve,” he replied with a firm grip.
Bucky stared at Steve for a moment longer—as if studying him—before looking back down at the engine with a huff of laughter. “You know, for a guy who works at a mechanic shop, you’re struggling pretty bad with a simple alternator issue.” He bent over the engine again, examining it. “Are you trying to actually fix the car, or just trying to impress your lady friend?”
Steve let out a dry laugh as he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “It’s been a long day, alright? I’ve been dealing with different cars all day, the sun is giving me a headache, and now I’ve got my best friend’s neighbor to worry about—”
He stopped himself before he could spill too much, but Bucky caught it anyway. He chuckled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he looked up at Steve from where he was bent over. “You’re worrying about me?”
Steve swallowed hard, trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m just looking out for her. New guy in the neighborhood, it’s just a habit.”
Bucky hummed, a small, knowing grin resting on his lips as he turned back to the engine block.
He leaned further under the hood of the old sixties station wagon, his fingers moving towards the distributor cap and the fraying ignition wire Steve had been struggling with. Bucky repositioned the stubborn ceramic boot, adjusting the distributor to ensure the connection wouldn’t spark again.
He wiped his hands on his thighs as he stood up straight.
“Since it’s an older model, you’re going to need to buy a specific point and condenser set for a sixties Ford wagon. But this should hold her over for now.” Bucky looked over at Steve. “You got a piece of paper so I can write down the part number you need?”
Steve blinked, surprised and undeniably impressed by how easily Bucky had handled it.
“Oh. Y-yeah, hold on—” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small, worn notepad and a pen, handing them over.
Bucky took them, resting the pad against the car’s fender as he scribbled down the specifications. Steve glanced up, watching you through the kitchen window where you were completely oblivious, still focused on making the lemonade.
Surprisingly, he actually liked the guy. Despite the age difference, he could see potential in Bucky. He was handsome, owned his own house, drove a nice car, and was clearly respectful and handy. He was exactly the type of man your parents wouldn’t pass out at the sight of.
He was a good man for you—regrettably so.
Bucky finished writing, flipping the notepad shut and handing it back to Steve along with the pen. “Here you go.”
Steve smiled, and this time it was polite and genuine.
“Thanks,” he muttered. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” He held up the notepad with a slight nod. “She’ll appreciate this. I’ll tell her you said hi.”
Bucky’s smile widened just slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your silhouette through the kitchen window where you were still occupied with the lemons. His gaze lingered on you for a split second before he looked back at Steve, his expression unreadable.
“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said smoothly, giving Steve a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Remember, I’m right across the street if you ever need help.”
He gave a parting nod before turning on his heel, brushing past Steve to head back to his side of the street.
Steve watched Bucky disappear past his front door. By the time the door clicked shut, you had finally stepped out onto the porch with two glasses of lemonade in your hands. Perfect timing.
“Sorry I took so long,” you said breathlessly, walking down the steps and handing him a glass. “It’s been a minute since I last made it from scratch, so…”
“You just missed him.”
You raised a brow in confusion. “Sorry?”
Steve brought the cold glass to his lips, taking a long sip of the tart drink before nodding towards the house across the road.
“Bucky.” He let out a satisfied exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “He was just here—helping me with your car, actually.”
Your eyes went wide, your head snapping towards Bucky’s house—though he was nowhere to be found. You reached up, trying to smooth down your hair.
“He was? Is he coming back?” You asked, sounding too excited for your own good.
Steve shrugged, taking another sip. “Probably not. Seemed like he had other things to do.”
You looked at Steve, your eyes narrowing skeptically.
Steve caught your look and let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cold glass against his palm. “What?”
“So…” you teased, swaying back and forth subtly. “I assume you two talked for a bit then? How was he? What do you think of him?”
Steve shrugged again, a genuine smile breaking through the tired expression he had on before. “Alright, alright. You know what? He’s not a bad guy. He actually helped me fix your car. I like him.” He handed you back the empty glass, flipping through the crumpled pages to find the note Bucky had left. “He even told me what part we needed to order to get this thing fixed up and working again—”
He froze in the middle of his sentence. His eyes went wide, staring at the page as his words got lost in his mind.
You raised a brow, confused with Steve’s sudden change in demeanor. “Well? What part is it? Is it expensive?”
When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to step closer and peek your head over his arm to look at the notepad. What you saw made your breath hitch, and your own eyes went wide.
There was no part number.
Written in bold handwriting, on the paper was a phone number, Bucky’s phone number, followed by a little message in black ink.
you’re gonna have to call me if you want that part number.
xoxo, buck.
Your jaw hung so loose, a fly could’ve flown in at any moment. Steve didn’t know what to say either—if anything, he was standing there frozen, waiting for you to say something first.
“Oh my god,” was all that managed to leave your mouth. You looked up at Steve, your wide eyes meeting his. “Is Bucky…?”
Steve, poor Steve, who remained completely oblivious to the fact that you and Bucky had fucked just yesterday on this very driveway, only felt confusion and secondhand guilt.
He glanced across the street at the sleek, clean Mazda resting in Bucky's driveway, specifically staring at the custom vanity license plate on the back that read ‘BIGBUCK.’
Steve swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a rosy shade of pink. Though, he could easily excuse it for the sun.
“Of course,” he mumbled to himself. “He drives a Miata.”
if you were curious to know why a mazda miata specifically, you can thank r/askgaybros for that when i was conducting my research.
if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!
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sharing a cigarette (and a past) with daniel ricciardo
[1.0k]
note: two truths and a lie- i’m not addicted to cigarettes. i’ve actually never smoked in my life. i don’t like kids and writing my dad!logan fic was a nightmare. i don't speak spanish.
the party’s quietened down significantly since you came outside, probably because people are deciding to head out now that it’s dark. you’re staying put for now though, illuminated by a porch light and the lighter flickering on and off in your hand.
you’re trying to light the cigarette that's sticking out of your lips, but this stupid lighter isn’t fucking working. you sigh and lean back against the bench you’re sitting on. fuck, how much do you actually care about what the people inside think of you? cause you definitely could just… light your cigarette from the stovetop.
you’re outweighing the pros and cons of exposing yourself as a filthy little nic addict when a lighter sparks to life next to you.
“here.”
you don’t bother looking up. you knew who it was as soon as his presence invaded your solitude, as much as you hate the fact. instead, you pluck the cigarette from your mouth and hold it up in daniel’s direction. he guides the flame to the end of the smoke and sets it alight.
reluctantly, you mutter a, “thanks.”
he waves it off in your periphery, then-
jesus christ, is he gonna sit down?!
he sits down next to you, warmth radiating off of him from just being inside with the heat pump on full blast. this is your worst fucking nightmare.
choosing to keep ignoring him, you inhale through the stick, feeling the heavy smoke ride down your trachea. you hold your breath for a beat, letting it all sink to the bottom of your lungs, and then breathe out, watching the smoke streamline from your lips and dissipate as it meets the air.
you’re tempted to angle your exhale slightly towards daniel, so he gets a nice face full of secondhand smoke and will want to leave, but that’s also kind of a dickhead move, so you don’t.
the worst part about this is how familiar it is. you and daniel, sitting together outside a party, smoking a cigarette. if you had drunk maybe one more glass of whatever was being served at the makeshift bar, you probably would have already settled onto his shoulder out of sheer force of habit.
as it happens, you’d turned down that refill to come outside, landing you in your present predicament.
the dickhead interrupts your thoughts by plucking the cigarette from your fingers and taking a hit himself. you stare at him.
“michelle said you quit.”
he hums in acknowledgement and shrugs, handing you it back.
“well, old habits die hard.”
you can’t think of anything to respond to that with, so you place the cigarette back between your lips. you think you can taste him on it as you breathe. you both go quiet again; you can only hear a steady hum of conversation from the house, and a brood of cicadas buzzing happily somewhere in the garden.
daniel stands suddenly.
“gotta pee. stay here, alright?”
and then he’s gone.
there’s a part of you that wants to leave, ignore his instruction— fuck you daniel; you can’t tell me what to do.
the other part of you, which argues, “i mean, we’re already playing nice,” and, “i don’t wanna move,” quickly wins out in your mind, so you stay where you are and breathe in more smoke.
he comes back pretty fast, and retakes his seat uncomfortably close to you. he sucks in a breath, even though he doesn’t have the cigarette, and speaks.
“y’know, i miss you.”
fuck off.
“nah, i- i actual do.”
shit, you said that out loud. you say it again anyway, ‘cause you mean it, “fuck off.”
now he just looks sad.
it’s really not a good look on daniel; any expression apart from ‘happy’ looks out of place on his stupid fucking mug.
you take another drag.
he adjusts his position on the bench and inadvertently pushes his shorts up as he does so. what a slut, oh my god. now you’re staring at the ship on his thigh, the words ‘only memories’ staring right back at you. stupid fucking tattoo. you definitely have both stupid fucking regrets and stupid fucking memories.
the cigarette’s almost through, and you debate pulling another out of the pack and chain-smoking it.
nah, better not. you’ll be responsible now and play your part in keeping daniel’s athlete lungs from turning black, despite his own efforts to quicken the process.
before you throw the butt down, you offer it one more time to him. one hit of mainstream smoke is better than a whole new cigarette’s worth of secondhand smoke, right? i mean, yeah, you care about his health, but not that much.
he’s clearly not as concerned as you, because he takes his time breathing in, and then out. when his exhale is transparent again, he makes a sound, gesturing to the butt. you shake your head, so he drops it and grinds it into the ground with his heel.
you’re content to keep sitting there, even without a heaviness in each inhale to keep you grounded. daniel, on the other hand, starts fidgeting. he’s never been able to sit still, christ. he's shaking his leg up and down, running his fingers over his watch’s bezel, twisting his signet ring. it’s kinda pissing you off, honestly. it always has, a little bit.
the party looks like it’s over now; you can see the hostess waving at someone who’s just left. you don’t really fancy giving her the impression you and daniel are back together, so you stand before she has a chance to come out and spot you two practically cozied up on top of each other.
his eyes follow your movement, and he frowns when you dust yourself off, catching onto your plan to leave.
god, he looks so sad, which means it can only be either extreme pity or a severe lapse in rational judgement that makes you pause in the doorway and look back at him.
“…this was nice, danny.”
it’s almost comical how fast he brightens. he opens his mouth, and you know what he’s going to try before he even forms a word.
rovinare l'amicizia
george russell is your best friend, and you would never risk that friendship for the silly feelings you have for him. a few drinks in monaco might change that.
[3.5k]
note: finally!! the george fic is here!! thank u to my babies bri and eden and alaïa and el for helping me as i write and thank u also to everyone who made “things i find insanely attractive" tiktok slideshows. this is the cutest, fluffiest, most tooth-rotting sweetness i think i’ve ever written and i loved writing every little bit of it. i hope u enjoy<33
the amber lounge has been booked out for the night and is absolutely crammed with people, all here for one reason.
“oi!” someone yells over everyone else, nicking the microphone from the dj booth, “oi, everyone! give it up for george russell! p1 in monaco, baby!”
the room erupts in cheers, and someone else— tall, lanky, and very obviously drunk— gets pushed up onto the platform they’re on.
george waves clumsily at the hundreds of faces, and they holler back in response. there’s a camera somewhere and it clicks rapidly as he smiles. you reach for your phone to film your best friend, a strange feeling in your heart telling you that you’re going to want to remember this night. george is given the microphone and you can hear the plea “speech, speech, speech,” being thrown at him. swaying slightly, george indulges them.
“thank you everyone for coming out and being here with us this evening,” he’s interrupted by another round of cheers erupting out, “i’m so immensely thankful to the team back home for getting the car to where it is. yeah— really, really happy, just amazing.”
he takes a beat to really look around the club, a small smile appearing on his face as he registers everyone who’s here for him. “thanks so much guys, hoping for many more wins in the coming races.”
he flashes the camera one more grin and places the microphone back down, hopping down from the platform to be met with a swarm of fans again.
“george! george, have some champagne, won’t you?” a bottle gets thrust into his hands.
“absolutely not, mate.” he passes it off to someone else, disgust written plainly on his face. you know he hates champagne.
squinting at him from where you’re sat, you can see his white dress shirt has already been soaked in sweat and alcohol, the sheer amount of people in the room not helping any. he disapppears from view as the crowd engulfs him, only to reappear a couple of meters to the right, riding atop the shoulders of a friend.
probably under the influence of some alcohol he does like, george starts leaning backwards, trusting someone will catch him. they do.
facing up towards the ceiling, he gets passed from person to person over the waves of people in the club, arms spread out as he closes his eyes to relish the moment. he gets set down on his feet as the crowd realises they’re about to hit a wall, and then he’s gone again.
after a few seconds go by and you still don’t see him, you stop the recording and tuck your phone back in your bag, deciding you’ll show him the video tomorrow to poke fun at his uncharacteristic carefreeness tonight.
you hear your name get called and spot a group of girls waving at you. you’re not sure you recognise them, but gesture for security to let them to come over into the deluxe section anyway.
“oh my god, hi, i love you so much! could we get a photo please?”
taken aback by the request that you don’t get very often, you recover with a smile and a, “yeah, of course!”
they group up around you and the girl with the phone takes a few selfies, then a 0.5. they thank you excitedly, and tell you all about how coming to this grand prix was their graduation gift to themselves.
“we’ve got two more days here,” one tells you.
“hey, do you have any recommendations for us?” another chimes in, “like, places to go or eat?”
a phone gets handed to you. you think for a second, then pull up the maps app and zoom in on some spots you reckon they’d like. they thank you again, talking over each other as they inch back towards the dancefloor.
“oh! i almost forgot—“ the brunette stops in her tracks, rifling around in her bag for something. the others pause as well, waiting for their friend.
“we made these for all the wags we see this weekend,” she passes you a bracelet, cyan blue and black beads alternating. four white beads in the middle spell out ‘GR63’, “um, we just gave one to lily muni he, and we met kika and alex on saturday!”
you don’t notice her slip-up, busy admiring their handiwork under the dim club lighting before slipping it on your wrist, “it’s beautiful, guys. thank you so much.”
“do you know where george is? do you think we could get a photo with him too?” they chatter amongst themselves as they leave, already looking out for their next target.
speaking of, you haven’t seen george since he was crowd surfing. you scan the room, hoping to spot him.
you finally see him stood by the bar, taking a break from the excitement of the night. someone’s talking to him, but he’s been staring at you for the last five minutes. his face lights up as your gaze finally lands on him, and he excuses himself politely from the conversation he hadn’t been paying any attention to. he pushes past the guests and slowly makes his way to you.
“hello darling,” he plonks himself down next to you, “enjoying yourself?”
he brings his arm up behind you, resting on the back of the booth, while his knee knocks against yours. you don’t flinch away like you had done when you were strangers, once upon a time; you stay where you are, comfortable in his presence.
“mm, what’re you having?”
he gestures down to the glass in your hand, a pink straw lolling about the rim.
“i don’t know. it’s a mix of everything, i think.”
you’d trusted alex to get you a drink, but from the taste of it, it seemed like he’d asked the bartender to pour every alcohol available into the little glass. you offer it to him and he takes a sip through the straw, grimacing when the flavour hits his tongue.
“eugh, that’s horrid. i hate that.”
you laugh and take it back from him, watching the liquid form a vortex as you swirl the glass around. you find the straw with your tongue and take another sip. it’s not as bad as george is making it out to be; he’s just picky when it comes to alcohol.
two of your friends catch your eye then, dancing with each other atop one of the little tables, lots of people around cheering them on.
“i think they’re gonna get engaged soon,” you say, pointing at them. she’s swaying quite a bit; he catches her when she stumbles over herself. the two of them laugh drunknely, then kiss. you hear a unanimous, ‘aww’ from their spectators.
“what’s that, darling?”
george leans down to hear you better, tilting his ear towards you. you repeat what you’d said, and he nods in agreement.
“don’t tell anyone, but i know for a fact she’s got a ring for him already.”
your mouth drops open in shock and your eyes twinkle with excitement.
“you’re joking.”
george shakes his head, enjoying the way you lean in towards him, seeking more information that you know he’ll give you. as your body shifts, your dress strap falls off your shoulder.
george leans in, reflexes clearly not dulled by drink, and murmurs a soft, “i’ve got it.”
his skin brushes against yours as he fixes it for you, and you almost shiver at the intimacy of it all. he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, just above where the strap now sits.
yeah, he’s definitely drunk. he only ever gets this touchy when he’s had a little bit more than he can handle, when his inhibitions are loosened and reservations mitigated by alcohol. you do wish he did it more when he was sober, but those wants are kept secret; for your knowledge only.
you glance down at him, watching his chest move as he breathes, wet shirt sticking to his abs. there’s a feral, alcohol-fuelled part of your brain that’s gnawing at the bars of her enclosure to lick him; to taste the sweat that’s soaked his clothing, to run your tongue over the muscles that he flaunts on social media so often. you tell her off and push her even further to the back of your mind, unwilling to indulge in any thoughts that would certainly ruin your friendship with george. you’ve held them back for years now; one more night holds no significance.
“is that new?”
you follow his gaze from your shoulder down to the cyan beads on your wrist, and nod happily, holding your hand out for george to inspect it. his lips finally leave your skin as he takes it in his.
“there were some girls earlier. they wanted a photo and gave me this. they said they were trying to give them to all the girls— lily, francisca, alexandra— y’know. ooh, also-”
george smiles to himself as he takes a closer look, realising you’re wearing his colours and his number, but chooses not to comment on it for now, nodding for you to go on instead, inferring from your tone of voice that there’s more you’re excited to tell him about.
he’s correct.
you only notice he’s stopped nodding along and humming in agreement after you’ve been going on for five minutes or so. he’s just kind of staring at you. it’s nothing malicious; he’s just... watching, an absentminded smile on his face. you cut yourself off mid-sentence, jaw snapping shut, suddenly self-conscious. you become afraid that he’s lost interest, that he’s smiling cause he finds you amusing, like one would a little pet or some silly plaything.
“hmm?”
to his credit, george doesn’t miss a beat when your words stop, prompting you to carry on right away.
“sorry, i didn’t realise i was rambling. i’ve probably had too much to drink,” you laugh nervously, trying to save yourself.
“keep going, darling. i was listening.”
“are you sure?”
he frowns at you.
“why would i stop?” he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, calloused thumb rubbing over your knuckles as he reassures you, “you were about to tell me which spots you recommended them. might be best to steer clear of those places while they’re in town though, hm? in case they want to tell all their friends where to find us. you said two more days, right?”
your eyes soften as you realise he really was listening to everything you said. even the little details. you feel your shoulders relax for having avoided what would have been a total humiliation, and you reach out for your drink, taking a sip to collect yourself.
“don’t worry, i’m not that stupid. none of our spots, just the nice ones everyone goes to anyway.”
he smiles, happy to have eased your palpable discomfort and also proud of your foresight.
“that’s my girl.”
you almost choke. your hand is still in his, and now he has a funny look in his eye. no, it must be the alcohol playing tricks on you. there’s no way. you shake it off and chalk it up to the spirit of victory in the air instead.
george must pick up on the new turmoil arising in your head and squeezes your hand twice, gently— i’m here.
“hey, do you wanna get some air?”
your handbag gets picked up before you can even finish your question, shrugged onto his shoulder as he gestures for you to go ahead.
you down the last dregs of your drink before placing it back down on the table. he guides you down the few stairs there are, one hand supporting yours, the other on the small of your back, and thanks the bouncer as he unclips the rope barrier for you to walk through.
george notices him before you do; his height allows him to see the crowd parting for a drunk guy pushing through, headed right your way. george's arm sneaks behind your waist and pulls you into his side just as the guy pushes past you, the stench of soured alcohol wafting along in his wake. you stumble a bit at the force, but you’re saved from face-planting by george, holding you steady.
“you alright, love?” he checks you over, making sure you’re okay, before shooting a dirty look at the guy’s retreating form.
you nod, turning your head back to see if you can spot who it was. they’re long gone now, probably already on the other side of the club. brushing it off, you link your arm in george’s and make the slow journey to the exit.
george gets stopped twice for photos, and you wait off to the side both times, patiently. one of the fans says something to him, and they both look down at the handbag, still in his hand, then over at you. george laughs. you notice a thin blush across his cheeks afterwards, but it’s probably just the club lights or the alcohol. the fan wishes you both a good night and another congratulations to george, and then you’re back in the party.
the two of you push your way to the coat check, and you shrug on your overcoat, wanting to dress warm for the cool night air.
you fiddle with the buttons, but the alcohol has made your hands clumsy and very uncompliant. seeing this, george gets down on one knee in front of you and starts buttoning you up, one at a time, working his way up. his slender fingers reach your collar quickly, and he stands back up when he’s done.
“there we go,” he murmurs.
you’re finding it harder and harder to block out your fancies with every move he makes tonight.
he opts not to also get his suit jacket wet like his shirt is already, slinging it over his shoulder instead. george holds the door open for you, like he always does, and somehow manages to get back in front of you to summon the elevator. it’s especially in moments like these that you wish he were yours, that he would have a reason to be so gentlemanly to you other than just being a gentleman.
it feels like it takes longer to reach the ground floor than it had to go up. there’s no music, just the whirring of gears as they work to deliver you safely. george seems to be deep in thought, studying the patterns on the floor, tongue in between his teeth. you fiddle with your new bracelet, running your fingers over each bead, tracing the grooves of his initials.
the streets are empty when you leave the building; everyone’s either asleep or celebrating in a club or superyacht. you’re happy to be outside, away from the noise and lights of the amber lounge. you consider running down to the water; taking off your shoes and wading in, but the rational part of your brain reminds you that it’s the middle of the night and the sea wouldn’t spare your feet from freezing just because you’re more than a little bit drunk.
leaning against the balustrade instead, you breathe in the night air, staring out at the reflection of the stars on the sea.
“it’s so beautiful tonight,” you say.
george hums in agreement from behind you.
“it is.”
you turn back to him, and he’s already looking at you. you can tell he’s had something on his mind all night, so you give him the time to speak it aloud. he shifts on his feet, then exhales sharply. you can see his breath in the cold air.
“…you haven’t congratulated me yet,” he finally points out.
you laugh lightly at him, puzzled. he’s never been one to ask for your praises before, but you suppose this win was pretty monumental.
“congratulations, george.”
he shakes his head, staring up at the stars above you.
“that’s not what i meant.”
you tilt your head at him, waiting for him to elaborate. when he doesn’t respond, your foot reaches out to nudge at his calf.
“what did you mean then?”
his attention falls back on you and he stares, kind of unnervingly. he only moves when a gust of wind blows by, shivering as his drenched shirt gets even colder.
he sets his jacket down on the balustrade first, then your bag on top, taking care not to let the leather touch the cobblestone. he’s been yelled at more than once for scuffing up the bottom of your bags before. your eyes drift to his hands as he does so, watching his fingers flex.
you let a beat pass, only the lapping of the waves below filling the silence.
“george?”
“kiss me.”
you blink at him, not entirely sure you’ve heard him right. he doesn’t mean it, surely. there’s no way he wants you in the same way you do him. he sways a little on his feet.
“george, you’re drunk.”
he scoffs, “come on, darling; it’s just a kiss.”
he pulls you in by the waist, like he had before in the club, and his head dips down, closer and closer to you.
he pauses when his lips are barely about to touch yours. you stare doe-eyed up at him, afraid to move even an inch for fear of breaking the delicate moment. his eyes flit up, searching yours. whatever complaints were floating around in your head die on your tongue as his presence surrounds you.
he’s so close to you; you could study every pore, each mole dotting his skin. a breathy little sigh leaves your chest involuntarily as you realise your years-long béguin may be contented much sooner than you’d ever thought. his tongue darts out to his lips instinctively, like he would taste your air if he could only catch it.
you nod at him, the slightest, most imperceptible movement of your head, and he takes it as the permission it is. his lips press against yours, soft and plush, and you think you could die in this moment and be happy with how you went out.
you start to pull away, so completely satisfied to have finally kissed him, but george has just gotten a taste of you, and now he never wants to stop. the hand on the base of your neck keeps you close as his tongue slips into your mouth, licking at your lips, your tongue, your teeth. you can’t help a small moan as he pulls you flush against his chest, the kiss getting messier as his usual composure unravels, just for you. your breaths mix together, hot on each other’s skin.
he’s desperate for you; hands moving against your body, grasping at your dress, your hair, your face— everywhere all at once. you’re breathless. you feel like all the air’s been sucked out of your body by just his kisses, and that he’s your only lifeline. your hands push against his chest lightly, and he lets you move your head to the side to catch your breath.
he doesn’t stop when you do. instead, his lips drag along your jaw, and he inhales, deep and ragged, when his nose meets your pulse point. his exhale is shaky, like he can’t get enough of your scent.
“george…”
he glances up to you and he looks so unlike himself; hair messy, eyes dark, and lips swollen, glistening with spit. your heart skips a beat as you realise you’ve caused this in him. you can feel his hands trembling on either side of your face from the cold or the adrenaline, or both.
his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, already leaning back in for more of you. you get squeezed even closer into him and you can’t help but giggle, a flood of happy emotions taking over you.
george’s teeth clack against yours as he tries to keep the kiss going, but when he realises your elation won’t let up, he’s pulling away laughing too. you fold over in his arms as your body shakes, immensely pleased at the turn this night’s taken. you would look insane to any onlookers who might look down from the lounge’s balcony; the two of you, dressed up for the afterparty, cackling to each other at nothing on an empty beach.
george recovers first, wiping a stray tear away as he sucks in fresh air. he kisses your forehead as you follow suit, gasping like a fish while holding your stomach, which is starting to hurt. he peppers kisses all over your face, only stopping when you tap at his arm hurriedly; the cold wet of his shirt pushed against you is making the front of your coat also cold and wet. he holds you like that for a while, and you know he’s committing this moment to memory, just like you are.
he picks up your bag and slips his jacket over his shoulders without letting go of you, tucked into his side and makes his way back up the beach with you. his fingers find the bracelet on your wrist and it’s his turn to fidget with the beads. he can’t help but admire how lovely the colour is against your skin. he’d like to see you wear it more, he thinks.
“come on, darling. let’s go home.”
enjoyed this fic? please do like, reblog, and comment to support me!!! love u guys ‹𝟹
oh! another cute idea: bakery owner oscar and barista reader! i don't know, i'm eating bread right now and thought of oscar - 🐇
stop it this is so cute, 🐇!! i learnt so much bakery terminologies while researching for this haha (like 'viennoiseries'!! who knew that was a word?? cause i didnt.) alsooo,, trying a different format for these hcs, so pls let me know in the comments if u like this or the bullet points i usually do more<33 (btw i am still on temp-hiatus, just getting some hcs out like i promised!!)
BAKERY OWNER!OSCAR PIASTRI x CAFÉ OWNER!READER HCS
──★ baker!oscar who’s bakery is right next door to your coffee shop. the smell of the store’s baked goods, fresh from the oven, has always tempted you to go in, but you usually settle for grabbing one of the pastries from the café’s display case that you order in bulk from a commercial supplier instead, since you can just take them for free. today, though, the café’s closed for some electrical work, and you’re getting hungry after having to let the sparky into the store at 9am, a whole two hours ago. a bell rings as you push the heavy door to the bakery open.
──★ baker!oscar who has a streak of flour on his cheek when you first see him. he’s rearranging the little cakes in the display cabinet when you come in, trying to figure out a configuration that looks good to the customer. he’s wearing an orange apron, and the sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up to his elbows. you can’t help but stare at his forearms for a second longer than probably appropriate, watching his muscles flex.
──★ baker!oscar who greets you with a, “hi there, welcome to osc’s,” but doesn’t look up yet, focussed on finding the perfect angle for this chocolate cake. when he finally looks at you, his whole face lights up in recognition, “hey, you’re from the café next door!”
──★ baker!oscar who explains that he’s seen you working more than a few times as he’s walked past the storefront. he’s come in for coffee twice as well, but you’d gone to take care of something in the back both times. you rack your brain to try and place him at all, but come up with nothing, apologising to him for it. he waves you off, a smile on his face. “i’m oscar, by the way. osc’s,” he says, pointing down to the sign and then back to himself. your mouth forms an ‘oh’ of recognition. “cute name. who came up with it?” “uhh… my mum?” “i meant the bakery, but good on your mum, too.” he blushes as he realises his mistake, and you think to yourself, he’s adorable.
──★ baker!oscar who you feel like you’ve known forever; it’s so easy to talk to him. banter comes naturally, and you’re joking around like this guy wasn’t a total stranger five minutes ago. his deadpan humor is right up your alley, and he seems to be finding your jokes funny as well. somewhere in the back of your mind, you realise you haven’t smiled this hard in ages; it’s been so busy with the café lately, you haven’t had a moment to yourself in a good few weeks. you finally order a pain au chocolat, and he nods, approving of your choice.
──★ baker!oscar who gives you his staff discount as you pay. either you don’t notice, too engaged in your conversation, or you don’t bring it up, letting him have his small victory. he almost doesn’t let you pay at all, but he doesn’t want to scare you off by being too upfront too soon.
──★ baker!oscar who grabs you a pain au chocolat like you requested, putting it in a brown paper bag with the bakery’s logo on it, and who then throws in a complimentary cinnamon roll as well. he just stares at you and gestures down to the bag when you protest, “it’s in there now. that’s cross contamination; i can’t put it back.” you point out that all the viennoiseries in the cabinet are already touching each other and he just replies, “that’s different.”
──★ baker!oscar who has quite a smug look on his face when you concede, realising he’s not going to let this go. “fine, but next time you come by for coffee, it’s on me, okay?” he nods, already excited for next time. he invites you to hang around for a bit, seeing as it’s been a pretty quiet day so far, starting up on a story from when he’d first opened the bakery, involving a line going all the way out the door, and one oscar working the shop.
──★ baker!oscar who’s just gotten to the part where he’s juggling a pos system that doesn’t want to work, a tray of croissants coming out of the oven, and a customer wanting to order for a birthday party the next day, when your phone pings with a text from the sparky. she’s all done; just needing you to come check over everything before she leaves. you promise oscar that you'll come back soon, and reiterate your prior statement that his next coffee’s on the house. the bell dings again as you leave with your pastries, and oscar can’t help but feel a little sad. his mood perks up, though, as he watches you finally notice the writing on the paper bag in your hand, through the window.
──★ baker!oscar who’s somehow written ‘call me sometime xxx-xxx-xxxx’ on the bag without you noticing. you turn back to look at him through the storefront, an incredulous smile on your face.
──★ baker!oscar who seems to have busied himself with unloading a huge tray of what looks like sourdough loaves from the industrial oven in the back. you watch as steam billows out into the shop as the oven door is opened, and you catch the faintest whiff of fresh bread on the air as it wafts through the doorframe. it smells divine.
──★ baker!oscar who’s smiling to himself as he unloads the oven, over the moon that he’s finally had a conversation with the pretty girl from next door. on the minute walk back to your café, you start typing out an email to the commercial bakery, cancelling all future orders. you think you’ve found a new supplier to order from, from now on— someone much more local.
enjoyed this fic? please do like, reblog, and comment to support me!!! love u guys ‹𝟹
oh! another cute idea: bakery owner oscar and barista reader! i don't know, i'm eating bread right now and thought of oscar - 🐇
stop it this is so cute, 🐇!! i learnt so much bakery terminologies while researching for this haha (like 'viennoiseries'!! who knew that was a word?? cause i didnt.) alsooo,, trying a different format for these hcs, so pls let me know in the comments if u like this or the bullet points i usually do more<33 (btw i am still on temp-hiatus, just getting some hcs out like i promised!!)
BAKERY OWNER!OSCAR PIASTRI x CAFÉ OWNER!READER HCS
──★ baker!oscar who’s bakery is right next door to your coffee shop. the smell of the store’s baked goods, fresh from the oven, has always tempted you to go in, but you usually settle for grabbing one of the pastries from the café’s display case that you order in bulk from a commercial supplier instead, since you can just take them for free. today, though, the café’s closed for some electrical work, and you’re getting hungry after having to let the sparky into the store at 9am, a whole two hours ago. a bell rings as you push the heavy door to the bakery open.
──★ baker!oscar who has a streak of flour on his cheek when you first see him. he’s rearranging the little cakes in the display cabinet when you come in, trying to figure out a configuration that looks good to the customer. he’s wearing an orange apron, and the sleeves of his undershirt are rolled up to his elbows. you can’t help but stare at his forearms for a second longer than probably appropriate, watching his muscles flex.
──★ baker!oscar who greets you with a, “hi there, welcome to osc’s,” but doesn’t look up yet, focussed on finding the perfect angle for this chocolate cake. when he finally looks at you, his whole face lights up in recognition, “hey, you’re from the café next door!”
──★ baker!oscar who explains that he’s seen you working more than a few times as he’s walked past the storefront. he’s come in for coffee twice as well, but you’d gone to take care of something in the back both times. you rack your brain to try and place him at all, but come up with nothing, apologising to him for it. he waves you off, a smile on his face. “i’m oscar, by the way. osc’s,” he says, pointing down to the sign and then back to himself. your mouth forms an ‘oh’ of recognition. “cute name. who came up with it?” “uhh… my mum?” “i meant the bakery, but good on your mum, too.” he blushes as he realises his mistake, and you think to yourself, he’s adorable.
──★ baker!oscar who you feel like you’ve known forever; it’s so easy to talk to him. banter comes naturally, and you’re joking around like this guy wasn’t a total stranger five minutes ago. his deadpan humor is right up your alley, and he seems to be finding your jokes funny as well. somewhere in the back of your mind, you realise you haven’t smiled this hard in ages; it’s been so busy with the café lately, you haven’t had a moment to yourself in a good few weeks. you finally order a pain au chocolat, and he nods, approving of your choice.
──★ baker!oscar who gives you his staff discount as you pay. either you don’t notice, too engaged in your conversation, or you don’t bring it up, letting him have his small victory. he almost doesn’t let you pay at all, but he doesn’t want to scare you off by being too upfront too soon.
──★ baker!oscar who grabs you a pain au chocolat like you requested, putting it in a brown paper bag with the bakery’s logo on it, and who then throws in a complimentary cinnamon roll as well. he just stares at you and gestures down to the bag when you protest, “it’s in there now. that’s cross contamination; i can’t put it back.” you point out that all the viennoiseries in the cabinet are already touching each other and he just replies, “that’s different.”
──★ baker!oscar who has quite a smug look on his face when you concede, realising he’s not going to let this go. “fine, but next time you come by for coffee, it’s on me, okay?” he nods, already excited for next time. he invites you to hang around for a bit, seeing as it’s been a pretty quiet day so far, starting up on a story from when he’d first opened the bakery, involving a line going all the way out the door, and one oscar working the shop.
──★ baker!oscar who’s just gotten to the part where he’s juggling a pos system that doesn’t want to work, a tray of croissants coming out of the oven, and a customer wanting to order for a birthday party the next day, when your phone pings with a text from the sparky. she’s all done; just needing you to come check over everything before she leaves. you promise oscar that you'll come back soon, and reiterate your prior statement that his next coffee’s on the house. the bell dings again as you leave with your pastries, and oscar can’t help but feel a little sad. his mood perks up, though, as he watches you finally notice the writing on the paper bag in your hand, through the window.
──★ baker!oscar who’s somehow written ‘call me sometime xxx-xxx-xxxx’ on the bag without you noticing. you turn back to look at him through the storefront, an incredulous smile on your face.
──★ baker!oscar who seems to have busied himself with unloading a huge tray of what looks like sourdough loaves from the industrial oven in the back. you watch as steam billows out into the shop as the oven door is opened, and you catch the faintest whiff of fresh bread on the air as it wafts through the doorframe. it smells divine.
──★ baker!oscar who’s smiling to himself as he unloads the oven, over the moon that he’s finally had a conversation with the pretty girl from next door. on the minute walk back to your café, you start typing out an email to the commercial bakery, cancelling all future orders. you think you’ve found a new supplier to order from, from now on— someone much more local.
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a pillowtalk moment with max - he was away from home for a long time and the reader was busy too; max being super mushy and cute and slow kisses and cuddling (physically just holding on anywhere) :> thank u i love u
thinking about... pillowtalk with max verstappen
note: omigosh this was such a cute req i had so much fun writing it !! just a super cute and fluffy (slightly steamy— i can't help it!) little blurb for u, i rly hope u enjoy it ml @thankyoulovely<3
if u liked this, come check out my 200 follower event!!
neither you or max have left the bed for the past 24 hours.
well— he’d gone for a piss at 8 because he really couldn't hold it in anymore, and you’d had to open the door for a delivery driver who needed a signature, but other than those two interruptions, neither you or max have left the bed for the past 24 hours.
max had just finished a triple header, and you weren’t able to accompany him at all due to work commitments. add in a week of testing before the races, and you haven’t seen each other for a whole month; hence the entanglement of limbs under your duvet now.
“i really missed you, schjat.”
you sigh happily and push your nose further into the crook of his neck, breathing in his delicious scent as your hands run up and down his arms, squeezing at his muscles.
“you did good though; i was watching.”
he glances over to the three trophies he brought home, two gold and one silver.
“you were my motivation,” he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“cheesy.”
your hand travels down now to his chest, over his pecs and along his collarbone. you can’t get enough of him, but he’s just as bad; a hand on your arse that hasn’t left it in hours, and the other curled around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.
“now i get you for a whole week. lucky me,” you murmur, lips curling up when he shudders at your breath on his neck.
one of the cats meows forlornly from somewhere in the apartment, and max groans, moving to get up and take care of them.
“no, no… don’t leave,” you pout at him, grabbing onto his waistband, “i just refilled the feeder…”
right on cue, you hear the faint whirr of the automatic feeder in the kitchen dispensing jimmy and sassy’s food, and the meows stop.
seeing that you’re right, as always, max flops back down, almost on top of you. you let go of his pants and wrap yourself around his waist, touching whatever hot skin you can get your hands on.
“i was scared when george almost crashed into you,” you admit, mumbling into his chest.
he huffs out a smile and tilts his head down to look at you best he can.
“i was too. good that it didn’t turn out that way, hm?”
you move your head up to kiss him, and he reciprocates just as eagerly, forgetting all about your conversation. somehow, there’s still space between the two of you, but max quickly eliminates it, pushing his pelvis forwards to meet yours, and hooking your legs even tighter with his. he rolls you onto your back, pushing himself up in the same movement. you feel it as his biceps engage, hands still squeezing at his arms, and it only makes you kiss him with more fervour, so utterly in love with this man and every part of him.
it’s dizzying; how quickly max can take your breath away. his tongue moves against yours as his hands traverse your body; your thighs, your arse, your waist. he tugs at your lip with his teeth, pulling back only slightly to see your eyes. you gaze up at him, dark and half-lidded, waiting for him to come back.
you can feel his heart beating under his skin. it quickens the longer he looks at you.
he shifts his weight onto one arm, bringing the other up to replace his mouth on yours. his thumb drags along your bottom lip, and your tongue darts out to meet it, pushing flat against his callouses. max takes a shaky breath in, his attention flitting between your eyes and your mouth.
he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and pops it in his own, tongue swirling around the taste of you, slowly. your breaths get heavier as you watch him, feeling more and more jealous of his stupid finger. finally, after what feels like an eternity of watching him make out with his thumb, he takes pity and his lips crash into yours again. you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you, deepening the kiss hungrily.
he lets out a small whine when your hip brushes his crotch, a sizeable hardness begging for your attention already. you ignore it in favour of teasing him some more, nipping at his lip and clawing at his back, raking your nails down. he arches into it, chasing after that feeling he loves of pleasure and pain combined. he encourages you by running his tongue along your teeth messily, swollen lips pushing into yours like you have any more to give.
he kisses you once more, a quick brush of his lips against yours, before he lets go of you to catch his breath, flopping back down next to you and pulling you in by the hips, getting comfy in bed again. his hand, still wet with spit, comes up to move the hair out of your face.
“i’m never going that long without you again,” he says resolutely, “i’ll skip the races if i have to.”
you laugh, still slightly breathless, at his declaration, knowing he doesn’t really mean it, and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“yeah, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, hm?”
enjoyed this fic? please do like, reblog, and comment to support me!!! love u guys ‹𝟹
a pillowtalk moment with max - he was away from home for a long time and the reader was busy too; max being super mushy and cute and slow kisses and cuddling (physically just holding on anywhere) :> thank u i love u
thinking about... pillowtalk with max verstappen
note: omigosh this was such a cute req i had so much fun writing it !! just a super cute and fluffy (slightly steamy— i can't help it!) little blurb for u, i rly hope u enjoy it ml @thankyoulovely<3
if u liked this, come check out my 200 follower event!!
neither you or max have left the bed for the past 24 hours.
well— he’d gone for a piss at 8 because he really couldn't hold it in anymore, and you’d had to open the door for a delivery driver who eneded a signature, but other than those two interruptions, neither you or max have left the bed for the past 24 hours.
max had just finished a triple header, and you weren’t able to accompany him at all due to work commitments. add in a week of testing before the races, and you haven’t seen each other for a whole month; hence the entanglement of limbs under your duvet now.
“i really missed you, schjat.”
you sigh happily and push your nose further into the crook of his neck, breathing in his delicious scent as your hands run up and down his arms, squeezing at his muscles.
“you did good though; i was watching.”
he glances over to the three trophies he brought home, two gold and one silver.
“you were my motivation,” he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“cheesy.”
your hand travels down now to his chest, over his pecs and along his collarbone. you can’t get enough of him, but he’s just as bad; a hand on your arse that hasn’t left it in hours, and the other curled around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.
“now i get you for a whole week. lucky me,” you murmur, lips curling up when he shudders at your breath on his neck.
one of the cats meows forlornly from somewhere in the apartment, and max groans, moving to get up and take care of them.
“no, no… don’t leave,” you pout at him, grabbing onto his waistband, “i just refilled the feeder…”
right on cue, you hear the faint whirr of the automatic feeder in the kitchen dispensing jimmy and sassy’s food, and the meows stop.
seeing that you’re right, as always, max flops back down, almost on top of you. you let go of his pants and wrap yourself around his waist, touching whatever hot skin you can get your hands on.
“i was scared when george almost crashed into you,” you admit, mumbling into his chest.
he huffs out a smile and tilts his head down to look at you best he can.
“i was too. good that it didn’t turn out that way, hm?”
you move your head up to kiss him, and he reciprocates just as eagerly, forgetting all about your conversation. somehow, there’s still space between the two of you, but max quickly eliminates it, pushing his pelvis forwards to meet yours, and hooking your legs even tighter with his. he rolls you onto your back, pushing himself up in the same movement. you feel it as his biceps engage, hands still squeezing at his arms, and it only makes you kiss him with more fervour, so utterly in love with this man and every part of him.
it’s dizzying; how quickly max can take your breath away. his tongue moves against yours as his hands traverse your body; your thighs, your arse, your waist. he tugs at your lip with his teeth, pulling back only slightly to see your eyes. you gaze up at him, dark and half-lidded, waiting for him to come back.
you can feel his heart beating under his skin. it quickens the longer he looks at you.
he shifts his weight onto one arm, bringing the other up to replace his mouth on yours. his thumb drags along your bottom lip, and your tongue darts out to meet it, pushing flat against his callouses. max takes a shaky breath in, his attention flitting between your eyes and your mouth.
he pulls his thumb out of your mouth and pops it in his own, tongue swirling around the taste of you, slowly. your breaths get heavier as you watch him, feeling more and more jealous of his stupid finger. finally, after what feels like an eternity of watching him make out with his thumb, he takes pity and his lips crash into yours again. you take the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against you, deepening the kiss hungrily.
he lets out a small whine when your hip brushes his crotch, a sizeable hardness begging for your attention already. you ignore it in favour of teasing him some more, nipping at his lip and clawing at his back, raking your nails down. he arches into it, chasing after that feeling he loves of pleasure and pain combined. he encourages you by running his tongue along your teeth messily, swollen lips pushing into yours like you have any more to give.
he kisses you once more, a quick brush of his lips against yours, before he lets go of you to catch his breath, flopping back down next to you and pulling you in by the hips, getting comfy in bed again. his hand, still wet with spit, comes up to move the hair out of your face.
“i’m never going that long without you again,” he says resolutely, “i’ll skip the races if i have to.”
you laugh, still slightly breathless, at his declaration, knowing he doesn’t really mean it, and press a kiss to the tip of his nose.
“yeah, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, hm?”
enjoyed this fic? please do like, reblog, and comment to support me!!! love u guys ‹𝟹
i don't know if i want sfw or nsfw for my lando request. i need motivation for exam season that's coming up. maybe he surprises me by visiting me? maybe he brings gifts or he IS the gift? i miss lando. come back lando. i need you.
thinking about… lando norris helping you clear your head during finals season
note: i have so many tests and assignments due these next few weeks i rly should NOT be writing reqs. oh well! i also miss lando but hey at least he got a podium in miami (better than nothing) ٩(ˊᗜˋ )و hope u love this, nonnie, and ty for requesting !!
if u liked this, come check out my 200 follower event!!
18+ content ahead, mdni !!
you’ve been revising for so long, you swear you can see words from the textbook floating around if you stare at a blank wall.
you’re taking notes and annotating and reviewing lectures and going through readings, and you’re miserable, but unfortunately, you’re not waist deep in student debt for fun, so you have to just keep studying.
your phone starts buzzing from somewhere on the desk. no. maybe on the floor? fuck.
you scramble around to find it before voicemail gets there first.
you finally find it on your bed, under a pile of clothes, probably thrown there haphazardly while you were searching for something else. a glance at the caller id before you pick up shows you it’s lando.
“hey!”
“hi angel, you home?”
“uh, yeah, i am. why?”
“i got you a gift; i know you’ve been studying so hard lately. you need to go sign for delivery, though.”
you smile as you picture him now, thinking up ways to treat you even from a hotel room on the other side of the world.
“oh, that’s so sweet of you, lan. you know you didn’t have to.”
you feel yourself frown as your eyes fall back on your study materials.
“are you sure i have to sign for it? i can’t really afford to take any breaks right now. can’t they just leave it at the door?”
“no, angel. now go.”
you sigh and push yourself away from the desk to get the door.
“this better be worth it. i have to get straight back to work after, okay?”
lando’s standing on your doorstep.
he has suitcase in one hand and a designer shopping bag in the other, both of which he lets go of when you open the door.
he scoops you up in a big hug before you can process what’s happening.
“hi angel. missed you,” he mumbles into your neck.
“…you didn’t tell me you were coming!”
your overworked brain has finally put together that lando's here, hugging you, and not halfway across the globe. he's here. with you.
he sets you back down on your feet, though he doesn’t let go of you yet, and shrugs at your baffled expression.
“that’s kinda why they call it a surprise.”
lando’s so warm, and, mm, he smells so nice; it makes you want to spend the whole day in his arms, if only you didn’t have to study.
oh, you have to study.
fuck. you’d almost forgotten.
“lando! i have to get back to studying. it’s really nice to have you home!”
you press a kiss to his cheek and run back to your room before he can object.
as you’re rereading the passage you were on before his call came through, you hear him drop his stuff in the entryway, then push the front door shut after him.
lando appears in your open doorway, knocking at the frame as he rounds the corner.
“just blowing me off like that, angel?”
your eyes don’t leave the page as you reply, “i’m sorry, lan, but this is important.”
lando frowns. he knows you’ve been getting up at dawn and only going to bed in the early hours of the morning for the entirety of the past week just to study.
“you can’t take a break for ten minutes? i flew all this way…”
if he squints, he thinks he can see a dark cloud looming over you as you shake your head no. he moves behind you to massage your shoulders, really trying to convince you.
“time for a break, baby. come on.”
when you don’t respond, still hunched over your paperwork, he sighs and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. it’s only a minute before you hear his belt clinking as he frees his cock from his pants and, curiosity getting the better of you, finally look back.
he’s already half hard, thick vein pulsing along the length of him. your pussy clenches involuntarily at the sight of him.
“come here, angel. let’s make you feel good, yeah?”
you chew on your lip as your gaze flicks from your desk, covered with papers and textbooks, to lando, now pumping himself as he waits for your decision.
you shiver when you realise his gaze is on you as he touches himself, ravenous and needy. the intense eye contact is broken when he throws his head back, his hand having done something he likes; the prettiest sound comes out of his mouth as he does.
the need to taste him finally overwhelms your tunnel vision and you drop to the floor to watch him fuck his hand. the soft ‘thump’ of your knees meeting carpet catches his attention and he stops, staring down at you.
he considers the hand that was just on his cock before using it to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at him. the smell of him is thick and fucking irresistible.
“you gonna let me help you? empty that pretty little head of yours?”
you swallow thickly and nod, accepting that lando’s in control now.
he lets go of your chin, and two fingers beckon you closer. you oblige, shuffling in to between his legs.
he taps his cock at your lips and you open for him, tongue lolling out. lando leans down and gives you a kiss on the crown of your head for being so obedient before settling back, letting you decide on the pace you go at.
“oh, fuck-!”
you take all of him in one go, and he makes a sound of surprise as his tip hits the back of your throat. you relax your jaw and take a few deep breaths through your nose, before moving your head to rest against his thigh. lando’s fingers stroke through your hair softly.
any prior thoughts of studying are long gone by now; you’re solely focussed on nothing but the weight of his cock on your tongue.
“fuck, good girl…”
you close your eyes, happy to be relieved of your stressors, if at least for a little while.
you’re not sure how long he keeps you there, only that when you next open your eyes, the sun outside is setting and lando is squeezing the duvet he’s sitting on top of for dear life, willing himself not to come right then and there. his cock twitches as you press your tongue flat along his length, trying your best to keep it still. his gaze falls down at the first movement from you in a while, and he lets out a shaky sigh when your eyes finally meet his.
you’re sure you look absolutely wrecked; eyes glazed over as you struggle for shallow breaths. there’s drool slipping out of the corners of your mouth, onto his thighs, onto the bed. you can vaguely feel your cunt getting wetter and wetter. you know if lando were to reach down there, his fingers would certainly come away glistening with slick.
“let me do the thinking from now on, why don’t we? you look so much prettier warming my cock than you do slaving over those silly books, baby.”
you can’t reply with words; your jaw stretched wide, so you settle for a small whine of agreement instead.
“so good for me, my angel.”
he pushes the hair out of your face, and they leave thin wet streaks, from your slobber, in their wake. you can taste the salt of his precome leaking onto your tongue.
lando shifts his hips, probably getting uncomfortable from sitting in the same position for such a long time, and has to hold back a groan when his cock hitting the roof of your mouth makes you choke around him, tears sliding down your cheeks.
you try— and fail— to swallow, again, and that does it.
“you wanna help me come, baby? gonna let me use this hole of yours?”
you make another desperate sound— yes please.
lando grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing you down further on his cock before he pulls you off. you gasp in your first real breath in hours, then you’re swallowing him down again. he pushes you down again and again, trying to force himself further down your throat each time.
wet, squelchy sounds fill the room as he uses you freely, hips bucking up into your mouth at a pace you can’t keep up with; you let your jaw go slack so he can better chase his own pleasure. lando doesn’t last very long like this, not after being edged by every little movement your tongue made, every swallow around him. you can tell he’s close when his breaths quicken, and more and more moans start tumbling from his mouth.
“coming, gonna come-“
his hips stutter, and the hand on the back of your head holds you down as he comes. you feel it hit the roof of your mouth before dripping down to your tongue. you think you hear him growl as he empties himself in you.
he pulls out when he’s done, and you go limp against his thigh with nothing holding you up anymore. you finally swallow, sticking your tongue out after to show him it all gone.
“such a good girl.”
he pulls you in for a kiss, and your pussy flutters as you realise he’s tasting himself on your lips. you don’t want to let go of him, but then his sudden standing up addles your brain, still trying to gain control after the docile headspace you were just in, and you let go with a whine.
lando tucks himself back in his pants, where your drool has left a massive wet patch on the crotch.
“mm— thank you, lan.”
he smiles approvingly at your manners, and looks you up and down.
“are you feeling better?”
you nod; you are— all your earlier stress has vanished, and your thoughts feel lighter already.
he holds his hand out for you to take.
“good,” he pulls you towards the door, “i wasn’t lying on the phone by the way; i did get some actual gifts for you, and you’re gonna open all of them before you even think about reading any more of those stupid textbooks.”
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