can i please request some max smut? plot (or even pwp) is completely up to u, as long as its filthy max smut, which ik ull feed us so well queen
daydreaming about… just straight up filthy sex with max verstappen
note: hi nonnie,, i’m so sorry you’ve had to wait so long for this req !! i must admit it’s 100% just porn, like there's absolutely no plot whatsoever. it’s kind of based on an idea i had from these hcs but didn’t add to the list then. kinda debated not posting this after the bean soup incident but whatever, not all of u max fans are evil, soooo here we are. hopefully this makes up for the long delay tho and i hope u enjoy<3
18+ content ahead, mdni !!
there’s sweat beading on max’s forehead, threatening to drip onto your face with each and every hard thrust of his hips. his eyes don’t meet yours; they’re locked onto the diamonds around your neck, sparkling in the evening light.
“max-!“
his gaze flicks up to you as you choke out his name, briefly— so very briefly—, before it drops back down to the jewellery you’re wearing.
“so beautiful, schat,” he grits out, “so fucking- mine...”
you accept that his focus is elsewhere, and allow yours to drift also, landing on the spot where his cock is plunging in and out of your pussy. the sight of it makes you clench subconsciously, and you feel his hips stutter as you do, trying not to come prematurely.
the bracelets on your wrists jangle against each other as max fucks you, a delicate clinking that can only just be heard over skin slapping against skin and both of your heavy breaths.
there are more diamonds, as well as an assortment of other coloured gemstones, shining on your fingers as they scratch down his back, red lines surely appearing instantly. he’s always marked easily; you’d found that out early in your relationship from an italian tabloid and a paparazzo with a very keen eye.
the edge of the vanity digs into the back of your thighs as max pounds you into it again and again. you can’t see the mirror pressed against your back, but you can hazard a guess that the front of it is all fogged up from the workout max is putting you both through right now.
your pussy is dripping for him, only getting wetter each time his tip rams into your cervix. slick sounds have filled the room, along with your moans and the rattling of the mirror against the wall as you’re fucked against it.
your weeping cunt gets the better of you on one particularly hard thrust, and his cock slips out from you in one wet motion. before you can reach down to ease him back in, he spins you, so that you’re facing the mirror. he makes eye contact with you through it, and presses a kiss to your shoulder blade before he looks back down to line himself up.
your mouth falls open as he presses in, this new angle allowing him to push even deeper into your cunt. max barely gives you a second to adjust before he’s gripping your hips and ramming into you again, picking up the same pace as before.
lifting your gaze to watch him in the mirror, you can see he’s still staring at the necklace bouncing against your tits, just through the reflection now, instead of straight on. his cock hits your g-spot every time he rams into you, and when you close your eyes, you swear you’re seeing stars.
his fingers are digging into your hips hard, manipulating your body to whichever way brings the most pleasure for you both. his hands shift their grip slightly, and you cry out. the fingerprints he’s left hurt.
one of his feet nudges yours out, forcing your stance wider. now it feels like he’s in your lungs; every thrust of his cock harder than the last, stealing your breath away. a glance up at the mirror sees complete lust in his eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open as he fucks you from behind. his gaze darts from the jewels around your neck to the ones on your fingers, then to the ones on your wrists, and back to your neck again.
max’s hand snakes around your front, fingers on your clit before you even realise his arm’s moved at all. the roughness of his fingerpads makes your knees buckle, and he has to keep you upright, his other arm wrapping around your waist.
you can feel waves of euphoria peaking in you, and your pussy clenches for him again, desperately needy for an orgasm that’s just within reach.
“don’t stop,” you beg, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
he gathers your hair in his fist and yanks your head back in lieu of a verbal reply, a soft kiss pressed to your forehead a stark juxtaposition to his rough treatment of you otherwise. his thrusts get deeper, more purposeful, as his fingers work furiously. you can barely keep your head up anymore, body weak and mind muddled by the pleasure he’s overwhelming you with.
“max, i’m gonna- fuck, i’m gonna come!”
his hand jolts a little each time he rams his full length into you, but his fingers don’t stop their tight circles on your clit, determined to push you over the edge right this second.
your back arches as you come for him, and you can’t stop the borderline pornographic moans that he forces out of you. your legs shake as he fucks you through it, and you can just hear his murmured praises over the ringing in your ears.
“perfect, schatje. so good for me.”
max’s lips trail along your back and shoulders as he waits for the aftershocks to pass, stopping more than once to mouth at the clasp sitting at the base of your neck, tongue and teeth playing with the cold metal.
“will you keep being good for me?”
you grind back on his cock as you whine tiredly, too exhausted to use your words. he responds in kind, free hand flying back up to your hip to control your body for his free use.
your nails leave shallow scratches in the wood of the vanity as you hold on for dear life, bejwelled rings surely leaving indents in your skin as you squeeze your fingers together. his hands, entwined in your hair and gripping your hip, work together to better impale you on his cock.
a flash of tiffany blue in the mirror catches your eye as you’re railed within an inch of your life. your brand new necklace box is sitting empty on the dresser, ribbons undone from when you’d opened your gift only an hour ago. there are at least a dozen other jewellery boxes dotted around the room, all gifted to you through the many years you’ve known max, and all empty now also; their contents placed delicately on each part of your body by max as part of this unique but ubiquitous ritual in your relationship.
max interrupts your recollection by pulling out of you hurriedly, a loud squelch bringing a flush to your cheeks as he leaves your wet hole, now gaping from the form of his cock pounding into you. he beckons you to the floor, and you kneel down how you know he wants you to, staring up at the underside of his cock as he starts jacking himself off furiously, chasing fiercely after his own orgasm.
the sound of his hand on cock becomes wetter and louder as your come is smeared all over his grip. despite coming only a few minutes ago, your pussy clenches on air, begging for a cock in her again.
a moan is ripped from max’s throat suddenly, louder than any other sound he’s made tonight, and his head falls back. you shut your eyes in preparation, but he doesn’t aim for your face.
instead, hot ropes of come land on your necklace, creamy white smearing against sparkling diamonds. his eyes flutter back open; his cock twitches and he almost chokes on a sharp inhale as he takes in the state of your jewellery, now soiled by his seed.
you drag a finger across your collarbones and bring it to your lips, licking his come off. he watches you do so, eyes dark and intense. you can tell he’s debating whether to push you onto the bed and go for round two, but ultimately, his hand comes down to help you up instead, already spent. you take it, stretching your knees out from being pushed onto the carpet.
“you know you don’t need to fuck me every time you buy me a new piece of jewellery, right?”
his focus drops to your new pearl necklace before he frowns and tilts his head at you, like you’ve started speaking in another language.
“what’s the point of me buying it then?”
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rien n'a autant d'importance
running into lando norris— your ex— at a party gives you the perfect opportunity to remind him that there really is only one girl for him.
note: hi nonnie! thank u so much for this request omfg i was literally soaked just imagining it. i hope its ok that i did change the slightest bit cause (due to personal experience— ew i know, so lameee ugh!) i don’t 100% love cheating. i hope u enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it<3
original request:
thinking about ex boyfriend! Lando finds reader in a party, he’s already with another girl and she knows that, so they both ended up in the bathroom and she gives him a blowjob, being all cocky because only she knows how to do it well, and she’s trying to act all innocent and telling him it’s only to teach his other girl so she makes him film her so the other girl can ‘learn’
“does she make you feel this good?”
the party is raging on happily beyond the bathroom door, but neither you or lando take particularly great notice of the bass thumping through your bones or the constant stream of chatter in the other room, getting louder and louder as people keep drinking.
you and fewtrell were still friends; a silly breakup didn’t change that. so, just like he’d done with all his other friends, he’d invited you to his party. it wasn’t for some big event or anything; "just because,” he’d told you with a smile.
his little apartment was crammed full of people, some of whom you didn’t recognise, more of whom you did. everyone had greeted you excitedly; you hadn’t really turned up to these things for a couple of months. you’d used work or school as excuses, but everyone knew the real reason.
your friend had been the one to show you the post; a fan account sharing a photo they’d found of lando with some girl on a date, sat in the shade at a cafe table.
you’d smiled brightly and told her you were “so over him,” as he clearly was you. she’d matched your smile and given you a big hug and told you how proud she was of you and that, “i know it hasn’t been easy, but he’s such a scumbag anyway. you’re so much better without him.”
you’d raised your coffee mug and cheersed her, laughing at getting away from him unscathed, but on the inside, you were absolutely fuming.
“i’m sorry, angel. i’m just getting too busy; i have so many things on, and i feel so exhausted all the time. i want you to have everything you deserve, but i just don’t have the time anymore to make that happen,” and then here he was, not even two months later, sharing this random girl’s fucking drink; a bright lipstick stain on the rim of the cup right under where his mouth was placed.
“don’t look fucking busy to me,” you’d hissed as you scrolled through the fanpage’s feed later that day.
post after post was dedicated to sightings of him. press events, races, selfies with fans, merch photoshoots, and that stupid date. you'd stalked through the account until you recognised the pictures as being screenshotted from your own stories, and told yourself that was that, and there was nothing else to be done.
you hadn’t expected lando to be here tonight. from the way he’d paled when you made eye contact, then darted off, hoping you wouldn’t follow him, he hadn’t either.
of course, because you didn't live to appease him, you’d trailed behind him from room to room, keeping a healthy distance until he was alone. then you’d cornered him and dragged him into the closest room that would provide you both privacy— the guest bathroom.
one thing had led to the next, and you find yourself in the position you’re in now; on your knees in front of him, one hand stroking along his weeping cock, the other pressed against his thigh for support.
“i was trying to move on…” lando manages, throwing his head back with a groan as you press a kiss to his tip, right on the slit. you lick your bottom lip as you pull away and taste salt.
“is that why you went on that date? to move on?”
your hand keeps stroking him as you talk, your eyes trained on his face as he struggles to articulate himself.
“use your words, lan.”
a few tears fall from his eyes as he whines for you to keep going.
“i’m sorry!” bursts from his lips, “oli set it up; he said i needed to stop moping! i didn’t know there would be paps; i think she called them herself, i-“
he cuts himself off with a choke at a particularly sharp flick of your wrist.
“she’s pretty, lan.”
he doesn’t reply, eyes wide and brows scrunched together as he tries to figure out where you’re going with this. you don’t stop fisting his cock, sticky precome dripping down your hand.
“did you fuck her?”
he shakes his head desperately, tears rolling down his cheeks at the stimulation you're giving him.
“lando, words.”
“i didn’t!”
really? you stop all of a sudden, contemplating the new information he’s just revealed to you.
“…have you fucked anyone else since me?”
he sniffles at the question and shifts on his feet.
“lando.”
god, it’s getting exhausting having to constantly remind him of his manners.
“yes.”
his reply is so quiet that if you hadn’t been listening with pricked ears, you might’ve mistaken it for just a breath passing his lips.
“was that a yes?”
to be fair, you have as well. and you’re not going to punish him for taking advantage of being single, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“did you enjoy it?”
he frowns, then shakes his head gloomily. god, this is getting more interesting by the second.
“and why not, lan?”
lando hesitates, biting down on his tongue as he mentally debates himself on whether to tell you or not. the part of him that still wants to be a good boy for you wins out.
“no one else’s been able to make me come; there’s something wrong… i-i don’t know.”
he averts his gaze, almost shamefully, missing the smile that creeps along your mouth.
“oh, you poor thing, lan. that must be really hard, huh?”
he sniffles again, pitifully.
feeling sorry for him, your hand resumes stroking up and down, and you take pleasure in watching the emotion on his face contort from shame to satisfaction. he opens his mouth to reply to your last question when the doorknob rattles, followed by a series of hard knocks.
“hello?! i need to take a shit!”
lando’s eyes widen even more at the sound of one of his friends’ voices on the other side.
your hand doesn’t stop moving up and down; lando’s flies up to his mouth to muffle himself, eyebrows knitting together at the prospect of being caught. you reach up and push it away, probably more forcefully than you needed to.
“don’t even think about it,” you hiss, before licking a wet stripe up the underside of him, balls to tip. his mouth drops open at the feeling of your warm tongue, then you’re taking his cock in your mouth and sucking hard.
you can hear his nails scratching at the wood of the door as he scrambles for purchase; something, anything to ground himself as your head bobs up and down on his cock.
the doorknob rattles once more, then falls silent. you pull off with a ‘pop’ and smile up at him.
“good boy, lan. so good.”
his eyes are still shut tight, but a small, proud smile appears on his face at the praise. you reward him by returning to his cock, trying to suppress your gag reflex each time he hits the back of your throat.
he’s assumed he’s allowed to be loud now, breathy moans leaving his perfect lips as he throws his head back, overwhelmed by pleasure.
an idea pops into your head and your mouth is moving before you can contain it, pulling off him to rest your cheek against his flushed tip.
“why don’t you film this, honey?”
lando’s eyes fly open, taken aback by your suggestion.
“yeah,” you’re rolling the idea around in the back of your mind.
you decide you like it and you want to keep going, “get your phone out, lando; let’s film this for the next girl you go out with. show her how to make you come like i do, yeah?”
he’s shaking like a leaf, poor thing, but you don’t let up. one hand comes up to stroke just the base of his cock, knuckles brushing against your cheek as you do so.
“i mean, you’re moving on from me. if you fuck her, you should at least come in her, right, honey? so let’s help her learn. give her a lesson on how to treat you properly, lan.”
you’re pretty convinced your words are going in one ear and going out the other. he seems more focussed on not busting prematurely to properly take in what you’re saying.
you’ve had enough of his disobedience.
“lando, do you want to come?”
it’s not so much a question as it is a threat, and lando recognises it, eyes flying open as your words finally get through the thick fog of pleasure.
he nods desperately, tears pricking at his eyes again. what a crybaby.
“yes— fuck, yes, please; don’t just leave me here!”
it’s not illogical for him to be so worried; you can recall many a party in the past, just like this one, where you’d left him hard and leaking on a whim.
you pull your hand away now and he chases after it with his hips before whining, defeated.
“get your fucking phone out, lando.”
he fumbles around in his pants pocket for his phone and passes it to you obediently. you reward him with another kiss to his cock. he shudders at the contact.
staring at his lockscreen, you type in the passcode he’d had during your relationship— your birthday—, not necessarily expecting it to work. the screen slides up and you find yourself on his homescreen.
“i thought you were moving on, honey. what’s this?”
blush coats his cheeks as he glances away from you and the unlocked phone you hold in your hand.
“i haven’t changed it yet. was gonna… just got used to it.”
how cute.
“you wanna be good for me? you wanna help your girl learn?”
he nods again, though he’s slower to agree, like he doesn’t like everything what you’re saying. it’s funny; how he thinks his opinion matters.
you start off jerking him slowly, watching as he draws his lip between his teeth, his hands shaking as he struggles to press record. you hear the little ding sound and the flash shines in your eyes as he finally starts filming, and you feel yourself get wetter than you should at the knowledge that you’re on camera.
you start by mouthing slowly at his head, enjoying how much he struggles to maintain any semblance of composure. he squirms as your tongue passes over his tip, hands flexing as he fights the incessant urge to rush you.
you know the exact moment his patience runs out; he pushes his hips forward, forcing himself past your lips. you glare up at him from the base of his pelvis, mouth split open by his thick cock, but don’t make any move to stop and scold him.
instead, you take it in stride, taking a deep breath through your nose before pulling off almost all the way, then back down again. lando lets out a heavy sigh as your mouth moves around him, warm and hot.
you glance up and notice the phone drifting off-course, filming more of the bathtub than you, so you stop, balls-deep, and frown at him through the camera until he gets the memo. when he points it back at your face, you smile as best you can, wide-eyed and innocent like this is something casual for you, before returning to the task at hand.
he keens at you and thrusts his hips forward, desperate, and you gag as he hits the back of your throat. this earns him a hard swat to the thigh, to which he babbles out a, “sorry, fuck-,” before you take him even deeper.
you take his free hand and hold it against your neck, pushing his palm flat against the bulge that appears as his cock slides down your throat over and over.
“oh fuck- oh my god...”
his cock twitches in your mouth as he feels you take him entirely.
you kind of regret the whole filming thing now; you can’t see his pretty face anymore when you glance up, just a blinding light in your face and a dark lens staring at you.
he’s squirming more and more, and you know he’s close; he’s getting so loud. his moans are becoming more choked as he nears his peak, and he sets the phone down with a slam against the marble countertop; his hands fly down to grip at your hair. you almost think to stop and tell him off, but this is a special occasion, you suppose.
“fuck, please let me come; please, please,” he begs you.
you pull off him just enough to murmur at his tip, “i don’t know, honey. do you deserve it?”
he nods pathetically, pushing his hips forward to get the slightest bit of stimulation from you, ignoring the sensitivity of your lips mouthing at his head.
you decide to be cruel.
a sob escapes him as you lean back on your heels, away from him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“but what about your girl, lando?”
you glance towards his phone, abandoned on the edge of the sink, probably still rolling.
“fuck, she’s not my girl; i don’t care about her. fuck her- fuckin’- please!”
your head tilts to the side, and your eyes drift up, pretending to think about it.
“mm, no. that’s not very fair to her, is it?”
the tears start up again; this time out of frustration. his brain isn’t working nearly hard enough for him to think of what the right thing to say is. instead, when he opens his mouth, what comes out is a pitiful, ragged gasp.
“what are you gonna do to convince me you deserve it, lan? ‘cause… i don’t think you’re doing a very good job of it right now.”
his eyes squeeze shut as he racks his brain for what you want to hear.
“move back in with me. i’ve missed you so bad, angel— fuck!”
you thumb swipes over his leaking slit, smearing precome over his sensitive head. still not good enough. he hisses and whines again.
“please-, i can’t live without you. i need you. i need you, angel!“
his lip is raw from biting down on it, his lashes wet from crying.
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. i was wrong; i was so wrong to end it! i miss you all the time, i regret it every day; i’m so sorry, please come back, please, please-“
you hum, finally satisfied with his grovelling, and hollow your cheeks as you take all of him in your mouth again. hands in your hair holding you in place, lando’s hips take over as he chases his own pleasure, bucking forward, forcing his cock down your throat. your jaw goes slack and you finally allow him take what he wants from you; just a hole for him to empty his balls in.
“thank you, thank you, thank you-“ he’s babbling as he gets closer, like he always does, “fuck, angel; love you, thank you, love you-”
he finally comes with a broken cry, hot come spurting in your mouth. his hips don’t stop, prolonging his orgasm for as long as possible after months of being unable to. your pussy clenches on nothing as he pulses against your tongue.
you manage to swallow half of his seed, coating your mouth in the bitter taste of him. the other half oozes out of the corners of your mouth, and you jerk your head to the side to avoid getting any on your dress. his cock slides out of your mouth easily, leaving a soreness in the back of your throat when you swallow.
you look up at lando. his legs are shaking and his eyes are trained on you, following your every movement like a dog would it’s master.
“such a good boy, lan. come here, honey.”
at your command, he slides down to the ground to meet you, and when his knees settle against your own, you kiss him finally.
a relieved whine escapes him as he melts into your touch, shoulders sagging and body leaning towards yours. he’s kissing you desperately, trying to communicate months of dissatisfaction with his tongue as he pushes it into your mouth, running along your teeth. his hands grab at the front of your dress, trying to pull you closer, ever closer.
he tilts his head down and away from you, so your lips end up on his cheek. you open your mouth to complain until you feel his tongue dart out and licks up his own come from your chin. you smile against his stubble. maybe he hasn’t lost all his manners after all.
his mouth returns to yours and the taste gets mixed in with your saliva and his. you can’t help but moan as everything familiar sinks in, and you realise lando’s back. he's here, with you. emboldened by your noises, his teeth nip at your lip; not hard enough to draw blood, but not softly either. his arm sneaks around your waist, settling at your hip.
it stays there for not even five seconds.
he trails it slowly down, drawing little patterns on your thigh as he edges towards your cunt, trying to be inconspicuous. you only notice subconsciously his fingers dancing along your panties, light against the wet spot right on the front of them, or your hips canting up, aching for him to touch you like he used to do.
your hands fly up to either side of his face as lando pulls your panties to the side and pushes his index in in one go. his mouth stills against yours once he’s buried up to the knuckle, waiting for you to stop him. when you don’t show any signs of wanting to, he curls his finger up tentatively. a sigh leaves your lips as even just one of his fingers fills you up in the way you’re used to.
taking your sounds as permission to continue, he pushes his tongue back past your lips as he drives his thick finger in and out of your sopping wet pussy. his teeth clack against yours as he swallows down all the noises you’re making.
he pulls out suddenly, and his mouth leaves yours again; this time to take his slick-covered finger in his mouth, tongue swirling around his knuckle as he licks up every trace of you. you pant heavily, taking the opportunity to catch your breath as you watch him with half-lidded eyes, on his knees in front of you. your tongue runs over your swollen bottom lip, feeling every mark left by his teeth, and your pussy clenches, wanting him back in her now.
you reach out for him, and his hand drops from his mouth as you near. you pull him towards you by the chin, tapping at his lips— still wet from a mix of your slick and his saliva— when you're happy with how close he is.
his jaw hangs open on command, and his eyes dart down to your lips expectantly. pleased with his retained obedience, you kiss the tip of his nose gently before prying his mouth open wider, and spitting.
he moans happily as his tongue rolls your saliva around his mouth, before he swallows and shows you.
“mm, such a good boy, aren’t you?”
you don’t mean to say it out loud, but lando hears all the same. his pupils get impossibly darker, and he all but lunges back at you, pushing you against the side of the tub as he connects your mouths together again.
your fingers find his hair and pull, earning a desperate whine from him just as his index and middle fingers push back into you with no resistance. his hand starts pumping in and out and you gasp into his open-mouthed kisses, back arching off the porcelain skirt as he hits your g-spot like he never forgot how to. you can feel his hardening cock against your hip, eager to fuck you again after so many months.
as much as you also want that, you tear yourself away from him as the amount of time you two have spent in this bathroom suddenly occurs to you. any longer and either someone will get max to unlock the door because they really need to piss, or max himself will find you as he’s cleaning up the apartment afterwards.
a string of spit connects your mouths still, until your finger comes up and twists itself around it, breaking as it gets too thin. his fingers slip out of you with a wet squelch and your cunt mourns being full already. you push yourself off the ground, brushing your knees of imaginary dirt. lando remains where he is, crumpled on the ground, chest heaving.
“come on, clean yourself up.”
you grab a towel, neatly folded by the sink, and throw it at him. he takes a moment to get to work, but does as you say, rubbing at his face first, then cleaning the excess amounts of your slick off his hand, and finally drying off his spit-covered cock. you smooth your hair down in the mirror, and pull your dress down, trying to look like you haven’t just hooked up with your ex in your friend’s bathroom.
lando gets up slower than you had, and pulls his trousers back up his hips. another little ding from his phone as he picks it up tells you that, like you had suspected, it had been recording even after lando had tossed it aside.
“you okay?”
lando sniffs one more time to compose himself, and nods, taking your hand in his as you unlock the door and step out.
there’s no one lingering around the bathroom, thank god— they would surely ask what the two of you were doing in there, but as you make your way through to the living room where everyone else is, you don’t miss the shocked looks the two of you get from the other partygoers, each of whom knows about your messy breakup.
“lando! i’ve been looking for…” max’s sentence dies off in his throat as takes notice of who lando’s with.
“max! isn’t this great? you always throw such a good party; thanks for the invite, babe.”
you let go of lando’s hand to wrap your arms around max’s neck. he hugs you back just a second too slow.
“hi love. i, uh… i didn’t know this was a thing again?” he gestures to the two of you when you step back to lando’s side.
lando smiles cockily, an aura of confidence around him, and entwines your hand with his again, the whiny boy in the bathroom completely gone from sight.
“well, we ran into each other earlier and got to talking and, honestly, mate? i didn’t realise how bad i missed my angel.”
he presses a kiss to the side of your head as he says the last part, making you blush at the attention. max eyes the two of you suspiciously, like he knows something, but shrugs and decides to drop it.
“well, as long as you’re both happy, i’m happy.”
you nod eagerly at him, then at lando, who’s doing the same as you. you’re sure you both look goofy as hell, like a couple of bobbleheads.
max looks weirded out. whether it’s from the sudden rebirth of your relationship or the way the two of you are acting, you’re not sure.
you make your escape before things get even more awkward tonight.
“bye, max! nice to see you again; i’m sure lando can fill you in later! love you!” you push lando in some random direction, speaking quickly so max can’t interrupt.
his hand raises in a half-arsed wave, and you think you hear an affectionate, “weirdos,” before you’re out of earshot.
taking charge once you’re both around the corner, lando grabs your hand and clears a path to the kitchen, where he rummages around in max’s cupboards for two glasses and pours you a drink before doing the same for himself.
you take a sip, the first thing you’ve tasted that’s not lando in at least an hour and a half, and sigh happily. he leans against the counters, watching your throat bob as you swallow down the alcohol.
“you know we’re gonna need to have a proper talk,” you posit, glancing at him over the rim of your glass.
he nods, a serious expression on his face very unbefitting him.
“and you should probably delete that video.”
lando pretends to think about it, before his face splits with another cheeky smile.
“mm… nah.”
“lando.”
he pulls you in by the waist and presses another kiss to your cheek. he dwells for a second, breathing in your scent before carrying on.
“it’s really hot. i might keep it for when i’m alone at a race and missing you, angel.”
you roll your eyes before realising how happy you are to be falling back into a familiar dynamic with him. lando seems to come to the same realisation at the same time, smiling softly down at you as his arm comes up to rest on your shoulders.
“will you come over tonight?” he murmurs into your hair.
you make a face at him, “…what?”
lando shrugs at you like it’s obvious, “saves you having to drive tomorrow morning.”
“okay… um, remind me again why i’m coming to your place at all tomorrow?”
“well, we have to talk, right? might as well get it out of the way as soon as possible. plus, we wouldn’t have to do it in a bathroom at mine.”
he waggles his eyebrows as he says the last bit, clearly looking forward to continuing where you’d left off earlier. you respond to his confidence with a pat on the arm, and take another sip of your drink.
“let’s just see how the night turns out, okay?”
it’s not a no, and from the way you catch him grinning into his drink, he knows it just as much as you.
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thinking about... lando norris' stream keeping you up at night
note: omg i haven’t written a cute little blurb in sooo long. hopefully all the lando voters from my poll enjoy this one<3 i’m a sucker for playful bants in a relationship and i just KNOW bf lando would be so much fun to be arounddd.
“one guy around the corner!”
it’s 4am.
lando’s been streaming for the last three hours.
you’ve been kept awake for the last three hours.
despite your bedroom being on the other side of the apartment, his voice echoes loud through the silence of the nighttime.
at first, you’d put on a guided sleep mediation, hoping to tune out his shouting and drift off to the positive affirmations. an hour later, the video had ended and you were still awake. and your brain had decided it was now insistent on revisiting all of your most embarassing memories.
you’d opened lando’s stream next, hoping his voice could lull you to sleep. the sound of heavy gunfire from his game hadn’t really helped you with that one.
another 10 minutes of pure willing yourself to sleep, to no avail, later, you decide to get out of bed, wrapping yourself in the duvet and dragging it behind you like a big cape. your footsteps are light on the wooden floorboards as you cross the apartment.
you put your ear up to the door.
he’s chatting merrily to the friends he’s playing with, and his chat as well, “thank you for the gifted!”
you knock softly, hoping he’ll hear you over the game.
“oi, push b, push b!”
you knock again, a bit louder this time.
“max!”
you give up and finally open the the door, just enough to get his attention from the far side of the room.
he’s wearing a hoodie, his headset sitting over the hood covering his head. his left hand is flying across the keyboard, his right clicking the mouse periodically.
“yes! let’s go!”
you lean to the left so he might see your silhouette encroaching in his periphery.
“lando? hello?”
when he does finally notice you, his eyes instictively flit down your figure, scanning you up and down. as soon as he doesn’t see anything noticeably wrong with you, he yelps out an, “i’m live!” to make you aware of his 16,000 live viewers.
looking at his screen shows that he’s just finished a round, and he’s waiting to load into the next.
“max, hold on; afk.”
he mutes himself and takes the headphones off, giving you his full attention.
“i’m live,” he repeats, “what’s up?”
you shift your weight as you lean against the doorframe.
“i know. you’re being really loud, lan. i can’t sleep.”
he shoots a glance at his monitor, watching chat scroll up rapidly. he huffs out a small laugh at what he reads.
“they’re asking who i’m talking to.”
you give him a wry look. normally, you might stick your hand into frame and give chat a wave, but right now, you’re really not in the mood to humour anyone except yourself, so you ignore him, trying to get to the point.
“lando, you’ve been streaming since one a.m.. come to bed.”
he looks back at the screen, finding the time in the bottom right corner. his eyebrows shoot up as he finally realises how late it is.
“oh shit; i’m sorry, baby.”
although he keeps his features schooled as he talks, hyperaware of the camera, you can practically feel the guilty conscience eminating off of him.
“um, let me finish this game and i’ll end stream, yeah?”
he pulls up discord on his second monitor and, after you nod an ‘okay’, types out a message to max, letting him know he would be leaving soon.
“come, come! this won’t be too long, i promise. do you need a chair?”
you step into the room and shake your head to answer his question, choosing to sit on the floor, pushing the door shut with a ‘click’. the duvet gets pulled up around you, keeping you warm.
“you comfortable?”
you give him a thumbs up. satisfied, he puts his headset back on and unmutes.
“alright chat, this is gonna be the last game. aw, don’t be sad, it’s been like three hours! okay, we’re in; i gotta lock in now.”
his callouts are just as frequent as before, but you do notice him making an effort to keep the volume down for you.
“he’s low, he’s low!” he hisses, keyboard clacking furiously as his character moves around the map.
lando’s game is interspersed by some quick glances at you, always making sure you’re okay, and his chat, flying by; excited by the mystery of the person he’d muted himself to talk to earlier.
“chat, don’t push it...”
you assume he’s read something he’s not exactly happy about, reminding his viewers gently, but firmly, of their place.
you kind of zone out after that, head resting against the door, and the next few minutes go by quickly. you don’t realise the time has passed until you hear him saying his goodbyes. you blink wearily as you push yourself off the floor, keeping a tight hold on the duvet for fear of being exposed to the cold air.
“i’ll see you later, chat. dunno when that’ll be, but… yeah.”
he waves at the camera, his mouse hovering above the ‘end stream’ button.
“love you guys, nice to see you all again. have a good morning, night, day, wherever you are.”
his stream turns off and lando holds out his arms for you. you finally cross the room and perch yourself on his thighs. your head settles naturally into the crook of his neck. he smells like citrus and amber. it’s nice; so perfectly lando.
“i’m sorry for being so loud; i completely lost track of time.”
you push a stray curl out of his face, and he leans into your touch, pushing himself up to chase after your hand. you give him a pat on the head instead, and his eyes crinkle as he beams at you.
he grabs your hand with his and adjusts to link your fingers together. you sigh contentedly, tiredness finally creeping in just from lando’s presence. he hums at you then, and reaches down to turn his pc off, taking care not to jostle you from his lap.
“let’s go bed, baby.”
your hands stay entwined as you lead him back across the apartment. he follows obediently, adrenaline from the game leaving his system already.
as soon as both of his feet are in the room, he makes for the bed, but with two fingers curled into his waistband, you pull him back and point him towards the ensuite instead.
“brush teeth. you’re stinky.”
he frowns, scrunching his face up in displeasure, but does as you say, trudging along to the sink and picking up his toothbrush.
you jump up on the counter to keep him company, tucking your legs in like you have a hundred times before. you try to kick him whenever he comes close enough, but he always sees it coming and he always catches it, much to your displeasure.
he leans down to spit in the sink and your eyes meet through the mirror. you can tell he’s about to do something you won’t like, just from the look in his eyes.
before you can react, lando reaches out and grabs you by the waist, pulling you down and into his side. you let out a sound of surprise as you’re dragged off the counter, duvet and all, even though you trust him completely to not let you fall and probably crack your head open.
he gets smacked on the chest when you recover from the shock, but that does absolutely nothing to stop his giggles.
“dick.”
he leans in and kisses your temple so sweetly that you almost let all of his transgressions tonight slip, until you remember he still has toothpaste foam at the corners of his mouth.
“fuck off, lando!”
he just gives you that cheeky grin again, shrugging like you would actually believe he so happened to forget. you almost manage to kick him again as you wash the toothpaste off of the side of your face.
he rinses out his mouth after you and practically drags you to bed, tugging on the duvet still wrapped around you. you pout as you’re forced to share your precious warmth, but laying your head on his arm pillow soon placates you.
you shut your eyes, finally ready to go to sleep, until his cold toes press against your calf.
they’re freezing. you elbow him in the side and he yelps before shooting back, “hurry up and go to sleep, stupid. i thought you were super tired; why else did i end stream?”
your elbow digs into his ribs again, harder this time, so that maybe he’ll get the message and shut up. lando laughs through the pain and concedes, leaning over and pecking the tip of your nose before flopping back down.
“night night, stinky.”
you finally drift off at five a.m., listening to the rhythm of lando’s breaths and heartbeat together, nestled into his side.
this is my first lando piece so if u wanna see more like this from me, please do like, reblog, and comment so i know!!! 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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lando norris gets turned on texting you while he's at work. now he can't wait to come home.
[2.0k] - ¡18+ mdni!
note: god, nonnie this is so hot omfg??? literally had to fan myself??? this is a bit of a shorter one but i hope i did u proud and thank u sm for requesting !!
if u like this, come check out my 200 follower event!!
original request:
˚₊‧꒰ა sexonthebeat ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ idea!
during the break, lando decides to take you away to a private beach! exciting! you start preparing what you're taking with you when you realise that you need a new swimsuit! but lando is busy doing work obligations :( so you go shopping and send him pics of you wearing the various swimsuits that definitely get him. he's so close to going home early to fuck you
god, lando’s annoying. he’s the whole reason you’re in this pickle you’ve found yourself in. right now, you’re rifling through bikinis on the rack, trying to find anything suitable and cute.
your phone pings, and you know who it is before you even check. lando had gotten roped into another big meeting at the technology centre, and he was prone to texting you during to keep himself occupied.
LANDO: hiii angel
LANDO: what u doing
YOU: i told u alr stupid
YOU: shopping
YOU: cause someone only told me we were going to bali
YOU: TWO DAYS before we leave
YOU: and i have NOTHING TO WEAR ughhh
LANDO: lol
LANDO: srry
YOU: hate u
you wait for him to reply; he doesn’t. probably actually paying attention to his meeting now.
you duck into the changing room and try on the three bikinis in your hand, snapping a photo while you’re in each one so you can look back and compare before making a decision.
shit. you end up liking all of them; all three look absolutely banging on you, accentuating every curve and dip of your body that you want accentuated, and you can’t bring yourself pick just one.
standing naked save your underwear in the changing room, swimwear hung back up on their hangers and your clothes still in a neat pile on the little stool, you sigh as you consider what to do next.
then an idea pops in your head. your gaze shifts from your phone, to the bikinis on the hook, and back to your phone.
YOU attached three pictures
LANDO: wowowww
LANDO: supa sexc
you hadn’t expected him to reply straightaway, but now that he has, you can get his opinion.
YOU: which one????
there’s a pause as he reads your message, also probably looking through the photos again, then another notification comes through.
LANDO: all
YOU: lol good one
YOU: bffr
LANDO: ok send mre pics
LANDO: more*
you oblige him, slipping each one on again and taking a few more photos. you go for some different angles this time, moving your hair out of the way so he can see your body properly.
YOU attached five pictures
the typing bubble pops up again. you wait for a text to appear, but after a few seconds of bouncing up and down, they disappear. his attention must have been called back to the meeting. that means you’ve been left to your own devices again to decide which one to buy. fuck.
you flick through the photos you took, considering the different colours and fits, narrowing your eyes at your phone as if to get a different perspective.
a text comes through, then another in quick succession.
LANDO: u look so sexy angel
LANDO: getting so hard
you can imagine him now, sitting at a big conference table, nodding along as zak rambles on about some type of business or rather, trying to pretend his pants haven’t gotten suddenly very tight around the crotch.
YOU: ur not supposed to get horny stupid ur supposed to help me decide
LANDO attached one picture
you click on the photo, and watch as it downloads. as soon as you see the loaded image, you can’t help but try memorise every part of it.
the photo is blurred— he clearly didn’t want to get caught taking it—, but you can make out his hand gripping at his cock under the black pants he’d worn out today, veins dark on the back of his hand.
you lick your lips subconsciously, your mouth suddenly full of saliva. you can feel your underwear getting wetter the longer you stare at it.
YOU: how long til ur meetings over
LANDO: supposed to go to 5
LANDO: kms
you check the time. almost a whole nother hour until he’s home. you start typing out a response, but backspace it all as his typing indicator pops up again.
LANDO: so hard it hurts babyyy
another pause.
LANDO: buy them all
LANDO: srsly
LANDO: god i need u rn
you start putting your clothes back on as you run his suggestion through your head, your body cold from the amount of time you’ve been texting him naked. you could buy all three, but that’s a lot of money that you would be spending on what is essentially six strips of cloth. it’s almost as if lando can sense your hesitation through the phone, because another text pops up just as you think it.
LANDO: use my card
you always have one of his bank cards in your wallet, though you’ve never ever used it. it’s mostly there for decoration; in case of emergency. you chew at your lip, hesitant. it would be a nice treat for yourself, you reason.
YOU: u sure?
LANDO: ye
LANDO: or ill give it all to max and he can look sexy on vacay instead
you roll your eyes. even when he’s insisting on spoiling you, he always has to throw in some cheek.
YOU: ok
YOU: thank u lan
YOU: love uuu
feeling confident, you leave the changing room and pass the cashier the three bikinis, watching as she bags them up for you.
you swipe his shiny black card on the eftpos machine and enter in the pin you vaguely remember him telling you ages ago, a giddy feeling rising up in you as the display shows you a proud ‘transaction accepted’.
you take the bag she gives you with a huge smile.
“thank you!”
you make your way home from the shop, stopping once at a café to get a snack, and once for a photo with a girl who recognises you from the sports channel. you’ve only just shut the front door when your phone pings again. there’s a text from earlier that you hadn’t seen yet, plus three new ones.
LANDO: love u angel
━━━━━━ unread messages ━━━━━━
LANDO: leaving now
LANDO: cya soon
LANDO: u better be naked
it’s a five minute drive from the technology centre to here. you have five minutes. you drop your shopping bags down at the door and all but run to the bedroom, pulling your pants and socks off as you go.
the sound of the front door closing alerts you that lando’s home, and you pull your shirt off over your head. as you toss it into the laundry hamper, you hear, right in your ear, “hi angel. missed you.”
a pair of arms appear from behind you, hands cupping at your breasts with no hesitation, squeezing and kneading; thumbs flicking at your nipples. you can feel his hard cock pressing against the small of your back; he might’ve stayed hard the entire rest of the meeting, and the drive home.
the thought sends another wave of slick to your pussy. if you weren't standing with your legs pressed together, one might even be able to see it drip down your thighs.
“hi, lan. nice of you to announce yourself.”
“you looked so pretty today, baby.”
ignoring your jab, lando’s mouth drags along the nape of your neck, raising goosebumps. his hand tilts your chin up to meet his intense gaze. as you lean back into him, his eyes drop down to your chest.
“fuck…”
he finally kisses you, his stubble— grown out in the off-season— scratching your chin as your mouths move together. his tongue tastes of energy drink, sugary and light.
“couldn’t stop picturing you… just like this, actually.”
his lips don’t leave yours for longer than necessary as he twirls you around to face him. finally able to touch him back, you run your hands up his front, feeling all the muscle under his shirt. your tits get squashed up against him as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
“made me so hard in front of zak and the whole team…” he murmurs, “knew what you were doing, didn’t you? naughty.”
he pulls away and bades you sit on the bed, a hand on your shoulder pushing you down onto the plush duvet. you feel yourself clenching, so eager for anything he would give you. then he kneels down at the foot of the bed and pulls you toward him, hooking your legs over his shoulders in one movement.
you let out a little yelp as your back hits the bed from the force, and steady yourself by holding onto lando’s hands, pressing fingerprints into your thighs. you’re so insanely turned on at his casual dominance, the way he’s staring you down right now.
“so wet, aren’t we, angel?”
one of his hands has shifted down your hip and starts playing with your cunt, no underwear to stop him; one finger coating itself in your shiny arousal as you squirm for him.
his tongue is between his teeth, eyebrows furrowed as he focusses in on working at you. he finally fits his whole index in, curling it at just the right point to hit your g-spot. then, he pushes a second finger in alongside, making you gasp at the stretch.
“fuck- lando!”
“i know, angel. so good, isn’t it? gonna make you feel good, baby. you gonna let me?”
you nod frantically to all of it, your eyes squeezed shut as he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you.
“please, lan!”
you don’t even know what you’re pleading for; you just want more.
those pictures must have really put him in a good mood, because he doesn’t even tease like normal when he finally puts his mouth on you. his tongue draws circles on your clit as his hands keep themselves busy; one on your hip, keeping himself stable, the other three fingers deep in your pussy.
your fingers curl in his hair, pushing him down, his tongue deeper. he’s making sounds too; small whines as he laps and slurps at your cunt like it’s his last meal, a long groan as you pull on his hair in the way he likes. his nose bumps at your clit and you shudder at the stimulation.
your brain starts to feel fuzzy at the edges as you feel yourself draw closer and closer to the edge. lando knows your body by now, maybe even as well than you do, and recognises the signs of just how close you are. his fingers start fucking you deeper, more purposeful; determined to bring you to your climax.
“come for me, won’t you, angel? come on.”
you let instinct take over as your orgasm washes over your body, grinding down on lando’s face. he doesn’t stop as you ride out your high, tongue darting out to lap up all your come. you think you might have lost the feeling in your toes. he keeps at it, eager as ever, until you push him off, unable to take anymore overstimulation.
you blink away the invading tiredness as you catch your breath, and raise your head to check on him.
lando looks a mess.
his curls are dishevelled from your fingers running through them, and his cheeks are flushed. he wipes his mouth crudely with the back of his hand, a glistening streak on his chin remaining untouched.
he stands up, dusting his knees off and stretching, then crawls up the bed to lie with you. he’s still hard; you can see the outline of it against his thigh, but he doesn’t seem concerned about himself, rather content that you’ve been taken care of thoroughly. you let your eyes flutter shut as his breaths fill the silence.
“i don’t think we should go to bali, angel.”
you frown and turn your head to the side to question him.
“what? why not?”
“i think i might die if you’re in these bikinis for a whole week. it’s for my health, baby, you understand, right?”
your frown dissipates and you knock him on the forehead.
“ow!”
“you’re stupid.”
“yeah, i’ll be stupid if you keep this up,” he says, gesturing from your hand to his head where you just hit him, “gonna concuss me, angel.”
you roll your eyes at him again.
“hey.”
you hum in reply, encouraging him to go on. he gestures down to his cock, straining to be free from his pants.
“you wanna show me what you bought so we can go round two?”
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you’ve been making trips up and down the elevator all afternoon.
your friends had helped you move all the big stuff first; your bed, your couch, the big boxes labelled ‘kitchen’ and ‘books’, and your suitcases.
they’ve all gone home now, having their own duties to attend to, but they’d left you with promises of coming by first thing tomorrow to help you unpack and organise everything.
the rest of your boxes are in the lobby, next to the nice doorman, who seemed happy enough to let you dump all your stuff next to his well-maintained desk.
you’ve already met an older lady, mrs klein, from the second floor, who had almost tripped on a duffel bag that had inched away from your other belongings. she’d pinched your cheeks when you’d gone to help her and offered cookies from her kitchen for the new neighbour, any time.
you hope everyone in this building is as nice as she was.
two boxes destined for the bedroom are the next to be brought up, cardbord corners digging into you that will surely leave marks into your arms. you shuffle towards the elevator, relying on your peripherals to guide you safely there.
the boxes get set on the floor with a thud and you push in the button with the ‘3’ on it.
suddenly, a hand appears in between the two closing doors. they ding and open back up.
“hey. sorry.”
the hand is connected to an arm, which is in turn, connected to a scruffy-looking guy.
he doesn’t look at you twice as he parks himself on the opposite side of the cab, leaning against the handrails. you smile, wanting to make a good first impression on another one of your new neighbours, despite his standoffish aura.
“what floor?”
he jumps, like he wasn’t expecting you to keep talking to him, then glances over at the elevator console and waves his hand.
“same as you.”
he’s on floor three as well. that means you have to be really nice to him.
you risk a glance, taking in the stubble on his jaw, long-ish hair falling over his eyes. he’s definitely older than you, maybe about five to eight years? he’s got an accent, too, but the five words he’s said to you haven’t exactly been enough to discern exactly where from. his eyes are pointed at the ground, very pointedly avoiding eye contact.
he seems pretty good-looking, and at any rate, definitely your type.
the doors shut, and you stumble a bit as the elevator starts upwards. you manage to keep upright, digging your heels in to avoid falling onto mr eye candy.
the bell dings again as you arrive at your floor. he holds the doors open for you as you manoeuvre yourself out of the elevator, taking care not to swipe him with a box.
“thank you!”
you blindly make your way down to unit 31, and you shift your stuff to your hip as you find your keys. the door opens after you work the key into the lock, and you can finally put the boxes down.
you stick your foot in the door to keep it open as you turn back, not wanting to lock yourself out on your first day in the building, and go to introduce yourself to hot neighbour guy, but he’s gone.
the only indication you have that there was anyone in the hallway at all is the soft click of a door shutting, somewhere to your left.
you take a peek to see which unit he’s in. just in case.
33.
what luck—! it seems like hot neighbour guy is actually hot right next door neighbour guy.
two; at the bar
a week into life at your new flat and, wanting to celebrate the big move, your friends have given you a time and address and no opportunity to complain about clubbing at your big age.
you’re three drinks in when you see a familiar face at the bar, nursing what looks to be a gin and tonic. alcohol fuelling you forward, you sit down in the seat next to him and order one more from the bartender.
his eyes flick up, but he has to double-take when he recognises you.
“howdy, neighbour!”
you have to yell to be heard over the music. he nods at you, then turns away, probably expecting that to be the full extent of your interaction.
“what are you doing here?”
he turns back to you, eyebrows raising slightly as you keep going. you don’t have to be a genius to figure out being friendly does not come naturally to this guy.
“mm, just drinking. people watching.”
you hum, twirling your hair on your finger absent-mindedly.
the bartender reappears and sets your drink down in front of you. before you can pull your card out to pay, your neighbour sets down a few bills.
“you didn’t have to do that,” you frown at him, an almost perfect stranger to you still.
“relax, moppie. my pleasure.”
you don’t know what he just called you, but just going off his tone of voice, you’re inclined to believe it was a good thing.
you take a sip of your drink, glancing up at him through your lashes. he’s checking you out, eyes trailing down your body. you feel yourself showing off for him, crossing one leg over the other, adjusting the end of your dress to sit a little bit higher than before. he clocks the movement; his gaze drops down to the inch of thigh that’s just been exposed to him and he nods approvingly, a small smile on his face.
you’re really enjoying the attention he’s giving you, and already planning out how you’ll tell your friends that you’re going home with him. and how convenient is it that he’s literally in the same building?
then, under the strobe lights, you spot a white band on his fourth finger.
shit.
shit!
your heart drops. you were having such a good time, too…
“oh my god; i’m sorry.”
his brows furrow as your demeanour changes.
“i didn’t see your ring, i swear. i’m so sorry— i’m gonna leave now.”
your words come out stuttered as you become more and more flustered that you’ve been hitting on a married man this whole time. you’re not too keen on aiding this guy— no matter how attractive he may be— cheat on his wife. your drink spills a little onto the counter as you pick it up hastily and you push yourself off the barstool to get the fuck out of dodge.
a hand finds itself on your wrist.
“wait,” his voice is so soft, yet somehow it’s the loudest thing in the room, “it’s not a ring.”
he shows you his hand, and you see that it really isn’t; just a tan in the shape of a ring— an outline left by years of wear. there’s a slight indent on his skin where it used to sit, and the coloured lights had made the pale band seem even paler, hence your mistaking it for a ring still sitting on his finger.
“i just got divorced,” he explains, looking down at the empty space on his finger.
you don’t know him well enough to read his face; you can’t tell if he’s upset or something else.
“oh,” you sit back down, slowly; you’re kind of dumbfounded, not really sure what to say next, “i’m sorry?”
this is the longest conversation you’ve had with this guy, and he’s just dropped a total mood-killer on you.
he waves you off, reaching for his drink.
“it’s alright, i think it was a long time coming.”
“well, i’m right next door if you want a friend,” you freeze as your brain catches up and processes what you just said, “not that you don’t have friends! i’m sure you have lots of friends; i was just offering to be another one.”
you hear a low chuckle from him, seemingly very amused with your drunken blundering.
eventually, you realise explaining is futile and settle for yelling your name at him, finally able to introduce yourself.
“i’m max,” he takes your hand in his, giving it a firm shake, “verstappen.”
how does he never have to shout? every word that leaves max’s lips is quiet and gentle, and you really shouldn’t be able to hear him at this volume, but there’s a lull in the music every time he talks and your ears feel tuned to his frequency.
“would you wanna hang out with me and my friends, max? they’re all really nice, i promise!”
you gesture back towards where your friends are lingering. some of them wave when they see you looking. max’s eyes follow yours, sussing your friends out.
“uh, i’m good. thanks though.”
you shrug; you can’t win them all. at least you finally know his name.
“alright. see you around, max.”
he smiles at you.
he’s got a nice smile, you think as you make your way back through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to your friends.
“who was that? i was getting wet just watching you guys talk.”
you glance back at him, and bite back a stupid grin when he tilts his glass in your direction.
“he’s just my neighbour.”
“shit, the hot one?!”
three; at the mechanic
your car is getting serviced. it has been for the last two hours.
the mechanic working on it had only just told you he was done. then he’d disappeared into the office to fetch your account, and that was ten minutes ago.
it feels like the weather is out to get you. of course, after a week straight of gloomy clouds and insane winds, the sun would be beating happily down at you now. your hand hovers over your eyes, shielding yourself from the rays as best you can.
a sleek black aston martin pulls up outside the garage, engine rumbling to alert everyone of its arrival.
hm, you recognise that car. you always see it outside your building, though you’ve never seen anyone get in and drive it.
now the door opens and, much to your surprise, max gets out, taking his sunglasses off as he stands up straight. god, he looks delicious.
“max?”
he gives you a smile and a small wave as he makes his way over to a mechanic he seems to know well, greeting him with a light fist bump before pointing back to his car and telling him something you can’t quite make out.
meanwhile, the mechanic helping you earlier comes back and finally hands you an invoice.
“so this is what we’ve done for you today,” he runs his finger down the list of services, “and this,” his finger moves to the big number circled in red at the bottom, “is your total.”
that doesn’t look right.
“um, i got a quote over the phone for less. i just- was there a mistake?”
“yeah, so the quote was for just these ones here,” his grease-stained finger comes back to the paper and taps at the first three items listed, “but then we had to do all these as well. so that’s the extra.”
you frown. you hadn’t thought there would be any extra charges when you were budgeting. you’ll have to transfer some money out of your savings.
max has been shooting looks at your interaction the whole time, keeping an eye on you. now, seeing your unease, he comes over, ready to settle whatever may be happening. his mechanic friend lingers in place awkwardly, max having left the conversation mid-sentence.
“max, i-” you try to stop him but he moves you to the side, not rudely, and plucks the invoice from your hands.
his jaw ticks.
you’re not a psychic, but you sense bad things in this mechanic’s near future.
“are you joking me? you’re charging for washer fluid and engine oil? we’re paying for a full service; you know that should all be included.”
you can only stare as max lays into him, some odd feeling welling up in you at the way he says ‘we,’ like he’s been involved from the beginning; the way he so easily slotted himself into the conversation just for you.
you take a step back, letting max do whatever it is that he’s doing, trusting him entirely to get the best outcome for you.
he’s jabbing his finger into the mechanic’s chest, his tone austere and kind of scary. you feel the slightest bit bad for basically siccing max on him, but your inner voice reasons that it’s his fault for maybe possibly trying to scam you.
you’re still not entirely sure what max is defending you against. in the past, you’ve built up friendly relationships with the mechanics at your usual repair shop, which is on the other side of town, through friends and friends of friends, and had entrusted them with sorting you out to be road legal, without ever really asking for specifics. the long drive from your new flat wasn’t worth a routine servicing though, was your thought process this morning. oh, how wrong you were.
max’s friend finally comes over, only now realising how close max is to blowing his top.
“max! max, come on! hey, i’ll take a look at it. just don’t…” he sighs as he takes the account, “don’t kill my employees.”
“whatever,” max pulls out his sunglasses and puts them back on, crossing his arms to show his displeasure. your eyes are drawn to his biceps as they’re pushed against his chest. you wonder if he could lift you with one arm.
max’s friend, who is also apparently the boss here, pushes the mechanic back towards the garage, muttering a, “we’ll talk about this later,” as he goes.
his eyes finally drop down to the paper he’s holding; you notice his expression becoming more and more dour as he reads. that’s probably not a good sign.
“uh, i’ll be right back.”
he practically sprints to the office, leaving you and max to enjoy each other’s company, and slowly cook in the sun while you’re at it.
you turn to max, intending to make conversation, but instead find him peering at you over his sunglasses, unabashedly checking you out.
“you look good, moppie.”
your eyes narrow at him as he pushes his glasses back up.
“you’re only saying that ‘cause i’m all sweaty.”
he grins.
“maybe.”
you have to squint as you stare up at him; the bright flaming star in the sky is threatening to melt your retinas. max notices, because of course he does, and moves himself slightly to the left, shadow looming as he blocks the sun for you.
your heart sighs happily when she notices. just when this guy couldn’t get any more attractive…
“here; let me give you my number. just in case, you know?”
you nod and open the contacts app for him. the tan line on his ring finger taunts you silently as he takes your phone. it’s maybe a little more faded than the last time you saw him. he taps his information in and your fingers brush against his as he passes your phone back.
you type out a text and his pocket dings a second later.
YOU: hi max :)
he glances up at you.
MAX V is typing...
MAX V: Hello moppie
you can’t help but smile at the tiny pixels on a screen spelling out his nickname for you.
max’s friend comes back. his collar is darkened with sweat, and you don’t think it’s solely because of the heat.
“i’m so sorry; he’s new. not that that excuses his behaviour,” he passes you another invoice, this one with a considerably smaller total at the bottom, “please don’t give us a bad review.”
“add it to my account.”
your head snaps up to max, who has the nerve to start whistling as his eyes look everywhere but at you.
“don’t you dare. i can pay for myself!”
you point your finger at max’s friend, “i’m paying. my account.”
he looks quite scared, not sure whether he wants to risk being yelled at by max as well, or lose a potential new customer. you’re glowering, trying to intimidate him into bringing the card reader to you. max is stood behind you, so you can’t see what he’s doing, but based on the way his friend’s eyes flit between the two of you, you can pretty confidently assume he’s also staring him down to get his way.
unfortunately for him, he isn’t going to win this battle.
…
max ends up paying for your car.
you had tried one last act of demurral by slipping your card under his on the reader, but he cancelled the transaction before it went through like it was the simplest thing on earth. then he’d used his free arm to keep you away from the eftpos machine as he made a show and dance of holding his card to the reader, a shit-eating grin on his face.
bastard.
four; when his tap stops working
you’re elbow-deep in soapy dishwater when your phone rings.
“…fuck.”
you scramble to dry your hands on a towel before picking up, glancing at the caller id as you do so.
“max?”
“hey. sorry, i know it’s late; my tap keeps dripping and it’s driving me crazy, and i was hoping you would know how to fix it. i’d rather not pay a big callout fee if it can be done with a wrench or something.”
“am i just free labour to you, max?”
he sputters through the phone, taken aback by your teasing.
“i’m kidding. let me grab my stuff, i’ll be there in a sec.”
the toolkit is where it usually is; the bottom shelf in the leftmost kitchen cabinet. you’ve not had to use it since moving into your new place. you grab your keys as well, and walk the ten paces to next door.
you knock on number 33 and max opens it almost immediately. he’s dressed more casually than you’ve ever seen him; a plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest and black shorts stop just above his knees. he looks good; domestic.
“you called?”
“come in.”
he points you towards his kitchen, not that you really need him to— your apartment layouts are exactly the same.
just like he said, his tap is dripping steadily. you reach for the handle; maybe he just didn’t turn it off completely.
the drip persists.
“well, i mean…” you think out loud, trying to determine how best to fix this.
“i’m hopeless at this kind of stuff.”
you glance at max, who just shrugs after willingly offering you information for the first time ever. instinctively, your eyes flit down to his ring finger. the tan sits there still, mockingly.
after a minute or so, you figure it’s probably a washer or the o-ring that’s been worn down. worst case, it’s not and he can always just call a professional, like he should've done in the first place.
you open up the cabinet doors and reach under the sink to fumble around for the isolation tap. max peers down at you, hands fidgeting, evidently very averse to standing around and letting you do all the work.
“can i help?”
you rummage around the toolkit for a screwdriver and pass it to him.
“can you unscrew the handle?”
you point at the hot/cold handle on the sink, and he shoots you a thumbs up, getting to work straight away.
you push yourself away from the cabinet to stand up, watching over him as he finishes up. when the handle is off, you use your wrench to remove the nut from the spindle. it comes out relatively easily, and you place it delicately on the countertop, as not to lose it later.
the cabinet door catches your hip bumps as you reach back down to the toolbox.
“shit-!“ the wrench slips from your hand before you can react.
max catches it easily, his reflexes way faster than yours. you tap at the counter for him to put it down as you start working on the next bit.
“i did call the superintendent.”
you hum at him while you stay focussed on unscrewing the spindle from the tap. your hair falls into your face as you work; you blow it away with a small puff of air, wanting to avoid getting grime from the tap onto your face. max blinks.
“they said i would have to wait until thursday because their usual guy is on vacation. that’s why i called you.”
he watches you work, leaning forward every so often to push your hair back for you. your eyes always dart up to him when he does, when his rough fingers brush past your temples and behind your ears. he doesn’t ever meet your gaze.
you work the washer off of the spindle and— aha! you were right; the washer does need replacing.
what are the chances that you have something in your toolbox to replace this cracked one with?
“looks like today’s your lucky day, max.”
you fish out a washer that is, very conveniently, the exact same size as the one that needs to be changed out.
“you must be my four leaf clover,” he replies without missing a beat.
you roll your eyes at his unsubtle flirting, and double down on fitting the new washer and reinstalling everything you’ve just taken out.
five minutes later, the tap looks as good as when you’d first come over, minus the dripping, though that’s because the isolation valve is still off and not necessarily because you’ve fixed the problem.
“can i get a rag? i don’t want this to explode everywhere if i’ve done it wrong.”
“oh, there’s a chance you’ve done this wrong?”
max’s eyebrow raises, but he obliges your request anyway, passing you a dishcloth to wrap around the base of the tap.
“this is what you get when you don’t pay for labour.”
you turn the tap under the sink on and twist the handle to the right, a silent prayer echoing in your head that you’ve remembered everything correctly. to your delight, the water runs with no issues, and, even better, when you turn it off, there’s no dripping afterwards.
you hold your hand out and max high-fives you, but he doesn’t let go after. instead, his fingers curl around yours, gently, and he looks back toward the rest of the flat.
“would you like to stay for a drink? i need to thank you, i think.”
“oh, i couldn’t. i don’t want to intrude...”
his hand squeezes yours and he shakes his head.
one thing leads to the next, and you find yourself on max’s couch, a glass of wine in your hand. max brings you a blanket to drape on yourself, and sits next to you, thigh warm against yours.
the blanket smells like him, and it’s so familiar.
you laugh and clink your glass with his when he proposes a toast, and rest your head on the back of the couch while he talks, stars in your eyes.
his voice gets lower and lower as the evening stretches into night. it’s like the first time you talked properly, at the club. you find yourself still weirdly attuned to everything he says, even though there’s nothing else but the gentle humming of traffic down on the street to hear. he tells you about little parts of his day, or something new that he thinks you’d be interested in. you listen to all of it, enamoured by every word he says.
max’s arm comes up to rest on your shoulder and the world falls away. he’s invading your space, but you welcome it, almost greedily. you really hope this is going where you think it's going.
he’s slow.
he leans in, inch by inch, closer and closer, until his lips are just brushing yours. his eyes are dark and desperate, his breaths shallow. you let him take his time, hovering above you. you can tell he’s so close to giving in completely.
“max…”
his eyes close as he kisses you, and you melt for him.
fucking finally.
the feel of his mouth on yours sends sparks that have been waiting months, shooting up your spine. his lips are so soft, and he tastes like wine.
your hand runs up his front and grasps at his shirt, wanting him nearer still. he indulges you, moving his body to sit just about on top of you, never breaking the kiss. his fingers slip under the blanket, dancing down to your thighs, where they squeeze and knead in a way that has you writhing for more.
then, he pulls away.
or rather, he pushes you.
in the few months you’ve been friends, you’ve never seen max look the way he does now, as he eyes you, looking scarily similar to a wild animal trying to get out of a trap, extreme worry and fear radiating off of him.
“i’m sorry. i didn’t think…” he licks his lips nervously, “i was just flirting. that was all- i wasn’t trying to- i didn’t mean to…”
your face falls; you don’t bother hiding it.
he thinks this was a mistake.
he doesn’t want you. why would he?
you want to yell; you want to cry. you want to squeeze your eyes shut and wake up, because this didn’t just happen and it was all just a horrible dream.
none of that comes to pass.
instead, you swallow your sadness and mutter a quiet, “i’ll go.”
then you stand up, the blanket dropping to the floor with a soft thump. your wine is set down on the coffee table next to the bottle, barely emptied. you can’t bear to look at him.
“goodnight, max.”
you shut the door behind you and hurry back to your place.
five; when he knocks on your door
it’s been a month since you last saw max.
he knows your routine, and is taking special care to avoid you; you’re sure of it. you’re doing the same, even if you’d rather not admit it to yourself.
you’re sat in mrs klein’s flowery kitchen, where you’ve found yourself every other friday afternoon since you moved in, taking small bites of a chocolate chip cookie, fresh from the oven. she had told you she had been keeping an eye on you since you moved in, and more so when you started hanging around max.
“i was worried, honey. i’ve never seen him smile, honestly. he’s like a dark cloud. i didn’t want you to get sucked into his unhappiness and come out of it worse than you would’ve been, but look where you are now.”
she’s trying to help you feel better.
“been here five years; he’s like that to everyone, honey. don’t let it get to you. there’s plenty of other people in the building who are just lovely.”
her words don’t make you feel better though. they just turn your stomach sour and your heart even more dejected, as you stare out the window.
she pats you on the hand comfortingly before moving onto what you’ve learnt is her favourite conversation topic— gossip. not wanting to project your despondent mood onto her, you put a pause on your misery to listen pay full attention, and, an hour of hearing about last week’s fourth floor drama later, you are feeling airier, your mind having not drifted back to max even once as you listened along.
she walks you to the door, shuffling along the runner in fuzzy pink slippers. you give her a hug before you step out.
“come back whenever you’d like, honey. ta-ta now!”
she waves at you one more time before shutting the door, keeping the heavy smell of perfume from wafting any further down the hall.
you avoid the elevator, as you have done for the past four weeks, and take the stairs to your floor, pausing before opening the fire escape door, listening out for any footsteps.
nothing.
you don't know if what you're feeling is relief or disappointment.
since you got back from mrs klein’s half an hour ago, you’ve been sitting cross-legged on your bed, staring at the wall. so many thoughts are flying around in that head of yours, and you’re struggling to sort through them all.
you won’t get the chance to even try though, because there’s a knock at the door.
you force yourself to answer it, expecting the concierge with an oversized parcel, or maybe your friends, popping in for a surprise visit.
“…max.”
not your friends then.
“hi.”
he opens his mouth to say more, then closes it, like his thought got processed fully halfway to speaking.
“um, you forgot this.”
in his hand is your toolbox, left at his place from the last time you’d talked.
“oh. thanks.”
you take it from him, and, seeing as he has nothing else to say, go to close the door. his arm flies up to stop it halfway, oddly reminiscent of your first meeting, but he stays silent, doesn’t even look at you.
“what do you want, max?” it’s obvious he’s not just here to return your stuff, but you have to prompt him to start talking.
he takes a deep breath in, fidgeting with his hands as he chews over how best to verbalise his thoughts.
“i’m really sorry,” he starts, “i… thought i knew what i was and wasn’t allowed to do; i mean, i’m divorced. i just got divorced. i’m older than you,” he runs his hand through his hair, “yeah, i can look at pretty girls and i can think they’re pretty, and maybe i can be friends with them, but… i can’t just jump into another relationship. i’m not…”
his hand comes up to gesture something, but gives up halfway and flops back down to his side. max sighs, still not looking at you.
“there’s a reason i’m divorced. there’s a reason why my last relationship didn’t work out. i’m sad and i’m a loner, and no one likes me.”
your eyes fall to the floor, ready to accept whatever excuse he wants to throw at you for ending your not-quite-but-almost-relationship. there’s no point in fighting for something he’s even not interested in.
“but i’d like to make things up to you, if you’ll let me.”
that gets your attention. you look back up at him, waiting for him to go on. he’s uncharacteristically shy, fidgeting with his ring finger, rubbing at that stupid tan line.
“i really enjoy being with you. you make me happy. my friends say i’ve been different. i’m the happiest i’ve been since the divorce, and it’s all because of you, moppie.”
you still don’t know what it is that he’s been calling you, but the familiarity of it makes you smile the tiniest bit.
“come in.”
plus one; the morning after
you wake up in bed, just like every other day. the sunlight warms your face as you blink away the clutches of sleep. it takes a second for you to remember where you are and what happened last night.
max rolls over then, his broad shoulder nudging against yours.
he smiles softly at you when he sees you’re awake, and tucks his arm under the crook of your neck, making a perfect muscly pillow for your head.
“good morning.”
he breaks the comfortable silence before you can, blue eyes shining.
you don’t reply at first, taking the sight of him in. he looks utterly at peace, here with you. there’s not a line nor wrinkle to be found on his face. he’s also got some major bedhead going on, which you inform him of. he scrunches his face at that.
“mm, come here, moppie.”
he pulls you impossibly closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
it’s not enough for you, so you pull his face down to meet yours. this kiss isn’t nearly as slow as the first one.
it’s messy, and unrelenting, and clashing. it’s all the emotions you’ve felt the past month, combined and communicated through a kiss. he groans into your mouth as you bite down on his lip, and you whine when you taste the spit on his tongue.
he doesn’t push you off this time.
no— when he does pull away, it’s reluctantly. his hands don’t leave your body; he’s not keen on letting go again, not when he’s just now starting to allow himself to be happy, with you.
he doesn’t want to leave yet, so he doesn’t. he comes back and pecks your lips again and again and again. you laugh between kisses at his persistence, basking in the attention you have sorely missed for an entire month.
the two of you had sat down and talked for hours after you’d invited him in last night. you’d talked about your feelings, and his insecurities, and everything in between.
he’d told you that, while he didn’t want to dive headfirst into another super intense, ride or die relationship so soon after his divorce, he did want you. in his life, by his side. for the long term, if you'd want that too. you had assured him that that’s okay, so long as he makes sure you always feel wanted while he takes the time he needs.
“i want to help you, max, i really want to be there for you. but only if you promise not to push me away again. literally.”
his face had crumpled as you said that, crestfallen when reminded of the way he’d treated you. he’d taken your hand in his then, and pressed a long kiss to it; a silent vow to do just that.
even lying in bed next to him, you haven’t forgiven him entirely. you can’t trust what he says until he proves it, but you have a pretty good feeling that he will.
max throws the sheets off and swings his legs down to sit himself up. you spot bite marks on his chest from last night, leading down to under his pants, which are hanging dangerously low on his hips. you have half a mind to reach out a finger and pull them down, to force him back to bed with you.
he stands before you’re able to set your mind to it though, and his arms fly above his head as he stretches out his upper body. you watch appreciatively as his muscles flex.
“so how do you like your coffee in the morning, moppie?”
his tan still stares at you from his ring finger, but it doesn’t cause bother you anymore. you know that, as is its nature, it’ll fade eventually.
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
can i perhaps have homecoming + bucky barnes? hmm perhaps where he confesses to sam that he likes reader n she overhears?
thinking about… overhearing that bucky barnes likes you
a/n: spent most of my time writing this watching bucky clips. for research... (take a shot everytime i use italics in this tbh) luv u pookie bear @clarknsun ty for requesting
come check out mclarengf’s comeback event!!
“you’re just scared everyone’s gonna find out how you feel.”
you hear sam before you see him, a loud, boisterous voice echoing from around the corner. what he says catches your attention, though, and you decide to keep quiet, shutting the door behind you as you poke your head out of the doorway, trying to see who he’s talking to.
“don’t deny it, man! that just makes you look bad.”
the other person mutters something in reply, and you hear the ringing of metal being hit as sam laughs. did he actually just slap the table because of how funny he found whatever was said? honestly.
“it’s like that part in a romcom,” sam starts on again and you turn your head to hear better, “when the two main characters are living their lives, super unaware, until blam! meet-cute.”
you manage to make out the other person’s voice, though it’s quieter than sam’s. they must be standing further from the door then.
“there’s not gonna be a meet-cute. we already know each other. we’ve met.”
“it’s totally gonna be a meet-cute.”
you have no trouble picturing the look on sam’s face as he presses his point— eyebrows bobbing up and down and a smirk on his face.
“and i’m gonna be your wingman.”
the other person groans.
“you just gotta give ‘em those fine cheekbones and your broody stare! i don’t think no one could resist that blue steel, bro. whaddya think, it’s a great plan, huh?”
“i think you’re stupid, sam. it’s not happening.”
“come on, man!”
the conversation seemingly going in circles, you move to exit the alcove you’re hiding in. then you hear your name, and suddenly, your attention is drawn back.
it’s muttered in a string of other words you’re not instinctively responsive to, so you don’t catch in what context you’re being mentioned, but you stick around to find out.
“you’re so wrong!” sam obviously has strong feelings about what he’s heard, “and…you’ll never know unless you shoot your shot.”
the other person’s voice drops even lower. it’s probably to negate sam’s yelling and keep more people from hearing. unfortunately, it means you have no chance of making out what they’re saying now.
“blah, blah, blah, pretty, smart, funny— whatever! why are you telling me all this? just go ask! i never realised you were a fuckin’ pussy…”
luckily, sam is doing a great job at helping you fill in the blanks.
“look, there’s that japanese place by your apartment right? sushi’s nice! sushi’s sexy-!”
he grunts, and you have a feeling he’s been punched, which you think is well deserved based off how much he’s been ragging on his poor interlocutor.
“bro, can i be honest? and i want you to know i’m saying this as a friend— it’s kinda pathetic that you keep denying yourself the chance to be properly happy just ‘cause you’ve got the whole ‘ooh, i’m mysterious and unknowable and i’ve got shit tons of trauma’ thing going on.”
hearing this, you now feel like you’ve invaded your secret admirer’s privacy enough and finally go to leave.
as your full attention has been wholly directed towards eavesdropping, though, you fail to remember the heavy glass door behind you and, in turning to walk away very sneakily, smack straight into it, a reverberant bang alerting anyone nearby of your presence and the fate you’ve befallen.
stunned, you slide down to the ground and rub at your forehead, trying to massage the pain away.
sam rounds the corner first, a stern frown on his face as he takes in the scene, scanning the room for any presence of a threat before his gaze lands on you.
then, he starts laughing again. you curse every crossroads you’ve come across in your life that has brought you to this point in time.
then you hear another pair of footsteps approaching.
a glint of sunlight reflecting off the person’s arm is your first indication of who sam was talking to; or rather, making fun of.
the second is when he says, gentle as ever, “hey, you alright?”
bucky nudges sam out of the way, useless for all his laughing, and offers you a hand. you take it and he pulls you up. you feel light as a feather; he does so, so effortlessly. once you’re up, you pat at the imaginary dust off your clothes, shooting a pointed glare at sam, who has, finally, stopped laughing and is now wheezing for air, looking quite similar to a gasping fish.
bucky asks after you again, “you okay?”
his eyebrows are knitted together, and his focus is entirely on you. you nod, cringeing at the situation you’ve found yourself in.
“thanks, bucky.”
he shrugs at you, as if to say, just doing my duty; no big deal.
it’s only now that you realise your hand is still in his; a metal thumb is tracing small circles over your knuckles. you don’t think he’s aware of his doing so.
has he always been this tall? you can feel your neck straining just to look him in the eye.
a quick glance to your right sees sam recovered and breathing normally, his back against the wall, though now watching the two of you interact intently.
“so, uh, what were you doing before you…” bucky's hand pulls away from yours, much to your disappointment, to gesture towards the door, so you know what he’s implying without him needing to further emphasise your mishap.
he’s clearly trying to gauge if you’d heard their earlier conversation.
“oh, i…”
you don’t want to let on what you know, just in case you’ve gotten the wrong idea.
“i wasn’t paying attention to where i was walking; i was going to the kitchen,” you point behind him, in the direction of the room they had just left.
bucky’s head tilts and his eyes narrow— only slightly—, trying to tell if you’re lying.
then, his face relaxes, and you assume he’s satisfied with the conclusion he’s come to. you just blink coquettishly, waiting for him to make the next move.
“are you sure you’re okay, sweetheart? you’re getting a bit of a mark up there.”
like it’s completely natural, he pushes aside your hair, holding it back with his thumb as he checks out your bruise in better lighting. you feel light calluses scrape against your temple, certainly formed from his gunmanship.
you know this isn’t him trying to better his chances, if he is interested in you; this is just how bucky’s always been with you— so caring and gentlemanly. you’ve never thought twice about it before, chalking it up to the culture of the time he was brought up in.
“i’m sure it’ll be fine, gorgeous. it doesn’t hurt; stop worrying.”
you, on the other hand, won’t protest if your chances of being asked out by bucky happen to improve a bit. although you use nicknames for everyone, and he’s been on the receiving end of ‘gorgeous’ a few times, this time feels different; it’s indelicate. the way you say it holds intent.
you are flirting.
if nothing else, it’ll at least help you figure out whether you are the point of interest the boys were discussing earlier.
seeing as he’s made himself comfortable in your personal space, you return the favour to cup bucky’s hand in yours. you lead it down, his fingers trailing slowly along your jawline by your guidance. you let him linger for a moment before pulling your head away, all the while smiling up at him like you want to eat him alive.
judging by sam’s reaction, you think you can now pretty confidently assume that the one bucky likes is you. his focus darts between you and bucky, his mouth primed to catch flies. bucky’s eyes have darkened, though his expression is one of mild shock, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arm, holding it stiffly in place. you expect that if you were to look down— which you don’t—, you would find his pants appearing quite tight, all of a sudden.
“sam, shut up.”
bucky finally breaks the silence— addressing your stunned audience, but not your gaze. his frown is back, trying to figure out your ulterior motive.
“i didn't even say anything!”
despite his complaint, sam does as he’s told and doesn’t speak any further, crossing his arms and letting out a huff.
“you heard us.”
it’s half accusation, half statement. his voice is low and grumbly and makes your lips part slightly, imagining him using the same tone of voice against your neck. you force yourself to dismiss the thought, and you shrug, feigning nonchalance.
“i’m not sure what you’re talking about, bucky.”
his name comes out soft and breathy from your lips, but he doesn’t react— just keeps staring intensely at you.
you have half a mind to tell him to invest in some brown contacts; his eyes are kind of freaky when you look at them for too long.
the floor squeaks as he shifts his weight onto his other hip. he shows no indication of wanting to move the conversation forward. you can’t say you’re not disappointed that he’s not asked you out yet, but you’re not one to sit around and cosset him until he does so. plus, you’re getting uncomfortable from the impromptu staring contest, so decide to make it known.
you blink.
“mm, i’m gonna go now… but thanks for checking up on me, guys.”
your hand brushes bucky’s as you slip past his bulky frame. warmth radiates off him. a thought flashes across your mind of what your fingers interlinked would feel like. it’s a shame you won’t get to find out, considering the fruitless interaction you’ve just had.
despite your walking away, you still catch when sam pushes off the wall and hurries to his friend’s side, the two of them exchanging fervid mutters, and it’s impossible not to hear bucky when he follows after you; his strides loud, purposeful.
he makes it to the end of the hallway quicker than you thought he would.
“hey-“
metal fingers reach out and wrap around yours, though there really was no need; you’ve already stopped just for hearing his voice, as if on command. your head turns to look back to bucky, who looks like his own body had reacted before his brain could catch up.
“yes?”
“do you, uh…” his hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck, suddenly reserved, “do you like sushi?”
you smile, hoping this is finally going where you think it’s going.
“yeah, i like sushi.”
he swallows, mulling over his next words.
“would you wanna get sushi… with me?”
sam is only a blur in your periphery, but you see that blur move as his arm punches the air. then he stills, seemingly remembering that you need to give bucky an answer before he can celebrate.
“well, you have my address. is tomorrow night good for you?”
a handsome, smile splits across his face and he nods.
“yeah. yeah, that’s great for me, darlin’.”
you trace up the curve of bucky’s chin from his adam’s apple; a quick movement as your finger curls in towards you. his eyes dart down to your lips as you talk.
“i’ll see you then. bye, buck.”
he winks as you turn back around, all confidence recovered, then, walking backwards to better watch as you go, reconvenes with sam.
“dude.”
“what now?”
“so literally everyone else calls you ‘buck’, but i’m still not allowed?”
