#I think she’d be fun as hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astonmartinii · 6 months ago

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other side of the moon: chapter four | formula one imagine

chapter four: matchstick men

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

the cocktail party is fun while it lasts, late guests throw y/n’s decision into question but also show her just who she’s a mentor to.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

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there was a january chill in the monaco air as max and y/n exited the dutchman’s apartment complex and started their short walk to kimi’s place. y/n pulled the shawl around her tighter, the light material of her slip dress doing nothing to keep the heat in.

“i told you you were going to be cold,” max teased, pulling her into a side hug, rubbing his free hand up and down her arm, “are you sure you don’t want me to run back and get your jumper?”

y/n leaned further into the dutchman’s warmth but shook her head, if she was really that cold by the time they made it to kimi’s she’d just had to steal something from them.

“sometimes you have to make sacrifices to look this good maxy,” y/n said, poking her tongue out at him, “and that includes hypothermia!”

“you don’t need to do anything, you’re perfect the way you are. i should’ve known you were still the same diva from karting when you still managed to look perfect in that ghastly shade of orange.”

“a dutchman who doesn’t like orange, now this is a scandal!”

“i like my orange, my shade - not that ugly papaya. i like you in my orange.”

“well if you play your cards right i might just wear some in zandvoort. they might be paying me a lot, but no one can pay me enough to wear that ugly uniform.”

max tightened his grip on y/n as they turned the corner to kimi and ollie’s place. there, in front of their door, stood the pair… in suits.

“did i miss the memo of this being a black tie event?” max yells, making the two boys jump, “now i look like i just rolled out of bed!”

“you always look like you’ve just rolled out of bed, we’re lucky i put all of your red bull merch in the wash so you’d wear something different tonight.”

kimi came to stand by y/n, she looked down at the italian and fixed his collar.

“are the suits too much? we wanted to make a good impression but… are they all going to laugh at us?” his voice was small and the way he craned his head to look at y/n made him look even smaller.

“no! it’s cute, you guys are going the extra mile and that means a lot. plus if they have a problem with you dapper gents, then they’ll have a problem with me!”

kimi giggled as the pair started on their way to charles’, ollie hung back and turned to max, “thank you for convincing her to say yes, he hasn’t stopped bouncing off the walls since.”

max slapped ollie’s back, “he convinced her all himself. that letter had her immediately, i think she has this weird belief that we’re not all over the moon she’s back. she’s been more herself in these past few days since meeting him than she has in three years. trust me mate, she was a shell of herself. hell, i would’ve given him the second red bull seat years ago if i knew he would bring the real her back to me.”

“i don’t think you have the power to give out the second red bull seat?” ollie pointed out, max shushed him loudly, “that’s what we want you to think.”

up ahead, y/n and kimi had linked arms like they were old friends.

“i don’t want you to be nervous going here tonight. i know my whole retirement to solitude may look like i don’t like anyone in formula one but truth be told they’re all big nerds. i expect you thought max was this big massive asshole before you met him properly but we all know he’s a big softie inside.”

kimi let out a deep breath, “i know i’ve technically met all of them, i mean i’ve been to countless race weekends now, but i’m still scared - i don’t want them to treat me like a kid, i’m a competitor!”

y/n laughed even though truth be told she was guilty of treating kimi like her long lost child, hair ruffles and cheek pinches, the lot. kimi tugged on her arm, “what was it like when you first met the drivers? not like on the grid where everyone is on their best behaviour, but when you truly met them?”

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march 2020 - bahrain testing.

“i’m nervous! what if they hate me!”

y/n whined, throwing the entire contents of her suitcase at george sat on the bed. despite having meticulously planned about a million different outfits for the annual post-test party, she was at a loss for what to wear.

“did you smash into them during preseason? did you piss in their coffee? no! so you’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

“but what if they still hate me?” the look on her face was so genuine that george’s heart broke a little.

“no one can be angry at you for too long,” george laughed, “i’m sure that even if you shunted them into the first wall you they’d be here grovelling first thing.”

pelting another piece of clothing at george’s head, “what like you? i remember monaco last year. how long did it take you?”

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, i’m a broody, stoic stallion, i don’t grovel.”

“your delivery of artisan croissants and a teary monologue about how much i mean to you says different…”

a blush breaks out over george’s face at the memory. he’d hardly covered himself in glory in monaco he’d admit that, but every ounce of common sense left stage right when he saw y/n lean in and lick the line of salt off of mick’s hand.

“i treasure our friendship, i didn’t want to lose you over a dumb drunk argument,” george said, taking her hand in his, “i’m older now and i know when i should and when i shouldn’t step in. you’re old enough and ugly enough to look out for yourself.”

the pair had been friends since they first started karting against each other. y/n was nervous, lining up against a grid of boys for the first time but george had come right over and introduced himself, prim and proper handshakes and all.

y/n finally found the dress she had been looking for in the worryingly big pile of clothes, jumping up with a pleased grin. she ran to the bathroom and pulled it on, a short black sequin dress with boots and a black leather jacket on top. y/n thought she looked mysterious enough without looking like she was attending a funeral.

“what do you think georgie? does it scream ‘don’t take me out on track or i’ll kill you’ but also a healthy amount of ‘i’m a scared little girl don’t be mean to me or i’ll cry’?”

george was speechless, his mouth open but no words finding their way out. y/n did a little spin but he was still sputtering and running his hand through his hair like a mad man. he cleared his throat and stood up abruptly, “you look amazing y/n, i mean seriously amazing but i just remembered that i think i left the iron on in my room and i don’t want to burn the entire hotel down!”

he rushed towards the door, flinging it open, “williams definitely can’t afford that, i’ll see you later!”

he took off running down the hotel corridor, very nearly barrelling into alex who was on his way to y/n’s room.

“where’s he off to?” alex asked, coming into the room and making his way straight to the mini bar.

“he said he left the iron on in his room? i don’t know. he just started freaking out for like no reason. i just asked him whether this outfit is cute enough for tonight and he just sat there like i told him his whole family is dead and bolted.”

“weird.”

“so weird, right?” y/n made her way back to the bathroom to start her makeup, “i don’t know what came over him, is my outfit really that offensive? alex, you’ll tell me if it’s too much, right?”

“i think it might have been too much for george, but he’s being a weird puritan maniac recently, so?”

y/n poked her head past the door, “you’re so right. he’s posted about a hundred topless photos since making it to formula one but got so angry at me for licking mick’s hand!”

y/n was so close to the point it was right in front of her, but much to alex’s disappointment it looked as if she was just as useless as the rest of them. he tried to hide his annoyance on his face, but y/n still caught onto it.

“did you think that was bad too?! have you people never done tequila shots? so do you think this is too slutty for a driver party?”

alex shot up, nearly spilling his drink all over y/n’s bed, “no! george was being a weirdo about the tequila salt thing, had a proper bee in his bonnet that night. you look great, don’t change. i think he’s going through boy things…”

alex did not sound convinced by his own words, but he would work with it. y/n was confused until alex picked up a pillow and mimed putting it in a very specific spot and it finally clicked.

“he got a boner?!”

alex barked out a laugh, “oh tell the whole floor why don’t you? be quiet!”

y/n could not keep her laughs in, folding over with tears streaming down her face. this would definitely explain the emergency exit.

“you cannot tell him i told you, swear it!” alex hissed, grabbing y/n’s hand, “please, he’ll kill me and you know him he’s weirdly sadistic he’d go all dexter on me!”

the two linked pinky fingers, “i promise to never tell george that you told me he got a boner from me in a leather jacket”

“didn’t have to go into that much detail, but yeah i promise too.”

y/n touched her makeup as alex finished off his drink, “but you’re sure this is okay? everyone knows that the real time you meet the grid is when they’re all drunk.”

“you look great, stop worrying. i think george would agree, little george as well-” y/n pelted a pillow at him.

“i just fixed my makeup, don’t make me cry laugh again!”

y/n slipped her shoes on and the pair made their way down to the lobby and across the street to the bar. it was very laidback, completely empty bar the other drivers and some of their significant others.

“about time you guys turned up!” daniel called out from the table most of the drivers were huddled around.

“sorry all, um, we had something to iron out - ouch!” alex said before an elbow to the side from y/n cut him off. the rest of the table were none the wiser but george was suddenly infatuated with his drink, hoping the small umbrella in the glass could cover his blush.

amongst all of the chaos of welcomes, lance pulled up a chair for y/n and asked what she would be having to drink. “just a tequila sunrise for me lance, if they do them. thank you.”

the canadian gave her a little salute before heading to the bar. pulling up his own chair beside her, alex grumbles a little ‘don’t ask me if i want a drink then’ and gets another shove.

daniel claps loudly, silencing the table. he turns to y/n theatrically, wiggling his eyebrows. “so, to our lonely rookie of the season here, a couple of questions.”

the table all turned to her and y/n let out a nervous chuckle, fiddling with her jacket - where was lance with that drink?

“we won’t be hazing you, no worries. no that’s actually illegal, although i am curious as to your karaoke song of choice… we’re getting off topic! my burning question is… growing up with half of the grid you must have a rolodex of embarrassing stories about them. spill. i’m talking embarrassing falls, pissing in their karts or awkward boners, i want all of it!”

daniel looked at her earnestly, waiting on her response. this was a little overwhelming, lance had returned with her drink, alex was trying to keep his laughs at the mention of boners and charles was fixed on her with a death glare - guess the waterpark story was out of the question.

all of the focus was on her and it was overwhelming. y/n was somewhat used to having people watch her every move, you get used to that as the only girl in paddocks where people are just waiting for you to fail.

“i don’t know if i want to make enemies on the grid this early on,” y/n said, looking shyly at daniel to see whether this would be considered a good enough answer.

“very diplomatic, very diplomatic indeed,’ daniel said, pondering, “you’ll do well with the media with answers like that.”

“you learn quick as a girl in this sport.”

the entire table quietened again, although a lot more awkward this time. great first impression. daniel broke the silence once again, “not that we’re going to haze you, but just out of interest, what IS your go to karaoke song?”

“man i feel like a woman,” y/n answered without hesitation, seeing a wide smile break out on daniel’s face, “i think we’ll get along very well, rookie,” daniel replies. the aussie stands up and drags her to the bar, proclaiming that they ‘simply must do some shots together on account of being his new best friend’. y/n was not complaining, this was the first driver outside of the 2019 rookies and max who was expressing actual interest in friendship.

max had always gushed about daniel during and after their time at red bull together. y/n was surprised she hadn’t seen the dutchman yet that evening, but recalled him saying that he wanted to let her get to know the others, not wanting to hover over her like an overprotective parent.

another figure slipped in beside her at the bar and when she turned she came face to face with none other than sebastian vettel. the german gave her a soft smile and said, “i hope tonight wasn’t too daunting for you, we’re all very excited to have you on the grid, though some more than others.”

y/n raised her eyebrow, imploring him to continue. “the way max insists on praising you at every turn i thought your name was already on the second red bull.”

she let out a short laugh, “max does like talking…”

“oh he’s been showing us your formula two highlights all season, gushing about your lines and how we’ll all have to watch our backs this season.”

daniel finally got their shots and butted into the conversation, “max literally hasn’t shut up since you started in formula two, he’s all in on the y/n train.”

y/n smiled. she knew max was a big supporter of hers but hearing it from others made her heart swell.

the trio headed back to the main group who in the short time at the bar had managed to consume a worrying amount of alcohol. there was something surreal about seeing world champions struggle to string a sentence together or keep their heads up straight.

“oh my god what happened? how are they this fucked? we were gone for like five minutes?”

sebastian chuckled, looking over to fernando who was practically sat on a very bemused kimi raikkonen’s lap, “some of us have tasted the glory of winning the championship, so when you know that your car is nowhere near that this season, you cope in your own way.”

the bar had descended into chaos, looking closer to a renaissance painting than a sophisticated night out amongst high performance athletes. alex was sat in the same seat but now found himself flanked by two of his rookie class who now closely resembles a pair of clingy cats. y/n was sure she even saw lando, for the lack of a better word, nuzzle alex’s neck.

when checo appeared with an entire platter of tequila shots, alex took that as his cue to take lando and george home before they got their hands on any more alcohol.

“do you want some help with them?” y/n asked, watching alex wrangle the two drivers towards the exit.

“no, i can handle them. if you think this is bad, you should’ve seen them last year, proper made a fool of themselves. stay and get to know everyone, soon they’ll be so drunk you’ll have some good blackmail material on them.”

y/n hadn’t thought about that. not that she’d ever blackmail a fellow driver…

“well good luck getting them back to their rooms, see you tomorrow!”

y/n turned back to the mess in the bar. max was pouring pure gin in pierre’s mouth, charles was trying (key word, trying) to slow dance with sebastian despite the only music playing being edm and kevin magnussen was already asleep at the main table with nico hulkenberg and lance stacking coasters on his head.

“enjoying the circus?” a voice asks her from behind, y/n turned to see none other than kimi raikkonen. trying not to show her nerves, y/n took one of the drinks kimi was holding.

“i think i am. it’s a bit overwhelming.”

kimi nodded. there was a silence between them but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“are you excited for your first formula one race?”

“i am. i just want to show mclaren that they made the right decision on me.”

“you’ll be fine, trust me. i watched you in testing. i know that doesn’t mean much when it comes to the actual pace of the car, but you already had good control over the car. have faith in yourself.”

all of the praise from everyone else was nice but to get that many words out of kimi, it all was real now.

“thank you kimi, i hope we get to race this season. you’re a hero of mine.”

“that makes me feel old.”

“oh! i didn’t me too-”

“i’m kidding. most people would’ve chosen seb or lewis as they’re heroes.”

“oh i admire them, but there was only one blonde i loved in formula one.”

kimi let out a little laugh. the two sat there, observing for a couple of moments.

“don’t trust anyone,” kimi said suddenly, turning to y/n. “huh?”

“don’t trust anyone. i’m sorry that it’ll likely be worse for you, but these people they’re not really your friends, not when you’re in the car and everything is on the line. you can’t take it personally but you can prepare yourself. you’re a girl, so people will take their side more often than not. just know you’re here for a reason, they can’t push you around without repercussions.”

y/n took a second to let it sink in. there were things that managers and friends from outside the sport had warned her about, but a reminder from someone like kimi made it really resonate.

“i guess i’ll just have to be so fast that they can’t get near me.”

kimi laughed, properly this time. they clinked their glasses and went back to watching the mess unfold before them.

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yourusername

may 2020.

liked by alexalbon, lewishamilton and 1,289,409 others

tagged: georgerussell63, fernandoalo_oficial & landonorris

yourusername: that’s one way to get introduced to the grid

view all comments

user1: the way i’d actually give a kidney to have been here

user2: so much i need to know, so little information

user3: george and lando are never getting rid of the lightweight allegations

yourusername: as long as i am living and breathing those allegations will live on

landonorris: and when i sue you for slander

yourusername: come for me baby i know the law

landonorris: bring it on, the mclaren legal team love me

yourusername: they’ll take one look at my camera roll and laugh in your face xxx

landonorris: CAMERA ROLL?

yourusername: sleep well

landonorris: i will ruin your life rookie

user4: mclaren duo you are so precious

user5: now i have them, i can never see them at different teams

user6: they’re my prediction for biggest surprise this season

maxverstappen1: who keeps leaving bottles of gin unattended around me

yourusername: why can’t you control yourself around them

maxverstappen1: gin talks to me like the green goblin mask

yourusername: that much is clear

yourusername: poor pierre was sent into a different dimension that night

pierregasly: still better than my red bull experience

user7: this girl has chemistry with everyone damn

user8: bro sees a girl having banter with someone and loses his mind

user9: this is why the ‘friend zone’ exists because you guys mistake a girl being nice or funny for flirting

alexalbon: i miss out on so much because those dumbasses can’t handle liquor

yourusername: you should’ve just left them to die?

alexalbon: i fear both mclaren and williams know my address

georgerussell63: i don’t know where this is all coming from?

alexalbon: you threw up in the shower?

georgerussell63: i don’t recall this therefore it didn’t happen

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“george got a boner? can i use that as blackmail for a quali tow?” kimi gasped, clutching his metaphorical pearls.

“do not tell him i told you that,” y/n thought for a second, “or you can, i don’t really care.”

the four of them approached charles’ house and could already hear the hustle and bustle from inside. y/n went to ring the bell but kimi grabbed her hand quickly,

“you’re sure this will be okay?”

the italian had a little shake in his voice.

“you’re going to be fine, everyone will love you, okay? stop doubting yourself.”

she finally rung the bell and the group could hear the silence sweep throughout the house. the door swung open to reveal charles who was already pink in the face, telling y/n that the monagasque had already been amongst the drinks.

“well look what the cat dragged in,” charles said looking her up and down. the three behind her were suddenly weary, charles’ face had hardened when his eyes landed on y/n. “i’ve fucking missed you!”

charles pulled her into a tight hug. the world had stopped. y/n hadn’t spoken to charles since the crash and three years of silence was suddenly pouring out of both of them. tears slipped out from both of them, pulling each other so tight like they were trying to fall into each other’s bodies.

“as touching as this all is, it’s fucking freezing out here and i’d love that cocktail i was promised?”

max broke the silence in his typical fashion and charles finally acknowledged the three others. his smile turned wicked when he realised what kimi and ollie were wearing.

“oh mon amis, those suits are just too cute!”

y/n peered over charles’ shoulder with a very clear ‘i told you so’ written on her face. charles pulled on ollie’s hands, muttering about how well dressed his son is, and ushered the rest of them into his home.

kimi, ollie and max continued down the corridor and into the common space with the other attendees but y/n and charles hung back.

“i’m being serious, i really missed you,” charles said, “i really haven’t been the friend i should’ve been during all of this. i know i hurt you and i don’t expect you to forgive me, but know i am sorry, truly.”

the tears had returned to charles’ eyes once again. y/n tried to summon the anger that she had festered in for three years, but here, stood face to face with charles, she just couldn’t. the monegasque looked so wrecked and she knew that wasn’t a lie. y/n, through common sense but also the advice of her therapist, had never seen the race that ended her career. however, in a weak moment of social media addiction, y/n had stumbled upon a clip of charles’ radio. it was a compilation of his radios across the year, including grosjean’s fireball, pierre’s near miss in japan a couple years ago and finally, silverstone 2022.

“holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck! is that y/n?”

“i can confirm it is y/ln, we are waiting for news from mclaren”

“is she okay? has she responded on the radio?”

“no news yet charles, stay in delta and come to the pit lane.”

“anyone but her, god please. please be okay, please, please, please. not another one, don’t take another one.”

shivers had wrung up her spine when she had heard it. the weekend had been so traumatic that she had hardly stopped to think about anyone else. the crash had unleashed such an ugly anger within her, so powerful that just a glimpse of a formula one car made her feel so vulnerable to her emotions. instead of facing it head on, it just felt easier to hide and to try and forget.

“hey, hey,” y/n took charles’ face in her hands, “look at me okay, i have no hard feeling against you. you don’t need to be sorry, these things happen. i did what i thought i had to do and that was hide. was it healthy? no, but i hate that my silence might have made you think that i blame you in any way.”

charles let out a wet laugh and y/n continued, “i heard your radio, for the first time a couple months ago. i know what you’ve been through, i should’ve spoken to you.”

charles shook his head, “you did what you needed to do, i won’t ever hold it against you. i’m just glad you’re here now, we can make up for lost time now. although i am pretty offended that you didn’t come back for me but for this kid?”

“kimi is a lot nicer than all of you dummies,” y/n poked her tongue out, “and once he looks at you like a lil puppy, you can’t say no.”

y/n smiled to herself, and charles replicated it. the two just existed together for a moment, listening to the greetings down the hall. a small shiver of doubt made its way up y/n’s spine. the reunion with charles had gone well, but would everyone else look past her three year silence?

“they’re looking forward to seeing you,” charles said, nudging y/n closer to the action. she took a small breath and made her way to the common area.

all conversation ceased when she took her first step in the room. max, kimi, ollie and alex all smiled at he, trying to ease her into the room. carlos looked happy to see her, but as always there was something off in his eyes, like he didn’t quite trust her and oscar was there? y/n had never met the aussie but had heard he was a little standoffish.

oscar couldn’t even make eye contact with her, he looked anywhere else, charles’ white ceiling suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. that was odd.

“welcome back!” alex yelled, making everyone else jump, “i have missed you so much, so much has happened. please never disappear again!” he said, wrapping her in a hug. y/n snuggled in closer, breathing in the familiar scent of her friend. drawing back she looked up at him with a strange look,

“have you changed your cologne?”

“well, i’d like to think i have changed a lot in three years, but yes i have?”

“do you have a girlfriend?”

“tell me you don’t check my instagram why don’t you? yes i do, you’ll have to come to dinner at some point. lily is very excited you’re coming back, she says we don’t shut up about you.”

y/n was so happy for alex, “you smell like a girl, she’s done wonders for you.”

alex’s smile fell immediately, “i didn’t miss this, you didn’t get any nicer in your break huh?”

“still a bitch i fear.”

everyone was back engrossed in their conversations, with carlos keeping his distance from y/n by busying himself with charles at the bar. y/n saw oscar again, hovering by ollie, trying and failing to conceal his staring.

“is oscar usually this weird with new people?” y/n asked alex, “he’s staring but also can’t make eye contact without looking like he’s going to shit himself.”

“oh he’s got massive survivors guilt, which is a weird way to put it considering he wasn’t in the race that day, but…”

oh. now it makes sense. “i see, i should probably talk to him shouldn’t i?”

“you can if you want to but you also don’t owe anyone anything? it’s your choice.”

y/n looked over again and oscar again quickly diverted his eyes. here goes nothing. making her way to the other group of drivers, oscar started looking for his escape.

“hi guys, are you okay if i steal the aussie for a second?”

the rest of the group didn’t care but oscar sputtered out a, “really? i’m okay, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to?”

“come on,” y/n took ahold of his arm, “let’s go talk somewhere else.”

the aussie looked nervous but he followed y/n through charles house. after trying a couple doors, the finally found a study and the pair sat down. oscar couldn’t stop fidgeting, he felt the sweat beading at his brow and the collar of his shirt was starting to strangle him.

“do you want to tell me why you’re so nervous?” y/n asked, “as far as i’m aware, you’ve done nothing to warrant this?”

oscar didn’t say anything. he didn’t know how to word it without sounding like an idiot.

“i just thought you would maybe resent me for taking your seat? i’m sorry for being such a weirdo about it. i know it was a dick move from me to not even bring you up but there was this whole thing with mark and zak, but i should’ve listened to myself, i’m sorry…”

it all spilled out at once and oscar just looked at her horrified. did she even know about mark and zak?

“oscar, i don’t resent you for taking the seat. i can’t say i’ve watched much more than just the races, so i can’t say for sure you’re the greatest guy off the track, although the fact you were even invited here tells me so, but you more than deserved that seat. yes, it’s unfortunate the way it became available, but i’ll never resent a racer for following his dreams.”

oscar let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, “thank you, you don’t know the amount of sleepless nights i had after i took the seat. i thought that maybe you would come back and either i’d have to give it up or i’d keep it and stop you from coming back. i mean you’re a hero of mine and all i could think was ‘am i an asshole for taking this from you when you’re still in hospital?’”

y/n sighed, “i won’t lie, it hurt. but not because of you. a full lifetime of work was snuffed out in one second. i understand formula one is a business but i don’t think zak knows that i could hear everything while i was in the medically induced coma.”

oscar’s head shot up at the mention of zak’s name and this told y/n everything she needed to know.

“he was on the phone just five minutes after the nurse told him i’d never be able to get in a formula one car again. my racing body wasn’t even cold yet. i do know it was mark on the phone. i’ve not held it against him, unless there’s something you’d like to tell me?”

was it betrayal if he told y/n? everything had already happened and the truth was y/n knowing wasn’t going to change anything. but if he didn’t say then y/n could decide to go back and watch interviews and videos and see what a big liar he was.

“him and zak had this weird thing they were stuck on. like i said you’re a hero of mine, and i still wanted to honour you in any way i could. i had a plan to have a 13 on my helmet, i even wanted to dedicate my first win to you. but i wasn’t allowed. they said i needed to leave you in the past or it would make me look weak.”

tears were falling down oscar’s face as y/n pulled him into a hug. the aussie shook with the strength of his sobs.

“i’m a grown man, i should’ve told them no, but i had just gotten there. i’m sorry, i wish i had a back bone.”

y/n ran her hands through his hair, comforting the younger driver, “oscar, don’t worry. i don’t take any offence. you forget i raced under zak, i know what an asshole he can be. you don’t have to do anything to make it up to me, just don’t be a stranger in the paddock. i may be there for kimi, but you can still come to me.”

y/n wasn’t sure how lando was treating oscar, had he started off kind with him and flipped on his head as well? it couldn’t hurt to check.

“i know lando can be difficult, so don’t think you’re alone okay? i know how it feels, so come complain to me if you need to.”

oscar laughed, “i know exactly what you’re talking about. did you watch hungary this year? that was a mess, it was so awkward in the garage after that. it’s creepy how he can turn it on for a video right? i don’t know what happened between you but it’s almost like he knew i wanted to dedicate it to you? he asked me like ten times whether i dedicated it to anyone.”

okay, that was a problem. y/n had stupidly thought that maybe lando going cold turkey from her for three years might have made whatever weird vendetta he had against her disappear, or at least lessen.

“if i’m being completely honest, i’m not sure what happened between us. we obviously grew up together and were close from that, we all were, but as soon as the racing started he just switched up, and by the sounds of it, it hasn’t gotten better in my absence.”

the pair moved to the bathroom to get oscar some tissues and make him look a little more presentable. fixing his hair, y/n said, “i’m serious oscar, there’s no hard feelings. i’m proud of you-”

y/n was cut off with some commotion coming from the common area. the pair looked at each other and hurried to the scene of the noise. there stood george and lando, they both looked like they had grown up, lando sporting some facial hair and george in a suprisingly formal getup.

both brits locked on y/n and oscar as they returned.

“so one mclaren driver wasn’t enough for you? you had to go and seduce oscar as well?”

lando accused, a look of pure disgust on his face, “he’s got a girlfriend as well, do you have any respect for yourself?”

y/n burst out laughing, looking bewildered at lando. “is this guy serious?” she asked looking around the room, most of them looking just as shocked as her at his outburst.

“i don’t know what you’re laughing at,” lando said and turned to oscar, “i really thought you’d last more than five minutes mate.”

“lando, i don’t know what you’re problem is, but we were clearing the air about me taking the seat after her crash. you know, we spoke, like normal fucking people. just because you couldn’t spend more than five minutes with the one girl in the sport without wanting to fuck her doesn’t mean i don’t see her as an actual person.”

oscar replied, standing in front of y/n who was shocked but also impressed by the aussie’s take down of his own teammate. lando glared at his teammate, “you know having her on side will do nothing for this bullshit bid you have to be the number one driver this season. in fact i remember her launching a plot like that herself, and look how that ended.”

one second lando was smirking in front of oscar and y/n and next he was on the floor, all courtesy of kimi. the italian was looming over lando, the angriest anyone in the room had ever seen him. ollie tried to grab his hand, but he yanked it back and set his sights back on lando.

“you really are the dumbest person in the world aren’t you?”

lando was speechless, still on the floor.

“she could’ve said so much about you, your team and the bullshit you both put her through, but she didn’t. we all know you were an asshole to her, she could’ve ruined this dumb boy next door act you’ve got going, but she didn’t. so you should think yourself lucky.”

kimi felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see y/n. he stood up, moving away from lando and let y/n lead him towards the exit just as the other one decided to pipe up.

“she’s a bit old for you isn’t she, buddy?” george’s voice rung out, “or are you really going for the max verstappen route, problematic older woman and everything?”

that was a low blow. kelly was a sore subject for max, y/n didn’t really know much about her, just that they got together and broke up during the time that y/n was first moved to london. max had been the only one to know where she was, but that was only months after she had moved. y/n never met her and only heard about her when max had visited and gave her a life update that included a whirlwind romance.

“that’s a bold choice george,” max said, getting in his face, “isn’t kimi like a son to toto? you really think he’s choosing you over him? you were just a bed warmer for him when lewis had pissed him off. we all know he’d choose kimi and well, that he’d do anything for me, so are we really the ones you want to try and go toe to toe with?”

george narrowed his eyes at max, “i went through so much trouble for that girl back then, i hope you’re not getting your hopes up. she’ll just lead you on like she did to us, you’re just a stepping stone to her.”

“i am right here, you know? you don’t have to talk about me like i’m not?”

george’s head whipped around to her direction, “you were fine not talking for three years. why now? why come back now? there’s nothing for you there? or do you have an ulterior motive? are you using kimi to sabotage me?”

y/n let out another laugh in disbelief, “are you being serious right now? you can’t be this seriously delusional. despite popular belief, to you, not everything i do, is to do with you. both of you seem to have such an inflated view of your place in my life, please sleep well knowing i don’t want anything to do with either of you.”

charles interrupted, “i invited you two because i thought you would be happy to see y/n, why are you ruining my night? i brought olives and you’re bringing the mood down!”

“yes, i think it’s time you guys left.” max said, ready to escort them himself, with force if necessary.

the two gave y/n a final dirty look before storming out of charles’ house. y/n didn’t understand how it had gotten so bad between them, she longed for the times when they’d sneak out for ice cream at karting competitions and tell each other ghost stories. she wanted those times back so badly, but with displays like tonights she wasn’t sure if it was worth it. maybe those bridges had burnt the moment her car hit the wall.

the atmosphere in the room was thick, no one knew what to say following what ever they just witnessed.

“i guess we don’t outgrow the pettiness. ever.” ollie said, downing his drink, “if that’s what formula one does to a man i need another drink.”

charles started working behind his home bar and with the silence broken, the conversation started again.

“y/n i’m sorry i brought you back into this. i just wanted to have you as a mentor and try and get you to fall back in love with the sport, i didn’t want to bring you into a civil war where you get accused of seducing everyone.”

“kimi, i am happy to be here and we will work together. they don’t mean anything to me, okay? the things they say is water off a duck’s back for me now.”

“as long as you’re sure, i want you to enjoy it.”

“there’s enough of you i love to stick around. i’ve only known you for a short while, but the way you go for the things you want and stand up for what you believe makes me believe. they don’t matter to us. what matters is you and your car, and we will prove them all wrong.”

max slipped his arm around her shoulder as she spoke to kimi. “do you want to go?”

y/n looked back to kimi, “are you okay if we go? you and ollie can stay and enjoy yourself, rinse charles for as much as he’s worth.”

kimi nodded and hugged y/n. “see you soon, thank you again.”

“no worries, bunny.”

y/n and the dutchman grabbed their stuff and made their way to the door. charles escorted them out, “sorry it became such a downer, but i still liked seeing you again. we’ll have to get lunch some time before testing, arthur has been bothering me about meeting you.”

the pair ventured back out into the wind, a strained silence between them. “you know none of us believe what they said, right?”

“unfortunately, i’m very used to it maxy,” y/n said, leaning into him, “but it doesn’t bother me anymore. the people i care about know me, that’s all that matters.”

“just say the word and i’ll make their lives hell.”

“that’s noble, max, but i’m okay.”

“you let them get away with too much, y/n. seriously, what they just did was fucked up.”

“maybe to them i did do those things?”

“don’t say that,” max said stopping her, “they’re being childish. they can’t act like they have and expect that you’ll just fall into their arms.”

“do you think i’ll fall into your arms?”

“no. maybe? i don’t know, i want whatever you want. you know how i feel about you, but i just want you in my life. you’re the only one who has always really known me. we were so young and you saw me, not my dad and not my driving, but me. i will forever be grateful for you, it’s in your hands.”

“it’s all so confusing, max. if i do anything i just prove their point. at this moment i just need to exist. but i��d like to exist with you.”

“i’d like to exist with you too.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

fin.

note: it's the drama mick i love it! a big bust up chap for you all, and boy have i been tired this weekend so this took a lil longer than i wanted it to. testing next!!!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn @blueberry648579 @dog-and-cat-person230 @fastandcurious16 @obxstiles @cosmicwintr @becca388510 @savagittariuspy @tibadi @thisbitxhs-blog @finn-dot-com @scenesofobx @moofilms @alilstressyandlotdepressy @nana-love-bugzzz @mayax2o07 @obsessed-fan-alert

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #charles leclerc #max verstappen #ollie bearman #kimi antonelli #alex albon #oscar piastri #lando norris #george russell

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yameoto · 7 months ago

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giving fuckgirl!cait (+basketball) the best head of her life (she still doesn’t know what the hell to do about it)

sub!caitlyn, blowjobs, caitlyn cums in approx 2 seconds and is then humiliated, smut n fluff, ohhh she’s definitely in love with you

fuckgirl!cait who is just a little needy. the first time you ask her she’s all wide-eyed and her mouth is dry and suddenly she’s nervous for the first time in her life. which makes zero sense because (“not to sound like a dickhead—“ “prefacing that everytime doesn’t make you any less of a dickhead, cait.”) she’s been bobbing her cock down willing girls’ throats since she hit puberty. to destress or for fun or if she felt like it. whatever. the point is; she’s well-versed in this.

so, why her palms are suddenly sweating and her cheeks are glowing she has no idea. croaks. “uhm. are you sure? because you really don’t have to—“ like she hasn’t been harassing you for the past couple months and even if she’s had countless fantasies of this moment; imagining you, and your plush, soft lips wrapped around her cock as she splatters her load against the shower wall or a tissue or her dedicated cumsock (ok, sometimes she is just a jock. sue her. she’s a busy woman! and she, admittedly, no longer has a maid waiting on her beck and call.)

you laugh, all deep and throaty and it makes caitlyn want to sink between your couch cushions and die.

“what’s with the deer in the headlights look?” you’ll never grow tired of teasing her, even if you no longer think of her as the arrogant basketball prick who pads around you like a lost puppy and instead; now, something closer to an.. acquaintance with benefits.

(caitlyn has no clue how she made it this far with you. it’s like you just randomly decided to give her a shot one day, on a whim, and she desperately doesn’t want to blow it. even if acquaintance-with-benefits is a title that disgruntles her, at the very least. hurts, at the very most. like, very very most, okay?)

“i just..” caitlyn lets out a quiet whine when your fingers curl against the hem of her basketball shorts and—ah, shit. and now she’s hard. “now look what you’ve done.” she hisses, though she’s not quite sure what she expected when you texted her for netflix and chill like it’s still the 2010s.

“there’s that pretty thing.” you completely ignore her in favour of continuing your blasted teasing, fingers snaking underneath her waistband and pulling, guiding the shorts down the sharp v-line at her crotch and eyes travelling down the fine, inky lines of her happy trail to the spring of her cock, over the edge; half-glazed and all pretty and pink.

“you really want to..?” she doesn’t know why she keeps backtracking, like she hasn’t been talking and talking about how fucking good she’d be. and now that it’s really happening she’s getting cold feet, of all things.

“it’s just a blow, cait.” you roll your eyes.

right. just a blow. like she’s done, a million times before. god. god. she doesn’t know where the fuck this performance anxiety has suddenly arose from (pun unintended). she’s (gracefully and intentionally) bruised countless girls’ throats, for fuck’s sake. twisted her hand in the hair and yanked them sharply with each forceful snap of her hips, and told them to swallow without so much as a blink.

except you—you—

“mmgh—“ caitlyn throws her had back, as she lets out an exceedingly unflattering grunt, with the gusto in which you take her into her mouth. your tongue swirls, along her tip, and—hah—her mind melts to butter. her eyes are all cloudy, head spinning. “wait—mmf—i didnt—“

caitlyn’s hips buck, heedlessly, into your mouth. fuck. she usually has more rhythm than this. more—control. but then your tongue is sliding underneath and your hand running over to curl around her base and she’s rutting upwards aimlessly, like some stupid teenage boy who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. only that—shit—she’s never felt this good in her life and this is not just a blow—this is the most beautiful, nirvana-inducing, mind-shattering experience she could’ve ever—ungh.

oh.

oh, nononono. nono— no. she didn’t just—

your mouth hangs open, still, as you stare up at her with wide, surprised eyes; throat bobbing as if you were preparing to maybe do that really hot vacuum-type motion again except there’s kind of no fucking point because her dick is twitching uselessly as it slips out of your mouth and she watches in horror, as cum drizzles down your chin.

you swallow. caitlyn dreads that glimmer in your eyes, already.

“i usually—i last longer than that!” caitlyn’s cheeks are beet-red and she’s blinking up at you with those big, sad blue eyes and you’re laughing. crawling on top of her stomach as her dick presses flush and sticky against your lower torso and you’re laughing at her plight. ok, that’s it. it’s over. her reputation that she’s fought and fucked so hard for is dead and gone. she’s got to pack her bags, move countries, and start over.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck. surprisingly, you don’t push her away. “you can’t tell anyone.” she orders, petulant. she’s fucking humiliated.

“why would i tell anyone?” you snort. she whines.

“i don’t want you to think—“ caitlyn digs her short-cut nails into palms, looking frustrated; brows knit and cheeks still flushed, stray strands of hair a mess against her forehead. “i didn’t come over just for a blow.”

“i know, cait.”

caitlyn doesn’t know how much you know, frankly, because she doesn’t know how much she knows—considering she’s just had the most earth-quaking orgasm of her life in all but two seconds like some lame loser virgin and not the cool, suave playgirl that caitlyn kiramman is so known to be; but you’re sinking back into her arms and letting her keep leaking leftover dribbles into your couch as she clings and maybe, she doesn’t care. just wants to stay like this for a little while, and blink the spots out of her vision.

“i’m normally really very good.” she insists, words spilling out in an accented rush against your skin, half-slurred. “seriously.”

“caitlyn.”

“seriously!”

#yam talks #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman smut #fuckgirl!caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman drabble #trans!caitlyn #caitlyn x reader

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heavenlybodies333 · 14 days ago

Text

Psychoanalysis and Other Forms of Foreplay -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

Spencer slumped in his chair, shoulders curled forward, fingers twitching against the edge of his desk. His screen had gone black. He didn’t notice. His fingers toyed with a paperclip, twisting it into unfamiliar shapes. By the time he realized he had bent it into a crude spiral, Penelope Garcia was already leaning on the edge of his desk, silently watching.

Across the bullpen, Garcia appeared in a flurry of lemon-yellow and rage.

“Okay,” she said, not even bothering with a hello. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you play innocent with me, Dr. Disaster. You’ve been cranky, broody, barely forming full sentences for like… months.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I thought it was just you being you. But I saw you turn down Olivia from accounting today.”

Spencer looked at her like she’d spoken Martian. “She has a boyfriend.”

“She also has working eyes and a pulse and was very into your whole tortured genius thing,” Garcia snapped. “But you looked like she handed you a hand grenade instead of a phone number.”

He sighed. “It’s not that I’m not interested in dating.”

She raised a perfectly arched brow. “So what is it?” He hesitated.

“Spencer.”

He stared at his hands. “I can’t… finish.”

Garcia blinked. “Like… your sentences? Or—��

“No.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sexually. I can’t come.”

Her jaw dropped.

“Not since—” He cut himself off.

“Oh my god. Since her?” He winced. “Oh my god. Spencer, no.”

He exhales. “It’s just her.” Garcia stared, unsure if she wanted to laugh or cry. “So your… tool of quantifiable pleasure is emotionally monogamous?”

“I’m not doing this for fun, Penelope!”

“You’re not doing this at all, apparently!”

He glared at her. She softened. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But, Spence—listen to yourself. You’re literally telling me the only person who can get you off is Hotch’s daughter. The girl whose heart you broke. The girl you left because her father said to. You realize how messed up that sounds, right?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t leave because he said to. I left because she asked me not to fight him. She didn’t want to make it worse. And I couldn’t… I couldn’t stand to hurt her more by pushing.”

“Yeah,” Garcia said, folding her arms. “And now you want to go crawling back to her. For what, closure? Round two? Post-nut clarity?”

Spencer runs a hand through his already chaotic hair. “That is not how I’d describe it. But yes.”

Penelope stares. “So you’ve tried?”

He nods, miserable. “Hookups. Dates. Paid for dinner. Tried not paying for dinner. Switched hands. Switched porn. Nothing.”

She squints. “And you think this is a… medical issue?”

“No. It’s psychological. I know exactly what it is. It’s her. My mind won’t let go of her, and my body’s catching on.”

She gave him a long, hard look. “Do not use her like some kind of sexual Drano, I mean it,” she continues. “You don’t get to show up at her door hard and hollow and expect her to patch the leak. That girl loved you. And last I checked, heartbreak wasn’t an aphrodisiac.”

Your Apartment, 11:02 PM

You opened the door without checking the peephole. Rookie move. But you’d been expecting a food delivery.

Instead, it was Spencer.

And he looked like hell. You crack the door, arms crossed, hip leaning into the frame. “You lost?”

He looks like hell. Not in the tragic, gaunt, ex-addict way—no, this is emotional hell. Shirt wrinkled. Hair a little too curly. Mouth parted like he’s not sure how to start.

“I… needed to talk.”

You sigh and open the door fully. “You’ve got two minutes.”

He walked in like he’d forgotten what your apartment looked like. Eyes flicking to the couch you used to fuck on, the blanket he’d wrapped you in when you cried watching Dead Poets Society, the half-read book on the coffee table with his annotated handwriting in the margins.

“Did you come to sightsee or spit out whatever dumbass reason brought you here?”

“You look good,” he offers, like it might soften the blow of whatever he’s about to say.

You blinked arching an eyebrow. “You look like shit. And I know that’s not why you’re here.”

“I tried,” he added quickly, like it was a confession. “And it just… doesn’t work. I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“Finish.”

Your mouth went dry. “Spencer.” You stare. “I’m sorry?”

“I haven’t been able to orgasm. Since… you.”

Your mouth opens and then closes again. Because what the fuck is this?

“You’re seriously here to tell me that no one else can make you come? And what, you thought I would fix that for you?” You laugh, sharp and disbelieving. “For fuck’s sake, Spencer.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quickly, stepping forward. “I just—I’ve been trying to move on. And I can’t. It’s like my body knows what my brain keeps denying.”

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to feel bad for you?” Your tone was acid. “Because it sounds like you came here to make your problem my problem.”

Spencer looked wrecked. “I don’t want to use you.”

“Then don’t.”

“I just—” He raked a hand through his hair. “It’s you. It’s always been you. And it’s like my body knows it before I do.”

Your breath caught. Because that’s the thing—he always knew what to say when it was already too late.

You turned away from the door, arms tight across your chest. He didn’t follow you right away. Maybe he was waiting for the invite that wasn’t coming. Or maybe he knew better than to push.

“So what now?” you asked, voice carefully flat. “You tell me that your dick misses me, and I’m supposed to be flattered?”

Spencer flinched. “That’s not—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘what this is about.’”

He shut his mouth.

You crossed the room and leaned against the kitchen counter, curling your fingers around the edge like it might hold you in place. “Do you know how sick it is that you showed up here because no one else can get you off? That’s a you problem, Spencer. Not mine.”

“I know that,” he said quietly.

“Do you?”

He looked down. “I don’t expect you to fix it.”

“Then why are you here?”

His eyes met yours. “Because I can’t pretend it doesn’t mean something.”

You stared at him. “You left me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you did. You let him make the call for both of us.”

He stepped closer, slowly. “You asked me not to fight him.”

“I thought giving you space was respecting your boundaries,” he said finally. “I thought leaving was the least selfish thing I could do.”

You swallowed. “You were wrong.”

A beat. Then another. “Do you want me to leave?”

You looked away. The worst part was—you didn’t. Not yet. “…No.”

He exhaled, like he’d been holding it since he got in the car. “Then can I just… sit down?”

You nodded once, sharply. He crossed to the couch and eased into it like the memory of you was still warm in the cushions. You watched him from the kitchen, heart hammering.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” you said, even though he hadn’t asked.

He nodded. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You scoffed. “You already did.”

“I didn’t—” He stopped, caught himself. “You’re right. I did. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

You were quiet a long time.

“I’ve tried to stop missing you,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “It’s exhausting.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” He laced his fingers together in his lap. “But I thought you should know.”

You moved closer, slowly. Stood across from him, arms crossed. “So what is this, then? You show up, tell me your body won’t cooperate with anyone else, and what—expect me to just… hold that for you? Be honored?”

He looked up. “No. I’m asking if you still miss me too.”

You blinked.

“I’m asking,” he said carefully, “if I’m the only one who feels like there’s a version of us we never got to finish.”

You didn’t mean to cry.

It just… happened.

Hot tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, before you could tell your body no. You turned away fast, back to the kitchen sink, chest rising too fast.

Spencer stood—but didn’t cross the room. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

You nodded, barely. “I know.” You blinked slowly. “So what now?”

“I don’t know.”

Another pause. And then you said it. The question that had been burning your tongue since he walked in.

“Is this about sex? Or is this about me?”

His jaw tensed. “It’s both. But I swear to you, if I could want anyone else—if I could feel this way with anyone else—I would.”

“Jesus,” you whispered.

“Not because I don’t love you,” he said quickly. “Because it would be easier if I didn’t.”

You stared at him. “You’re pathetic.”

“I know.”

“I should tell you to leave.”

“You should.”

“But I’m not.”

He moved first—close enough to feel your breath catch. His voice was barely audible. “If I kiss you, will you hit me?”

“Probably.”

He didn’t move. But you did. You grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down into you like it was instinct, like some part of your body still remembered.

You backed into the couch without breaking the kiss, tugging him with you until your legs hit the edge and you dropped into the cushions. He followed instantly, his knees bracketing your thighs, weight caging you in. That kiss didn’t stop—not even when your fingers started undoing the buttons on his shirt with more aggression than skill.

“I hate you,” you muttered between kisses, your breath catching as he dragged his mouth down your neck.

“I deserve that,” he mumbled back, nipping at your collarbone. “Say it again.”

“I hate you.”

“You still want me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Please.”

You shoved his shirt off his shoulders with trembling hands. He made a sound in the back of his throat when you scraped your nails down his chest. It was rougher than you used to be.

“Tell me this means something,” he whispered, voice cracked.

You dragged his belt free and tossed it to the floor. “It means I need you to shut the fuck up.”

He dropped to his knees. Palmed your thighs. Rested his forehead against your hip like he was praying.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured.

You pushed him back. “Lie down.”

Spencer obeyed like it was instinct—like your voice bypassed logic. He sank back into the cushions, legs spread, eyes dark and waiting. Watching you like he didn’t know if this was real or punishment.

You climbed into his lap slowly, deliberately—straddling him, knees pressed to either side of his hips, your thighs bracketing the tension he was barely holding back.

Your hands framed his jaw. You kissed him again—slower this time. He moaned into your mouth when you rocked your hips forward, grinding against the hard line of him. There was nothing polite about it—just friction and desperation, your thin panties soaked through already and his cock straining beneath his boxers like it couldn’t wait to be touched.

You reached between your bodies and tugged them down just enough, freeing him. He was thick, flushed, already leaking—and he cursed under his breath when you wrapped your fingers around him.

“Still can’t come for anyone else?” you asked, stroking him slow and steady.

His head fell back against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut. “No one but you.”

“Good.”

You lifted just enough to tug your panties aside and lined him up with your entrance. His hands gripped your hips like he was trying not to beg. You sank down, your slick slipping against his throbbing cock.

Spencer shuddered. A deep, guttural sound tore from his chest like it was the first breath he’d taken in months. His eyes flew open, wide and disbelieving.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “You—you feel—”

“Better than anyone else?” you finished, lips curling into something mean.

He nodded like he was drowning. “So much better.”

You set the rhythm—slow, grinding circles that forced him to feel every inch of you.

He was falling apart underneath you. Hands trembling where they clutched your thighs. Breathing erratic.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

His eyes met yours, desperate and glazed.

“You came here thinking this would fix something.” Your nails dug into his shoulders. “But it won’t. It’ll make it worse.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice raw. “I want it anyway.”

You rocked harder now, angling your hips just right, the drag of him inside you hitting every spot that made your legs shake. You clenched around him and he whimpered.

“Jesus—baby—please—”

“You close?” you asked sweetly, tightening your grip on his jaw.

He nodded frantically. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” you said, breath hot against his cheek. “You came all this way, Spencer. Don’t you dare fucking stop now.”

He let out a strangled groan—head tipping back, mouth parted, eyes glazed like he was already coming apart from just the threat of it.

“I’m gonna—I can’t—fuck—”

His hips jerked beneath you, chasing every desperate ounce of friction, hands flying to your ass like he needed to ground himself. You were soaked, clenching hard around him, rhythm never breaking.

Spencer spilled into you with a shudder so intense it almost knocked you both backward. His hips jerked helplessly, mouth slack, eyes glassy as he came harder than he had in over a year, burying his face in your shoulder like he couldn’t handle the sound of it, let alone the feeling.

You came with a gasp, your entire body clenching around him, nails dragging down his back, hips still rolling through the aftershocks.

You were both breathless and trembling, locked together like neither of you could quite bear to be apart.

Spencer held you. Tight. His breath was warm against your neck.

You felt the words forming before he even said them.

“I love you,” he whispered, ruined. “I never stopped.”

You didn’t answer. Not yet. But you didn’t let go, either. And he knew. He’d just made the biggest mistake of his life all over again. But this time—you weren’t going to let him walk away without a fight.

a/n: limerence is going to kill me

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

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kngrose · 8 months ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝜗𝜚

WARNINGS: 18+, sexual content, mommy kink, biting, squirting, slapping, spit play, degradation, dacryphilia, ignoring safe words, implied age gap, sevika is mean

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩: i got carried away… ;] not proof read! ^^

SFW

Initially, she wanted nothing to do with you.

Like at all.

Once she realized that her feelings for you were anything more than platonic, she wanted to throw you off the piltover bridge.

She was so incredibly frustrated with herself because, how did she let this happen?!

You’ll definitely notice she starts smoking a hell of lot more frequently and spends most—if not all—of her free time in the brothel— anywhere you’re not around.

But of course, she can only run from her feelings for so long, and she eventually caves; letting you in.

Because of her upbringing, she has quite a hard time adjusting to having a girlfriend.

If its not anger, she has a hard time expressing herself. And if she’s not angry and it’s something trivial? More often than not she’ll end up accidentally hurting your feelings with her harsh tone.

One time, when the two of you had started dating, she’d asked you, "Have you ever done this before?” and it shocked you because you didn’t know if she was implying something or—

When you’d sputtered back a flushed, “Done, what?” she rolled her eyes and retorted, "Had a girlfriend, dumbass." Her tone stern but not necessarily angry. Later, she would have to console you after you admitted she’d hurt your feelings.

She swears she doesn’t mean to— that’s just how she talks!

Not to mention her heavy handedness??? Like omg.

She’s so heavy handed.

You’ll end up with tiny bruises scattered everywhere because of how hard she’ll grab your hand or your arm.

When she places a hand on your lower back to guide you it’ll feel more like a shove.

She has this cute little habit of kicking your legs under the table—for fun or to get your attention— and she swears it’s a soft little nudge.

But when you show her the red and purple blotches afterwards, she’ll relent.

It’ll take her a while, but she learns.

She learns to be more gentle and handle you with care.

She’ll also learns how to recieve love and affection!

It was quite foreign for her, like it would be for most people in the undercity. At first it made her uncomfortable— the constant little touches, the chaste kisses to the cheek, the hugs.

You’ll notice that she’s super standoffish when you do these things. Just staring at you with this unreadable expression.

It’s not that she didn’t like it, she just wasn’t used to it, and she didn’t quite know how to feel about it.

Don’t be misconstrued though, because once she solidifies the idea that this is normal behavior, she’ll be all over you.

I headcannon that her biggest display of affection is physical touch. She just loves to touch you in any way possible.

If you’re sitting on a couch or a bench, personal space is not an option. She’s presses herself right up against you, thighs touching and all.

If you’re going for a walk, she’s holding your hand or your wrist. Sometimes she’ll even wrap her hand around the back of your neck.

If you’re sitting at a table she’s got a hand on your thigh, or wrapped around your ankle when you cross your legs.

Loves to just play with your fingers or lay her head in your lap. Please play with her hair!! She’ll grab your hands and place them on her head if you don’t, grumbling at you for not already doing your “job”.

I also think she would just love quality time, because she’s clingy! The two of you don’t even have to talk, as long as you’re there she’ll be content with just sitting in silence and enjoying your company. And if she’s not busy, you always have hers.

She wants to do everything with you, laundry, shopping, studying, napping— all of it. She would sit in the bathroom while you poop, if you’d let her.

She hates leaving you alone, and despises when you leave her side. “It’s too dangerous out here, Darlin’…” is what she says everytime, “Who’s gonna protect you?”

She’s got a long list of petnames for you. More often than not you’ll hear:

“Darlin’..” “Baby..” “Pretty girl…”

Flying from her mouth with whatever little things she says. Sometimes when she’s feeling playful, she’ll name you after whatever you have on at the moment.

For instance if you’re wearing glasses, she’ll call you glasses. If you’ve got on a button up, she’ll call you button.

She won’t ever admit it but she’ll appreciate it greatly if you have your own pet names for her aswell. They’ll make her look away in the efforts that you don’t see the giddy smirk that she swallows.

She can’t have you knowing you make her all soft.

Speaking of which.

She’s the definition of “grumpy”. Like everything she does, she has to grumble about it. Want her to grab the remote? Fine, she’ll do it, but she’s going to grumble the whole time. Grab your jacket? Ok, cool, but you’re gonna hear this grumbling monologue, something about how you, “Couldve grabbed it yourself..”

She’s definitely the type to say “No.” when you ask her to do something, and then do it anyway.

She loves to pretend that she’s stone cold but she’s actually a huge softie when it comes to her little gf! (wife)

She loves to just look at you. Would definitely make others say, “Wow, look how she’s looks at her—”

Multiple times day you’ll catch her just idly staring at you, and it makes you self conscious— starting to touch at your hair and clothes. When you question her about it she’ll just say, “What? I can’t look at my pretty girl?” and kiss the corner of your lips.

She listens to you so intently, like she’s hanging onto every word, and blinks slowly at you like a cat. If you’re venting and just want her to listen? You got it. Come take a seat on her lap and she’ll hear everything you have to say; rubbing circles on your back with one hand, and holding yours with the other, just looking up at you with the occasional, “Mhm..”

And if you wanna talk about something silly? Go right ahead! She’ll listen all the same, offering her two cents every now and then or a soft chuckle. She’ll never turn down an opportunity to hear your voice.

She loves when you ask to arm wrestle

Likes to watch you try to pull her arm down with two of yours, smiling softly at your efforts before kissing your forehead and saying, “Better luck next time, princess.”

Don’t even try with an actual wrestling match— she tosses you around so easily, it makes you embarrassed. It slips your mind sometimes, her brute strength, because you’ve gotten so used to her being soft with and around you.

But when she pounces, pinning you in all of five second— without an ounce of a struggle— let’s just say it’s always a humbling experience. “My baby’s gotta get stronger,” She’ll always say, beforing tossing you over her shoulder with a chuckle.

She loves to give you random little kisses. Some on your cheeks, a few where your neck meets your shoulder. Behind your ears, on the palm of your hands. Every last one of your knuckles. Of course your precious lips.

She loves your lips. Loves when you get all done up and pretty so she can watch you put lip gloss on; before she messes it up by kissing you so she can watch you do it again. “Oh, don’t fuss at me,” She’ll smirk from behind you, watching you redo your lipstick in the mirror. “Just wanna kiss my pretty girl…” She’s kisses your cheek. You’re better off doing your makeup when she’s not around… if she’s ever not around.

And when you tell her you love her for the first time, she smiles softly, "I love you too." Sevika says gently, "I just don't quite understand what you see in me." The crimeboss chuckles, "A big, rough, hardened criminal.. doesn't exactly seem like a popular relationship choice, darlin'." She teases, looking down at you with a crooked grin.

Her grin softens into a look of admiration as you explain that the love you have for her is beyond those things, because you knows she’s more than that. "You see into me like no one else." She admits quietly, "You see past the walls, and the mask, and even the facade." She continues, "You see all the pieces I work so hard to keep covered up." Sevika adds on, chuckling softly as she looks down at you. "You're the only one who does that, y'know?" She admits, "You're the only one I allow to see me for who I really am."

NSFW

Come, come. Let’s discuss.

There’s so many things that really get Sevika going, and with you as her pretty little girlfriend, it doesn’t take much. She won’t admit it, but in those moments where she’s just staring at you, she picturing the most ungodly scenes. It gets worse once you realize how often it is you catch her staring.

She can’t help it. She’s always riddled with flash backs of you getting slutted out. While she’s working at the brothel, playing poker, having meetings with Silco— it doesn’t matter. It’ll just randomly cross her mind and she’ll realize: she can’t wait to come home.

Sevika loves it when you call her Mommy. It makes her feel powerful. It strokes her ego. It gives her a warm fluttering feeling in her chest everytime you let it slip from your lips. Often times, she’ll like to make you repeat yourself, just so she can hear you say it over and over and over again.

She loves to bite and she loves to be bitten. It’s something so primal about it that warms up her core and makes her soak. She’ll let out deep rumbles when you bite into her arm or shoulder, never applying too much pressure. She’s told you before that you don’t have to hold back, but you always do. She doesn’t.

You see, Sevika likes to fluctuate. Not between top and bottom, but hard and soft.

Sometimes she wants to be so gentle with you. Kissing you passionately, hugging you tight, caressing you all over, giving you slow deep thrusts so she can show you how much she really loves you.

Other times she wants to be rough. She wants to toss you around, and pull your hair. Leave marks and choke you until you can’t breathe. Impose on you with her harrowing size and strength.

It’s even better when she finds the middle ground.

She’ll always ease you into everything, just to make sure you’re on the same page.

When she’s feeling particularly soft, she’s loves to service you. She’ll lay you on your back and kiss you everywhere, she likes to see how worked up it’s gets you. Pressing soft wet kisses down your neck and chest, undressing you as she does so.

And she’ll smirk as you’re left in your underwear, leaning down to press a soft kisses against your stomach. She’ll move lower, kissing your hips and your thighs before kissing your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties. "I'm gonna take these off, that okay, Baby?" She’ll ask, already knowing your answer, her fingers toying with the waistband.

And she will laugh, seeing how you eagerly nod your head, a breathless, “Yes, Mommy.” falling from your pretty lips. She’ll hum to herself lowly. God, She loves it when you call her that. And she’ll free you of your panties because, how could she resist such a sweet plea?

And once she sees how wet your pussy is, she’ll whistle, “Phew, what’s got my baby so worked up?” And run her fingers over your slit, gathering up the mess on her fingers to taste. Sevika will eat your pussy for hours. And please don’t test this theory— because you’ll regret it.

It doesn’t matter if you buck your hips away, she’ll just wrap her arms around your hips effectively locking them down, and continue to have her way. “Let Mommy eat, pretty..” She’ll chastise, and you’ll have no choice but to oblige.

And when she’s done eating your pussy, she’ll position you to sit in front of her and lean on her bare chest so she can fuck you with her fingers until you squirt all over them. She loves the access she has here. She gets to kiss all over your neck and shoulders and rub at your nipples, all the while pressing her palm against your clit while her fingers press against that spongey spot inside you.

And don’t even think about telling her you can’t take anymore, because it’ll fall on deaf ears. She’ll swallow up your pleas in a sweet kiss, telling you, “Nonsense, Baby. Mommy knows you can handle s’more..” Trust me, when she’s feeling soft, she’ll never take you beyond your means. She knows her princess.

She’ll kiss you so passionately you both never want to stop, rutting her pussy against yours precisely. You just know she’s had some practice. She likes to look deep into your eyes, holding you there by your cheeks the whole time. Pressing her forehead against yours while she whispers to you.

“My pretty baby… you feel s’good..” She’ll murmur against yours while she lips, before sucking on them sweetly. She’s so sweet when she’s soft.

But when she’s hard: She’s nasty.

Filthy and vulgar, and driven by nothing but the urge to ruin. In these times, it’s hard to get through to her. Nothing you say will get through her head unless it’s, “Yes, Mommy” or a direct response to what she’s just ordered you to do.

Keyword ordered.

She’ll have you stripped in record timing, gripping both of your wrists harshly, pinning them above your head, “These stay here, Understand?” She’ll say, her tone authoritive with no room for argument. And you’ll nod your head like a good girl for her.

When she spreads your legs, that’s where they better stay, otherwise she’ll slap your pussy, hard, and that’ll just be your first warning. She’ll grill you down with a hard stare, and you��ll know not to make that mistake again.

She’ll bring two fingers to your lips, and tap against them. "Open up for Mommy, baby." She’ll order, tone stern. And when you do, she’ll fuck your throat with those fingers, feeling you gag and watching the spit slide down your throat. And she’ll lick it all up just to spit it back in your mouth. “Good girl…” She’ll purr.

When she’s like this, she has a dark look in her eyes. It’s a primal look, and if you glance away too quickly you’ll miss it. She’s likes to fuck you hard during these times, hardly any qualms for your limits.

She’ll always have her handy strap prepared and waiting. Thick and long and heavy. She likes it that way. She likes to feel like the man.

She’ll grin, somewhat cruelly, and her eyes will meet yours in a flirtatious wink. "You like the view, pretty girl?" Sevika asks softly, her hand gently stroking the toy in her hand, like it’s a real dick, getting it all wet with lube. And how could you not? Her cut physic on full display, muscled and scared… so manly.

Sevika will take you through so many positions, you won’t have the energy to roll over in your sleep at night. She’ll take you in missionary first, “Mommy’s gonna break you in now, Baby.” She’ll growl, and she’ll keep her promise, bottoming out in one single thrust. Hard. She loves that look of pain that washes over you. She’ll wrap a hand around your throat and squeeze as she ruts into you.

She’ll fuck you like she hates you, but you know it’s all love when she’s slapping your face, and filling your mouth with her fingers.

And when she thinks that’s not enough? She’ll grip the back of your legs and push them up to your chest, effectively folding you up before drilling into you. She’s got you in a mating press.

And she’ll chuckle away at the tears that form in your eyes, your moans flying out in a mantra. She’ll grin down at you, her lips pulling back into a cocky smirk. "Yeah, good girl.." There’s a lewd slapping that fills the room. "How does that feel, sweet girl?" She’ll ask, sticking her fingers down your throat again, "Is Mommy hitting all the right spots, baby?"

And this’ll go on until she’s made you cum a few times. She likes to watch the expression on your face when you come undone, tears falling from your eyes.

But don’t think your done, no, she’s just getting started.

She’ll pull out and physically toss you over, shoving your head down with brute force and pulling your ass up. She’ll push her dick back in, slowly so you feel it. “S’good right?” She’ll ask, “Mommy filling you up?” and she’s back to drilling you like she never stopped.

She’ll lean over you, wrapping a muscular arm around your throat and putting you in a headlock. She’ll snicker evily in your ear as you cry out at the new angle, “Ohhh, Mommy’s fucking you good, huh? Right there?” She’ll tease, beating that spot in relentlessly.

If you get too loud she’ll have no choice but to squeeze that arm around your throat, snickering at the way you tap at her arm, “So pretty…” She’ll say in your ear, driving her hips into yours, “Tell Mommy how much you love her..”she’ll say, knowing you can’t respond. The drool will run down your chin and she’ll just lick it up, muttering, “Such a messy girl, huh?”

When shes feels her primal needs are satisfied, she’ll return back to that soft, loving “Sevi” that you know. Cleaning you up and giving you kissies. Rubbing all of your sore spots and telling you how much of a good girl you were.

And as you both cuddle in your shared bed, she’ll watch as you fall asleep on her chest, a small smile forming on her lips as she lets herself doze off as well.

please let me know if you would like to be added to my tag list to be notified every time i post, xx

#sevika #arcane #arcane headcanon #league of legends #arcane league of legends #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika smut #lesbian #wlw #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 #ao3

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flowergirl1243 · 5 days ago

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soft launch season - [part two]

SUMMARY: when Lando Norris' notorious party boy reputation may be too far out of control to save, you step in to save his image (and maybe his heart).

PAIRING: lando norris x fem!reader

part one part two part three part four part five part six part seven

ACT 2: THE THEORY ERA

Liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and others lando slower days. better mornings.

user8 WHOSE HAND??

user9 ok soft launch. we see you

user10 you used to be fun 🙄 ↳ user11 no this is romantic as hell don't stop lando

They were at the marina.

She’d asked if he wanted to walk. He said yes without thinking, then spent the next twenty minutes regretting how fast he said it.

They didn’t talk much at first.

The marina was half-lit, sky dimming to that deep, moody blue just before it slips into black. The air smelled like salt and engine oil and late summer. Waves lapped at the sides of the boats, soft and rhythmic. Everything around them was low, slow, quiet.

She walked beside him, not quite brushing shoulders, but close enough to make him aware of her with every step. She wore something simple, white linen pants, a tank top, a sweater tied around her waist. Hair pulled back, skin glowing from the last of the sun. He hated how he noticed every detail.

They weren’t touching. They never really were. But it always felt like they almost were.

Lando shoved his hands into his pockets.

“So what, you just walk around the marina for fun?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she said, her voice calm. “Good place to think.”

He side-eyed her. “You invited me. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

She just gave him that look again, the one where her mouth twitched like she was hiding a joke, but her eyes stayed steady. “Maybe I wanted company.”

That word made something shift in his chest.

He looked away. “You’re hard to figure out.”

She smiled in a way that said she knew all his secrets. “That’s the point.”

They stopped near the edge, where the dock curved outward and the water looked like glass. Lights from the moored boats rippled on the surface, casting reflections that wobbled and stretched. It was stupidly beautiful, and Lando hated how aware he was of it. Or maybe he just hated how aware he was of her.

She sat down on the edge without hesitation, feet dangling over the water. After a second, he followed, close but not touching.

A breeze swept in from the coast, cool enough to make her pull the sleeves of her sweater over her hands. Lando tried not to stare as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her profile soft in the half-light.

“This feels too normal,” she murmured.

He glanced at her. “Too normal?”

She shrugged, eyes still on the sea. “I thought fake dating a Formula 1 driver would be a little more…I don’t know. Flashy.”

He smiled. “You want paparazzi and champagne?”

“Not really. But I wasn’t expecting you to be quiet.”

“I’m not quiet.”

“You are with me.”

That hung between them for a second too long.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of every inch of space between them. And more than that, every inch they weren’t touching. Which was ridiculous. He wasn’t trying to notice that. It just happened.

“Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

She turned her head slowly, resting her chin on her knee. “Or maybe you’re scared if you say something, it’ll start to feel real.”

His heart stuttered.

But she didn’t say it like a challenge. She said it like a passing observation. Like she wasn’t even talking about him.

Still, he didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything at all.

They sat in silence again, and it wasn’t awkward. But it wasn’t comfortable either. It was something else. A space with too many sharp edges and not enough words.

Eventually, she stretched her arms behind her, leaning back on her palms.

“So…” she said, slow and casual, “when do you think we have to start, you know…acting more convincingly?”

He blinked. “You don’t think we’re convincing?”

She smiled, but it was tight. “I think we are. I don’t know if they think we are.”

He nodded, unsure if they were still talking about the public anymore. Or if that had ever been the point.

“I guess we’ll have to be more obvious,” he said.

“Guess so,” she echoed.

And neither of them moved.

He hated interviews. Always had.

Not because they were hard, they weren’t. Say what you’re meant to say. Smile when you’re supposed to. Keep the edge off. Stay likeable. It wasn’t rocket science.

But lately, the questions had started shifting. Less about racing lines and car setups. More about…him.

Today wasn’t any different.

He’d just stepped off the pit wall after quali, still in his race suit, half-zipped, sweat cooling on the back of his neck. The sun was brutal, and his mind was still half on the lap he’d botched in sector three.

But the interviewer had that look, the 'so, let’s talk about your personal life' glint that made his stomach turn.

“Fans are saying you’ve mellowed out a bit this season,” the interviewer started, microphone up, grin too polished. “Anything to credit that to?”

Lando smiled. Just a little. Just enough.

He could’ve dodged it. He could’ve made a joke, shrugged it off, said something forgettable.

But instead,

“I don’t know,” he said, eyes flicking away for half a second. “Maybe I just figured out what matters.”

The interviewer’s eyebrows went up, like he hadn’t expected that much honesty. “She watches your races?”

Lando exhaled through a smile. “Sometimes. Not always.”

He looked out past the paddock, toward the crowd, toward the edge of the garages where team staff filtered in and out. And maybe if he wished with his whole might, she might be standing there with her soft smile that promised everything will be alright.

But she wasn't. He was here in Miami, and she was back home in Monaco. And then in a brief moment of lapse, he repeated something she had told him on their third 'date' together.

“She says she prefers the parts where I’m standing still.”

There was a beat of laughter, polite, surprised, genuine.

The interview wrapped soon after, just a few more technical questions before they thanked him and moved on. But Lando stayed there for a moment longer, tugging his suit back up over his shoulders, jaw tight.

He shouldn’t have said that. Or maybe he should’ve.

He didn’t know anymore.

All he knew was that she’d hear it. Whether someone sent her the clip or she found it herself, she’d see the way he said it. The pause before the smile. The softness in it.

She’d know he wasn’t acting.

And that was what scared him.

Because the second she realised it, really realised it, he didn’t know what she’d do.

But he knew he’d already crossed the line.

1 voicemail from lando [1:04]

"hey, y/n. [pause]. I don’t know if you watched the race today. Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. Honestly, I kind of hope you didn’t. I wasn’t great. The car was fighting me the whole time, and I wasn’t really…in it.

I know I probably shouldn't be calling, or whatever, but [pause] I just...miss you. Is that weird of me to say? I don't know.

Everything is just so loud here. You’re the quiet in my head, if that makes sense. Probably doesn’t. I’m tired.

You weren’t there. I could feel it. It’s stupid. Sorry, I just wanted to talk to you. Even like this. Uh, yeah. [pause] Bye."

Hello, my angels! Here is part two of this series, yippee!! If you have any ideas or suggestions for other things I could do or any requests do let me know! Also, if you want to be added to the taglist let me know! Thanks so much for your support!!

Also in honour of Lando winning today, I may do a double update! taglist @sol3chu, @charlesgirl16, @motorsp0rt, @imdyinghelpplease, @vampgege

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #ln4 mcl #ln4 x reader #f1 #f1 x reader

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beaureveries · 18 days ago

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ONE SHOT : YOU LET ME MISS YOU THIS BAD?

paige x azzi

trigger : mature content & very horny p

this is my first time writing smut… tell me what you guys think 🫣

(Imma throw myself off a cliff now, I CANNOT WRITE SMUT. )

- 5k words

——————————————————————————

P’s POV

The door clicked shut behind her, loud in the quiet, like the whole apartment had been holding its breath.

Paige dragged her hand down her face, skin sticky with sweat, shirt clinging in the worst places. Her body felt heavy. Shoulders tight. Mind worse. She hadn’t even played bad tonight, but it didn’t matter — nothing ever felt right anymore.

Not when Azzi wasn’t here.

The ache had been building for weeks. On the court, off it, everywhere in between. In the way she missed texts, the way she checked her phone at stupid hours. In the way she touched herself at night and didn’t finish because it just made it worse. She wanted her.

And then—

“Hey.”

Paige’s whole body jolted like someone had grabbed the back of her neck. Her head whipped around, heart tripping over itself.

There. Sitting sideways on her damn couch like she lived there. Azzi. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs folded, scrolling through something on her phone like she hadn’t just flipped Paige’s entire existence upside down.

Paige couldn’t breathe for a second. The weight of missing her knocked into her ribs like a punch, sharp and stupid and too much all at once.

“What the hell…” she managed, voice cracked, rough from not using it enough for things that mattered.

Azzi looked up with that damn smile — the soft deep dimpled one, a little tilted, like she knew exactly what she was doing to her.

Paige stared. Just stared. Like maybe she was asleep. Like maybe her brain was short-circuiting again, stuck between I’m going to cry and I’m going to ruin you.

“You let me miss you like that?” she finally said, stepping forward, jaw locked. “Like a fuckin’ idiot. Every night. Thinking about you. Wanting you so bad it hurts—and you’ve been here waiting for me?”

Azzi’s mouth did that small thing — biting her lip, lashes down, like she was innocent. Like she wasn’t lethal.

“Thought it’d be more fun this way.”

Paige laughed once, sharp and humorless, dragging her hand through her sweaty hair. She was shaking. She didn’t even notice until she was standing right over Azzi, fists curling at her sides like she was holding herself back from breaking.

And then Azzi looked up at her like that, and Paige folded.

Her hands moved before she told them to, cupping Azzi’s jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheeks like she’d forgotten what her skin felt like and was relearning it by heart. Slow. Fingers threading back into Azzi’s curls, pulling just slightly, just enough to make Azzi’s lips part with a breath.

“God, I missed you,” Paige muttered, dragging her thumbs across Azzi’s cheekbones like she was starving for her.

She leaned in, not even kissing her yet, just pressing their foreheads together, breathing the same air, like the moment before a storm.

Azzi’s hands slid up her sides, under the hem of her shirt, nails scratching lightly over bare skin. It felt like heaven and torture at the same time. Paige’s breath hitched.

“I missed you too,” Azzi whispered.

But Paige didn’t want whispers. She wanted everything. She wanted the weeks they’d lost, the nights spent restless, the soft little sounds she only ever got to hear when they were like this — close.

She dragged her hands down Azzi’s sides, slow, feeling every dip, every shiver under her palms. Her fingers brushed Azzi’s thighs, squeezing gently, just to feel her.

And still, she didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

“I’m mad at you,” Paige whispered against her mouth, the words breaking apart on the shape of Azzi’s lips. “You let me sit here going crazy for you. And you’re just gonna sit here—looking like that—acting cute?”

Azzi smiled, teeth showing now, playful and sharp at the same time. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Paige’s hands tightened around her thighs, like she might pull her apart right there.

“Everything,” she rasped, finally kissing her — slow first, hungry underneath, like she was tasting the weeks they’d lost in one breath. Her hands moved up, sliding under Azzi’s hoodie, palms against warm, soft skin, feeling every shiver she caused.

Azzi’s fingers tangled in her hair, nails scratching lightly at her scalp, pulling her closer.

“Paige,” she breathed against her mouth, and Paige swore she almost lost it right there just from the sound of it.

“I’m gonna make up for all of it,” Paige promised, voice rough, kissing down her jaw, slow trails of lips and teeth against soft skin. “You’re not leaving this couch until I’m finished with you.”

Azzi just leaned back, giving her everything.

She didn’t deserve to be nice about this. Not after what Azzi pulled. Not after letting her sit in this apartment for weeks like she wasn’t going insane thinking about her.

So Paige didn’t start soft. Didn’t give her the easy kiss Azzi probably thought she was gonna get. She bit it. Dragged her teeth across Azzi’s bottom lip and tugged until Azzi gasped, until she could feel her melt just a little under her hands.

“Oh, now you wanna act sweet?” Paige muttered against her mouth, voice rough, hips pressing forward just enough to feel Azzi’s thighs tense under her. “Nah. You don’t get sweet.”

Azzi’s nails curled into the back of Paige’s neck, sharp enough to make her hiss, but Paige just smiled. Good. She liked when Azzi got like this — bratty and soft at the same time, wanting to act tough but already starting to fall apart.

“You’ve been here—sitting here—waiting, knowing how bad I wanted you?” Paige slid one hand up, slow, dragging her knuckles across Azzi’s stomach under the hoodie, feeling goosebumps rise under her touch. “That’s rude, baby.”

Azzi’s breath caught. “You’re mad at me for coming to see you?”

“I’m mad at you for waiting” Paige said, low, biting again at the edge of her jaw, right under her ear, the place that always made her twitch. “Mad at you for letting me miss you like that. Like a loser. Thinking about you, every night, touching myself to nothing, ‘cause it didn’t work without you.”

Azzi whimpered — soft, involuntary, the exact sound Paige had been starving for. Paige smiled against her skin like this is all she’s been craving for.

“Oh, you like that?” she taunted, trailing her tongue behind her teeth along Azzi’s throat, then biting gently. “You should. ‘Cause you’re gonna sit here and take every second of it.”

Her hand slid lower, dragging across the waistband of Azzi’s shorts, not inside yet, just enough to tease, to make her hips twitch forward in frustration.

Paige didn’t give in.

“You don’t get to be bratty and get what you want,” Paige whispered darkly, dragging her teeth along Azzi’s collarbone, tasting her skin and sweat. “Not tonight.”

Azzi whined softly, lifting her hips like she was begging without saying it, but Paige gripped her thighs harder, holding her down against the couch cushions.

“Nu-uh—don’t start,” Paige warned, lifting her head to glare at her. “If you wanna act up, I can play that game all night.”

Azzi’s mouth opened like she was gonna talk back, but Paige kissed her again, harder this time, all tongue and frustration and teeth, owning her mouth like she had a point to prove.

When she finally broke the kiss, Paige was breathing heavy, forehead against Azzi’s again, one hand tangled deep in those curls.

“Say you’re sorry,” Paige whispered, lips brushing hers, so soft it was almost cruel. “Tell me you’re sorry for being a brat.”

Azzi glared at her, stubborn, lips wet and red, cheeks flushed. “Make me.”

That was it. Paige laughed, sharp and dangerous, like she’d been hoping for that answer.

“God, I missed you,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re gonna regret that.”

And then her hand slid down — inside this time — fingers slipping under elastic, knuckles brushing soft curls, slow, so slow, torturously slow, until her middle finger barely parted her folds, just enough to feel how warm and wet she already was.

Paige groaned low in her throat.

“Already wet for me,” she murmured, biting at Azzi’s jaw again. “And you’re talking back? You don’t deserve it yet.”

And then — she pulled her hand back out. Just like that.

Azzi let out a noise, half frustration, half desperation, hips trying to chase her hand, but Paige held her down again, smirking.

“Paige…” Azzi whined.

“Uh-uh,” Paige taunted, brushing her hand along Azzi’s stomach, wet fingers trailing heat across her skin. “be good, or I’m gonna tease you until you actually beg me to fuck you Azzi.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered shut, chest rising fast, already squirming under her.

Paige was gonna ruin her. Slow. Torturous. Exactly what she deserved.

“You’re gonna sit here,” Paige breathed, dragging Azzi into her lap like she belonged there, rough hands around her waist, pulling her down until she was straddling her thighs, right where Paige wanted her—needed her. “And you’re gonna earn it.”

Azzi’s nails dug into Paige’s shoulders, but her brat act was already cracking, breath stuttering every time Paige’s fingers even thought about slipping lower. “You’re such an asshole,” she whispered, like she wanted it to sound mean but it came out shaky instead.

Paige grinned, sharp and feral. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

She let her fingers dip low again, dragging through heat, just barely brushing her clit before pulling away, over and over, slow torture, keeping Azzi on the edge but never letting her fall over it.

“You’re already soaked,” Paige muttered, voice dark, almost to herself now. “And you’re gonna sit here acting tough? Cute.”

Azzi tried to roll her hips again, chasing friction, chasing anything, but Paige held her down, one strong arm around her waist like a damn vice, pressing her into her lap, into the couch cushions, nowhere to run.

“Be good,” Paige warned, kissing up under her jaw, soft lips against sensitive skin, sharp contrast to her rough grip. “Or I’ll stop. And we both know I can.”

Azzi whimpered, biting her lip, that bratty fire in her eyes flickering like it was trying to survive, but Paige was putting it out one slow, torturous circle at a time.

Finally—finally—Paige slid two fingers through her folds, slow and deliberate, letting the wet sound fill the space between them like it was proof of how bad Azzi wanted it.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” Paige whispered, kissing the corner of Azzi’s mouth but not giving her a real kiss. “All that attitude, and for what? Just to fall apart for me the second I touch you?”

Azzi’s chest was rising fast now, breaths coming short, like she was already starting to break. “Paige…”

“I know, baby,” Paige murmured, almost sweet. Almost. “I know what you want. Say you’re sorry.”

Azzi shook her head, teeth grit, still holding onto that last thread of stubbornness. “Make me.”

Paige laughed, deep in her chest. Dangerous. Excited.

“Oh, I’m going to.”

And then—finally—she pushed two fingers inside, slow but deep, curling just right, just to hear Azzi’s breath catch like she’d been punched.

“That’s it,” Paige whispered, curling her fingers again, dragging them against that soft, devastating spot, over and over, knowing exactly what she was doing. “You feel that? That’s mine.”

Azzi moaned, head tipping back, neck exposed, perfect, vulnerable.

Paige bit at her throat again, rougher this time, fingers moving deeper, curling slow, thumb pressing just barely at her clit like a threat.

“I could do this all night,” Paige murmured against her skin. “Keep you right here, shaking and begging, never letting you come until you say you’re sorry.”

Azzi whimpered, body trembling, thighs starting to shake under Paige’s hands.

And then Paige stopped moving her fingers. Stopped. Just like that. Fingers inside, but not moving, just sitting there like weight.

Azzi whined, frustrated, hips fighting to move but Paige was stronger, holding her exactly where she wanted.

“You wanna come?” Paige asked softly, almost sweet, like she wasn’t absolutely ruining her girlfriend. “Then beg.”

Azzi’s chest heaved, eyes fluttering open, glassy and burning, pride cracking.

“Say it,” Paige said again, curling her fingers just once, just to make Azzi moan through her teeth. “Say you’re sorry for being a brat. Tell me how much you missed me.”

Azzi’s voice broke. “I’m—I’m sorry. Fuck—Paige, I’m sorry.”

Paige smiled against her throat, biting down again. “Good girl.”

But she didn’t let up. Not yet. Saying sorry wasn’t enough — not after the way she’d been acting.

So Paige kept her fingers moving slow, almost lazy, curling inside Azzi just to keep her teetering on the edge, barely enough to satisfy, but not enough to tip her over.

Azzi let out a desperate whine, her thighs trembling around Paige’s hips now, hands scrabbling at her shoulders like she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore.

“Paige,” she gasped, hips twitching helplessly, needing more, chasing after it like it might save her. “Please…”

Paige hummed, like she was thinking about it, like she wasn’t already completely addicted to the sound of Azzi begging like that. “Mmm. I don’t know, baby. I like you like this.”

She pressed her thumb down against Azzi’s clit again, soft, slow circles, the kind that felt infuriating when you were right on the edge, needing more friction, faster, harder—but Paige wouldn’t give it to her yet.

“You’re gonna come when I say,” Paige whispered against Azzi’s mouth, teasing her with the ghost of a kiss, lips brushing, never giving her the real thing. “And not a second before.”

Azzi whined, high and broken. “I can’t—please—”

Paige’s grip around her waist tightened, grounding her, steadying her while she completely unraveled in her lap. “You can. You’re gonna be good for me now, yeah? Gonna show me how much you missed me?”

Azzi nodded frantically, breathless, lips parting like she was already falling apart just from the words alone.

“Words,” Paige said firmly, curling her fingers inside again, slow, deep, unrelenting. “Use them.”

“I missed you,” Azzi choked out, moaning through the words, thighs shaking harder now. “Fuck—I missed you so much.”

That broke something deep in Paige — the sound of it, the truth of it, both of them having missed each other so much it physically hurt. But Paige kept control, kept herself steady, because Azzi deserved to feel this. To know exactly what she did to her.

“That’s my girl,” Paige praised, finally letting her fingers speed up, dragging deep, relentless curls against that devastating spot that always made Azzi fall apart. “Go on, then. Come for me.”

Azzi gasped like she’d been hit, nails digging into Paige’s shoulders like claws, hips jolting helplessly now as Paige fucked her through it — harder, deeper, claiming every part of her, thumb working tight circles against her clit until Azzi was crying out, shattering in Paige’s lap, everything in her going tight and trembling before breaking.

“That’s it” Paige whispered darkly, almost reverently, holding her through the whole thing, fingers working her through every last tremor, not letting up until Azzi was shaking and gasping, totally spent, wrecked in the best possible way.

Finally, finally, Paige eased her touch, slipping her fingers out slow, stroking Azzi’s thighs gently, grounding her, kissing her softly now—finally giving her that sweet, real kiss she hadn’t earned until right now.

“Next time,” Paige murmured against her lips, smirking, “don’t make me work so hard for it.”

Azzi could only breathe, shaking her head with a broken laugh, ruined and glowing.

“Worth it,” she whispered back.

Paige grinned. “Yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Azzi was still catching her breath, slumped against Paige’s chest, hair clinging to damp skin, but there was something dangerous in her eyes now. A different kind of hunger.

And before Paige could say anything else, Azzi was already moving — sitting up straighter, fingers curling into the waistband of Paige’s sweatpants.

Paige blinked, breath catching. “What are you—”

“I missed you,” Azzi whispered, voice rough, tugging Paige’s sweatpants down slow, deliberate. “Wanna show you.”

Paige lifted her hips without thinking, letting Azzi pull them down, boxers with them, peeling them off like she was unwrapping something precious. And the whole time, her eyes never left Paige’s — like she wanted her to feel it, to see how desperate she was to give her this.

And then, once Paige was bare, Azzi was already sliding off her lap, sinking to her knees between Paige’s legs.

It knocked the breath out of Paige, seeing her like that—flushed, hair messy, lips still swollen from being ruined, and now on her knees, looking up, pupils blown wide, hungry in a way that made Paige’s thighs tense already.

Paige tried to speak, but her throat was dry. “Azzi—”

“I want to,” Azzi said firmly, soft but steady, leaning in to press slow, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of Paige’s thigh, dragging her lips up until Paige was trembling now.

Paige could feel the control slipping. Not all of it, but enough to make her burn for it. Enough to make her spread her legs wider without even thinking, giving Azzi more room, welcoming it.

“You gonna be good for me now?” Paige managed to grit out, fingers threading into Azzi’s curls, holding gently but with weight, not to guide, just to feel her. “You gonna take care of me?”

Azzi nodded, kissing up and up, until her lips were brushing right where Paige was aching the most. “I’m gonna be so good for you.”

And then she kissed her there — soft, open, tongue flicking just enough to make Paige swear under her breath, hips twitching without permission.

Azzi didn’t start fast. Didn’t start sloppy or wild. She started gentle, worshipful, teasing Paige the same way Paige had tortured her minutes ago — slow licks, soft kisses, building it up, dragging it out, making Paige feel it.

“God—Azzi” Paige moaned, tightening her grip in Azzi’s hair, hips jerking up, chasing more friction. “Stop teasing.”

Azzi smiled against her, fucking smiling, like Paige hadn’t just reduced her to a shaking mess on her lap, like this was her payback, sweet and slow.

“I thought you liked control,” Azzi murmured, lips brushing against sensitive, wet skin. “Thought you liked making me beg.”

Paige let out a helpless, breathless laugh, already falling apart. “You’re such a little shit.”

And then Azzi stopped teasing.

Tongue sliding in firm, deep, hot and wet, licking exactly how Paige needed it, like she knew her by heart, because she did. She fucking did.

Paige’s thighs tried to clamp around her head, but Azzi’s hands were already there, holding her open, keeping her right where she wanted her, working her tongue in slow, devastating patterns, flicking over her clit just right before dragging back down, again and again, until Paige was cursing, head thrown back, completely gone.

“Azzi—fuck—”

Azzi didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. She kept licking, sucking, worshiping, soft moans vibrating against Paige’s skin like she was turned on just by giving. Letting Paige use her mouth, letting herself be Paige’s, like she loved it.

And when Paige started shaking, thighs trembling, hips jerking up into her mouth, Azzi tightened her hold, pressed her tongue flatter, rougher, moaning softly into her until Paige was gone.

“Az—Azzi—oh my god—”

And Paige broke.

It hit her hard, sharp, the kind of orgasm that made her swear out loud, whole body curling forward, abs tightening, fingers tangled in Azzi’s hair like she might fall apart without her.

Azzi didn’t stop until Paige was shaking, until every twitch had slowed, until she could barely breathe. Only then did she finally pull back, lips wet, eyes soft and glowing, wrecked and smug.

Paige could only stare down at her, breathless, ruined, heart pounding out of her chest.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Paige whispered hoarsely, laughing, completely wrecked, completely in love.

Azzi climbed back up into her lap, curling into her chest like she hadn’t just destroyed her, kissing Paige’s jaw softly, gently.

“Nah,” Azzi whispered, smiling, finally sweet again. “Just missed you.”

Paige’s chest was still heaving, her skin flushed, damp with sweat, completely wrecked — but the moment Azzi curled into her, everything in Paige softened. The roughness melted into tenderness, the teasing faded into something deeper, heavier, like Paige’s whole heart had just cracked wide open.

She wrapped both arms around Azzi’s waist, pulling her close, gently brushing the damp curls off her forehead. “Jesus Christ,” Paige murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her temple, lingering there like she never wanted to move again. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi just hummed, breath still shaky, cheeks flushed but glowing, eyes closed like she was perfectly content right there, pressed into Paige’s chest.

Paige kissed her again, softer this time, right on the hairline, then down to her cheek, like she had to kiss every part of her face now. “C’mere,” she whispered, gently adjusting Azzi in her lap like she weighed nothing, like she was holding something precious.

And she was.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” Paige murmured, brushing her knuckles along Azzi’s jaw. “My princess deserves to be taken care of.”

Azzi’s lashes fluttered, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “I like you like this.”

“Like what?” Paige teased gently, nuzzling her cheek.

“All… soft,” Azzi breathed, curling into her more. “Princess treatment.”

Paige laughed, low and warm, chest shaking with it. “You always get princess treatment.”

Azzi nodded against her neck, and that was all it took for Paige to shift, sliding her arms under Azzi’s thighs and back, lifting her right off the couch like it was nothing, holding her close.

“Say less,” Paige murmured, pressing another kiss to Azzi’s cheek, carrying her toward the bathroom. “I got you.”

Azzi let herself be carried, limp and smiling, arms lazily slung around Paige’s shoulders like she was royalty being escorted to her private suite.

Paige set her down carefully on the closed toilet seat, flicking on the bathroom light, warm and soft, before kneeling in front of her, grabbing a clean towel from under the sink and wetting it with warm water.

“Gonna take care of you first,” Paige said softly, thumb brushing Azzi’s knee. “Just sit there, pretty girl.”

Azzi watched her, eyes soft, completely gone for her, completely theirs in this moment.

Paige cleaned her up gently, slow swipes of the warm cloth between her thighs, careful, attentive, loving, like she wasn’t just cleaning her — she was worshiping her. Every pass of the cloth was followed by a kiss to her knee, or her thigh, or the back of her hand.

When she was done, Paige dropped the towel in the hamper, stood back up, and lifted Azzi again, bridal style, carrying her straight to the bedroom this time.

“Put me down,” Azzi giggled, even though she clearly didn’t mean it.

Paige just grinned. “Nope. Princesses don’t walk.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was blushing, cheeks pink from something entirely different than before now.

Paige laid her down gently on the bed, pulling the covers back first, tucking her in like she was fragile even though they both knew she wasn’t. Then Paige slid in next to her, pulling her close, wrapping her up in both arms, one hand stroking Azzi’s hair while the other rubbed gentle circles into her lower back.

“You okay?” Paige murmured, voice so soft now it was almost a whisper. “You good?”

Azzi nodded into her shoulder. “Better than good.”

Paige kissed her hair. “Yeah. Same.”

For a long time, they just lay there, tangled together, breathing soft, hearts steadying, skin warm against skin. Whispering random topics they suddenly thought about and when Azzi finally started to drift off, Paige was still awake, still brushing her fingers through her curls, still kissing her temple every few minutes, like she couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“My girl” Paige whispered, so quiet Azzi might’ve been asleep already. “I love you Azzi.”

And she meant it.

Every single word.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige x azzi #pazzi #wbb #paige azzi fan fic #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #fluff #smut #pazzi fics #angst

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spitdrunken · 30 days ago

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'Ant' Tenna x Reader (Deltarune)

Notes: Horror undertones, but they're for things Tenna also does canonically. Happy ending...? I keep seeing people saying that this guy is going to be the new Tumblr sexyman, but I don't see anyone being feral about him yet. So. Here you go.

You’d gotten the TV from Toriel, practically for free. She’s well-known in the little town you’re renting a single-room apartment in, and had practically insisted you take it. (“My son… Is also a student, but he moved out. If he needed something, I would be happy knowing he got help from someone too,” she’d told you with a smile.)

Because, yeah, you are a struggling student, with a commute lasting about 4 hours a day, but you couldn’t afford any other place and were desperate enough to get away from home to take it. The town is beautiful and quiet, the rent is dirt cheap and the people are nice, though you can tell it’s not the same compared to if you had grown up here.

Your half a day long commute prevents you from doing much socializing, you’re always thinking about what time you’ll be home, how busy it’ll be on the roads and what the hell you’re going to be eating for dinner that night. Though, to be fair, even without that added hurdle you’ve never found approaching people the easiest. Like, ever. So, you spend a lot of time in your apartment, alone, doing homework or being online, either on the couch or in bed (which, considering they’re in the same room, kind of feel like the same thing). And, now, you have a television to add for entertainment.

It’s old. Toriel had warned you about ‘images that wouldn’t leave the screen’, and as soon as you turn the thing on there’s clear burn-in from the logos of kid’s tv channels and other things, an unfadeable memory. You can’t do a whole lot with it except watch cable… It doesn’t even have a HDMI port.

Still, you’re thankful for it and the old game consoles you’d brought with you from home out of pure nostalgia. Now you can finally dust them off and use them, remember what you loved about those games you played for hours and hours, on your own, as a kid. It feels warm and you find yourself smiling, face illuminated by the screen’s light.

But it always comes to an end. You turn it off, eyelids drooping, and the stress of your day-to-day with its rising expenses, loneliness, student debt and an already dead future career, rushes back to you all at once. You don’t want to leave your room, sometimes. It’s crushing. You don’t have any say in the matter, though, so you get up and keep going, every day practically the same. With a flicker of hope that it will, eventually, someday, get better. That’s what you’ve always been told.

One night, you fall in sleep in front of your television and have the strangest dream, one that feels as real as reality but surely cannot be. There, you’re chaperoned by a man(?) named ‘Ant’ Tenna, treated like the star of the show, the contestant in a quiz that has questions tailored specifically to your personal niche knowledge, and you absolutely blow it out of the park.

You’re not used to being the center of attention like this… Even if the crowd seems more like a mass of moving audience members, rather than actual people. Your knees are trembling for the first five questions and, even after, you struggle and stutter from time, but the host never calls you out on it. It’s surprisingly… Nice. To get this attention, to feel like you’re being acknowledged.

You linger after the show is over, unsure of what to do in the Green Room. You’re not really hungry or tired, which makes sense considering you surely must be dreaming. You wander outside, led by red carpet, and almost run straight into Tenna. He’s huge, absolutely towering over you, easily twice your height. You pull and tug a bit at your clothes as you crane your neck and smile up at him. “I wanted to say—Um, thanks for having me, mister Tenna! It was… Really fun!” Bright, white teeth shine at you from the screen that is his face. He folds his hands behind his back and leans forward, just a little. “Oh, sweetheart, just Tenna is fine! We don’t have to be all formal with each other, do we? I already feel like I know you so well!” You feel a little bit of heat rising to your face. The quiz had been perfectly finetuned to your interests… But that all makes sense, considering this is all happening in the safe confines of your brain, and this man is just a figment of your imagination. It’s all good. Tenna claps his hands in front of his body and you’re jolted from your thoughts. “If you were having such a good time, how about another round?”

And you do. You play and win at a whole variety of games, until your head is spinning—The dream seems to drag on, and on and on. More than anything, you’re having a good time shooting quips back and forth with Tenna, feeling seen and listened to. You don’t think anyone has ever laughed this hard as something you’ve said… Ever? It’s certainly flattering, to say the least, to have someone be so interested in you.

All good things must come to an end, though, and eventually you do get tired, and the life that you had temporarily left behind starts calling to you again. In your mind, it’s inevitable, so you might as well get it over with.

“Leave?” It’s the first time Tenna’s smile wavers during your… Day? Session. “But we’ve been having so much fun—” He laughs, stuttering over part of the noise. “Why do you want to leave?” His hand drums on the back of his head, making a dull clanking noise. “I can think up some more games, some more fun quizzes?!” Tenna’s voice shoots up in pitch. “We can save that for next time?” You say with a smile. This notion, the thought that you’d like to return, seems to settle Tenna somewhat. His hand drops back to his side, swaying back and forth. “Oh! You’d like to return… I mean, of course you would!” He beams at you. “I’ll—I’ll have some more time to think things over, for them to marinate! It’ll be great!!” “Yeah,” you say, a little breathless. “Thanks. Again. This was fun. I don’t…” you trail off and swallow. “I don’t really talk to a lot of people anymore. So this was really nice. Thank you.” You don't know why you say it. Perhaps because you don't think any of this is real. You've never been this vulnerable around anyone in real-life. Before you completely realise what’s happening, he lowers himself in a crouching position and pulls you into a tight hug. “I know,” he says softly. “I know. Me neither.”

You wake up with a sore neck and dried spit on your chin. It takes you a while to will your body to move. It’s heavy and sluggish. Unlike other dreams you’ve had, it remains crisp in your mind as ever. The world around you seems more gray-toned than ever in comparison to the bright colours and flourishes of the world you’d entered as you were dreaming… One where you didn’t have to worry about anything, with someone who has eyes just for you. Well, if he has eyes at all. Maybe that kind of saying would be considered offensive.

When you fall asleep that night, you do it on the couch in the exact same position, as if that were the reason behind the dream you had the night before. It takes ages for you to drift off. Embarrassingly enough, you’re so excited that your heart keeps racing. You fall asleep, going there again and again, a personal little place of peace you return to every single night. Maybe it’s all some kind of illusion your brain has conjured up to help you to cope and, if that’s the case, you could still have peace with it. You drag yourself through the days for the nights that offer relief.

“Why don’t you just stay here?” Tenna asks, eventually, uncharacteristic in his stillness. He’s an entertainer by his very nature. Even when he’s not on the stage, he’s always moving, always loud, always working to keep your attention on him. Now, he grabs your interest with nothing but quiet. “I know you’ll come back. You have so many times, but—Why even leave? What’s still waiting for you out there? A bleak future? People who don’t appreciate you? Stay with me…” For the first time since you met him, Tenna physically shrinks down in size, becoming close to your height. His head is hung low. “Please. I’d like, no, love for you to stay.” You reach up and stroke the glass of his face. “Me too. I’ll do it.” “You promise?” “Yeah. Definitely.” He swoops you up and you screech as he suddenly increases in size once again, carrying you high up in the air all at once. As he breaks out in silly, impromptu dance moves, laughter bubbles up from your throat and fills your entire body. This is a happy ending, you tell yourself, though a little lingering bit of doubt retains. (Is this the easy way out? Have you chosen stasis over a life of infinite possibilities?) But… Well, if it’s lazy or weak or too easy, you decide that you deserve an easy life.

#deltarune x reader #ant tenna x reader #tenna x reader #mr tenna x reader #mr ant tenna x reader #deltarune spoilers #cha.tenna

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thehoneybeestings · 4 months ago

Text

𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝

𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚 𝐱 𝐦𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

‧₊˚── Synopsis: Your best friend has invited you to a Piltover Gala. You wouldn't be so worried if the guest list didn't include Ambessa Medarda: the woman you've been seeing secretly for months, and, of course, your best friend's mother...

Word Count: 3.6K Content/Warnings: slight divergence from canon (i guess piltover and noxus are cool w each other now), nsfw, reader is referred to w fem pronouns/has fem anatomy, reader has hair long enough to pull, jealous!ambessa, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, bondage, spanking, vibrator use, strap use, reader gives ambessa head mhmmm, consent checks bc ambessa is a good dom, mel stop meddling in your best friend's love life challenge failed, jayce stop being sassy challenge failed, sappho exists in this universe bc she exists in every universe I write sorry not sorry A/N: i just realized that anon asked for the reader's relationship to be exposed and I totally forgot to incorporate that aspect, but i was thinking i might do a little drabble soon of mel's reaction to the reader's relationship with her mom... what do you guys think? anywho... for now, i hope i did this request justice and that you enjoy! based on this ask (thank you anon!)

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

“This is bad, Jayce.”

You’re staring at yourself in the lighted full-length mirror in Mel’s bedroom-sized closet, hands nervously running up and down the tulle skirt of your dress; one of five that Mel had custom made for you to choose from for tomorrow’s gala.

You should be ecstatic. Who wouldn’t love the chance to dress up in Piltover’s finest garments, playing pretend with the nobles while you gorge yourself on fancy hors d'oeuvres and drown yourself in free champagne with your best friend?

You would be ecstatic if it weren’t for the fact that on the guest list was Ambessa Medarda: Noxian warrior by day, your secret lover by night.

Oh, and lest you forget: your best friend’s mother.

“So, so bad…” you mutter, stepping off of the circular podium and plopping down in the velvet chaise beside it.

“Really? You know, I was gonna say the color really brings out your eyes-”

Jayce is cut off by a mouthful of the gown that you throw at him from across the room.

“Not the dress, Jayce!”

Reading the room was not his forte.

“Hey, watch it,” he scolds, “this is Noxian silk! Be delicate!”

Case and point. You roll your eyes at him as he fumbles to place the gown back on its hanger.

“Listen,” he sighs, walking over to where you're sprawled out helplessly on the chaise. He lifts your leaden legs, sits down beside you, and places them on his lap. “It’s going to be fine. Ambessa knows the two of you are keeping things… you know… on the low,”

You cringe at his attempted use of slang.

“Yeah, I didn’t like that either, didn’t feel natural at all- anyway! Ambessa knows you aren’t ready to tell Mel about the two of you. She’ll keep her distance, you’ll keep yours, and you’ll get to have a fun night with your best friend. Don’t overthink it.”

You nod slowly, bottom lip between your teeth as you mull over his words.

“You’re right,” you say with a soft smile. “you’re right. It’ll be fine.”

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

What you had not accounted for was that Mel had been plotting to set you up with an acquaintance of hers, and she figured, what better night to introduce the two of you than at an event such as this?

“What the hell?” You whisper-scream, pulling Mel into a secluded corner of the beautiful ballroom.

“What?” She asks, feining innocence; although, she knew entirely well that the reason she’d chosen to give you no notice of this potential suitor was because you would have enthusiastically declined, as you always did.

“Mel,” you scold, “why did you not tell me I’d have some date entertain? One has to prepare herself for these things!”

“Oh, come on, you make it sound like you’re on babysitting duty. She’s perfectly pleasant! A little bit older- just as you like-”

Your face heats up,

“And very kind! Brilliant, too; we’re in a book club together and her analysis each week is thoroughly impressive.”

Wariness is still written all over your face.

“Please, Y/n?” Mel pleads, “Just give her tonight. See how it goes. If you don’t click, you never have to see her again.”

You sigh. It isn’t the clicking you’re worried about; you’re sure she is “perfectly pleasant,” and she is easy on the eyes. You might have even been interested if it weren’t for the woman in red across the room whose eyes were already on you like a hawk. At times, you couldn’t even see that she was staring; you simply felt it. The invisible pull, tantalizing and thick with tension…

And gods, here was her daughter in front of you. You’re nearly mortified at the circumstance.

Nevertheless, you’d need to play it off. If you were too averse to the idea of spending time with this suitor- Clara, was it?- Mel would want to know why, and her prying was relentless.

“Fine,” you resign with a sigh, “I will entertain her-and you- just this once.”

The woman in front of you squeals in excitement. You feign amusement, but deep down, you know: if Ambessa sees you humoring this woman, you’re screwed.

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

“Ah, yes; the poems of Sappho. Some of my favorites,” Clara muses.

The two of you have taken to discussing your favorite authors and works of literature, unsurprisingly, considering that Mel mentioned meeting Clara at her book club. This was a good topic, you thought. Pleasant enough to stay engaged, but not so engaging that she’d get the chance for her to make any moves.

Clara moves in closer, lowering her voice to speak to you.

“Mel mentioned you were a big fan of her work,” she says with a coy smile.

Damn it, you think, I should have stayed away from Sappho!

“She also mentioned that you were very bright, and I must admit,”

She leans down to whisper into your ear,

“You’ve got beauty to match your brains.”

“O-oh,” you stutter with an awkward laugh, “Thanks.”

Clara gives you an amused smirk. She must think she’s flustered you, and not that you’ve just caught sight of Ambessa glaring at her.

“Your drink is empty,” she observes.

“Oh! Yes... it is.”

“Allow me.”

Clara takes the empty glass from your hands, sauntering over to the bar and leaving you alone… finally, until,

“How’s it going?”

You jump at the sound of Mel’s voice in your ear from behind you.

“Gods, Mel! You scared me!”

“Oh, pfft. I didn’t mean to; but tell me! Are the two of you getting on alright?”

You give her a shrug and a half-hearted smile.

“We both like Sappho…”

“Wonderful! I knew the two of you would have so much in common, I simply-”

The rest of Mel’s match-maker ramble fades to white noise when suddenly, from the corner of your eye, you see Ambessa approaching.

“...and the two of you- are you listening?!”

Your wide eyes snap back to her. “Sorry! It’s just-”

Her gaze follows yours, and her eyes land on her mother.

“Gods, Y/n. She isn’t that intimidating, you know.”

“Right,” you exhale.

Right. Intimidated of the renowned Noxian warrior in front of you. That’s what you were. Not terrified of her daughter finding out you were sleeping with her, not bewildered at the fact that you’re sleeping with her in the first place, and certainly not a little turned on by the glare she just gave you…

“Enjoying the party, mother?” Mel greets.

“Only as much as I typically enjoy these sorts of events, dear,” she sighs, adjusting the ornate gold jewelry circling her bicep in a practiced movement.

“You’re bored out of your mind and ready to go home to your library,” Mel deadpans.

“Precisely.”

You let out a chuckle at the interaction. Ambessa’s attention is back on you.

“How are you, Y/n?”

You short circuit for a moment, not expecting her to address you directly.

“Oh! I- I’m fine. Same as you. Ready to curl up with a good book.”

Her gaze softens for a moment. She knows how much you love to read; you’ve spent hours upon hours tackling her personal collection.

Mel sighs with a roll of her eyes. “She’s not enjoying her company.”

You glare at Mel, cursing her mouthiness.

“I try so hard to set her up with people- who I believe are perfectly good matches, by the way- but she’s quite picky, this one.”

Ambessa knows this, too.

You let out an incredulous scoff.

“Mel!”

Ambessa smiles again. This time, there’s something else to it. Something mischievous… calculated.

“Not to worry, dear,” she begins, looking at you, “there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

You’re glad you aren’t nursing champagne at the moment, or you might have choked on it.

“Oh! There’s Jayce,” Mel excitedly begins, sights set on the double doors at the front of the room. “I’ll be back in a moment. Mother, do try not to scare my guest.”

You watch in poorly concealed horror as Mel prances off, leaving you along with Ambessa.

When you finally dare to look at her, she’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes and a set jaw.

“So-”

She cuts you off with a hum.

You sigh, eyebrows furrowing as you begin to plead with her.

“Ambessa, I can explain,”

“No need.”

Your stomach drops. She’s pissed, and there’s not shit you can do about it.

She walks forward, leaning down to whisper in your ear just as Clara had moments ago.

“Tonight, half-past 10. My quarters.”

With that, she walks away, shoulder brushing yours as she leaves to stand there with you face running pale.

Your eyes are trained on the flickering candles adorning the table in front of you as you imagine what she has planned, what she might say to you, what she might do to you-

“Your champagne, miss.”

Clara interrupts your train of thought with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You turn to her, forcing a smile.

“Might we get something stronger?”

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

It’s 10:29 when you arrive at the intricately carved wooden door to Ambessa’s room. She was already upset; you wouldn't dare have her wait on top of it.

You raise your hand to knock on the solid wood, hand pausing in the air.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and leave a soft knock on the door.

It opens in an instant, Ambessa peering down at you with an icy glint in her eyes.

She takes a deep breath of her own, gaze unyielding as she cocks her head to the side, motioning towards the room behind her and stepping aside to let you in.

The moment you step over the threshold, the door slams behind you, and you, into it.

Ambessa’s hold is firm on your hips, pressing you into the door.

“Have fun tonight, darling?”

Her breath fans your face. You look up at her with wide eyes and racing heart.

“It was… fine,” you whisper, breath shaky.

She pulls her head back with an cocked brow.

“Shared a few drinks with her, hm?”

“It was just… courtesy.”

Her hands drop from your waist, and she walks away with a scoff and a crooked smile.

“A flute of champagne is courtesy. Liquor denotes something else entirely.”

Your shoulders sag in defeat. “I just-”

you sigh,

“I just wanted to take the edge off a bit. You made me nervous.”

She smirks.

“Aw,” she croons, strolling back over to you. She stops in front of you, lifting your chin with her forefinger and thumb and demanding your eyes meet hers.

“I make you nervous?”

Your eyes flick down to her soft lips, then back up to her eyes.

“You know you make me nervous.”

You dare to raise a brow at her.

“You like it.”

Her smirk drops.

“You've been playing with fire tonight, dear.”

Her hand moves to hold the back of your neck, and she pulls you in until your lips barely touch hers.

“I don't want to hear you complain that you got burned.”

Her lips slam into yours. You gasp when the hand on the back of your head weaves into your hair and tugs; she uses the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Ambessa does everything with intent-with purpose- kisses included. There was no such thing as a haste peck on the lips, a fleeting kiss on the forehead; each and every touch she delivered to you said something.

Tonight, her touch says, “You're mine. No one else’s.”

She finally pulls away, leaving you breathless under her composed gaze. The corner of her lips pull up into a smirk. She always got a kick out of this; slowly unraveling you while she remained entirely unphased.

You should feel embarrassed. You love it.

“On the bed,” she commands, releasing her grip on your hair, “and strip- that’s Noxian silk. We can't have you ruining it.”

You can't help but chuckle- remembering Jayce’s own comment about the luxurious material- as you lean down to take your heels off. Normally, she'd do this for you; kneeling down to undo the tiny buckle on the straps of your heels before sliding them off of your feet, moving up to pull the zipper of your dress down while planting a kiss on your shoulder, asking you to give her a twirl when you're finally left barren except for the delicate lingerie she would have gifted you.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, you won't be allowed the luxury of her delicateness.

Goosebumps appear on your skin as you make your way to the bed, knowing you're in for one hell of a ride. Ambessa could be so gentle with you, but she could be equally as rough and unforgiving, and as she pulls a vibrator out from the drawer next to her bed, you know you're about to find out just how unforgiving she can be.

“A-Ambessa…” you stutter, crawling back against the pillows against the headboard.

She didn't usually start with a vibrator. She knew the immediate intensity of its stimulation was often too much to begin with, so she'd spend her time working you up before she thought about retrieving it.

She didn't give a damn about that tonight.

“What's the matter, dear? Regretting your bad behavior already?”

“Ambessa, it really wasn't what you-”

“Truthfully,” she cuts you off with a glare, “I don't really care to hear any excuses.”

She places the vibrator next to you. She's also gathered a few restraints: two to tie your hands to the headboard, and two to tie your ankles to the footboard.

“You know that I've never been fond of sharing my possessions, dear,” she begins, tying your first hand to a rung. “Surely, this isn't news to you.”

She restrains the other, then moves down to restrain your feet.

You're starfished on the soft comforter now, rendered completely helpless and at her disposal.

Just as she wanted you.

She climbs onto the bed, running a hand up your leg.

“Surely, you knew what would happen if you decided to test me as you did,” she muses.

She runs a finger through the slick that's already begun to collect in between your legs. A shiver courses through you again.

“Or was this your plan all along? Hm?”

Her hand trails up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and stops around your throat. She leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You wanted to be fucked like a common whore tonight, didn't you?”

You don’t have time to respond before she turns on the vibrator, pressing it to the swollen bud of nerves at your center. You yelp as your body betrays you, hips bucking up into the already overstimulating sensation.

“Shit, Bessa, ‘m sorry,” you cry out, looking up at her with pleasing eyes.

Of course, her only response is a maniacal laugh.

“Begging for me to go easy on you already? My darling,” she croons, leaning down to place a kiss on your jaw, “we’ve only just begun.”

She turns the vibrator up to the next setting. Tears have already begun to prick your eyes.

Yeah. You were screwed alright. Royally screwed.

As soon as your hips stop spasming on the the vibrator placed at your core- as soon as you start to catch your breath- she turns up the intensity, until she’s tortured you through all of its seven settings. She doesn’t bother letting up after you come, just watches you pull and flail against your restraints as your pussy clenches around nothing.

The line between needing her inside of you and needing her to stop all together is starting to blur like your teary vision. Your breath comes out in fast pants, eyebrows furrowed as the pleasure bleeds into pain.

Her commanding voice pulls you out of your daze.

“Color?”

When you don’t respond quickly enough- too busy trying to come back to earth just long enough to find your words- she pulls the toy away.

As unrelenting as she could be, Ambessa was never cruel with you; she’d never cross a line or cause harm to you.

Her hand comes to rest on your cheek, wiping away stray tears as your breath begins to even.

“Green,” you finally exhale with a crooked smile.

She gives you a smirk of her own. “Dirty girl.”

She reaches up to loosen the restraints on your wrists, fingers tracing the delicate skin to be sure it isn’t too irritated. She moves down to your ankles to do the same, but you’re too tired to change your positions, limbs still splayed out for her.

“Have I tired you, dear?” She coos.

You nod with a soft chuckle, hand finally coming down to brush a stray hair from your face. Your eyes flutter closed, the world around you becoming fuzzy. You hear the faint sound of her drawer opening and closing- she’s putting the restraints away, you presume- before the weight of her knees on either side of your hips presses into to mattress.

“You’ve done so good,” she praises, pressing kisses to your face. The touch is a stark contrast to the hands that suddenly grip your sides, flipping you to lay on your stomach. Your eyes fly open, and roll right back into your head when she grabs a handful of your hair, yanking you flush against her chest. Your hands reach out to the headboard, stabilizing you as she delivers a smack to the swell of your ass.

“It’s such a shame when good girls misbehave.”

You hadn’t realized all the rummaging she’d been doing was her putting the strap on, until you feel the dull head of the silicone press against your entrance.

You hiss, still all too sensitive from your first punishment.

“Ambessa, I c-”

“Do not tell me that isn’t exactly what you anticipated when you decided to thow yourself at another woman while I was a mere 30 feet away.”

You don’t respond. You know better than to lie.

“Color,” she demands.

“Green,” you whine.

She presses your head into the pillow below you, and your hips arch up into her own. She guides the toy into your sopping walls, slow and careful to be sure you adjust to her length.

The pace she sets is anything but. Both hands find your hips as her own snap into you. She pulls you back to meet each thrust, the tip of her cock brushing your cervix each time.

You're a babbling, drooling mess underneath her.

“B-Bessa… ‘s so deep… fuck, you're deep…”

A hand moves up to splay across your back, deepening your arch so that she can fuck into you further.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping skin, a headboard slamming into the wall, your moans and mewls, her grunts and groans. She had no shame in claiming what was hers.

She leans over, heavy breaths fanning your ear.

“Remind me who you belong to.”

Your eyes roll back in your head again, pussy clenching around her in response to the question. She delivers another slap to your ass.

“Speak when you are spoken to, girl.”

“Y-you!” you finally cry out. “I belong to you, I’m yours, ‘m all yours…”

She pulls back with a chuckle before pulling out of you, ripping the harness off of her waist and thighs. She crawls beside you, laying on her back with her arms behind her head on the plush pillows.

“You know what to do. Put that pretty mouth to good use.”

You scramble to place yourself in between her legs and bury yourself into her sweet musk. Your tongue darts out to draw slow circles on her clit, nose resting on the mound of curls adorning her.

Her scent is intoxicating, her taste is ambrosia; you moan into her, and she moans back, hand flying to your head to keep you in place.

“Your fingers,” she instructs, and you slip into her, meeting no resistance. You lap at her eagerly, fingers pumping in and out in tandem with the flick of your tongue on her clit. It isn't long before her burly thighs tighten around your head, and her release coats your chin.

You pull away once she relaxes, staring down starry-eyed at the mess she's made.

“Have some decorum,” she scolds; but when your eyes snap up to her face, she sports that lazy grin you can't get enough of.

She beckons you to sit in between her legs, and you happily oblige with a chuckle. You lean against her strong chest, and she leans down to press a kiss against your temple. A comfortable silence settles over the room as her fingers trace up and down your arm.

“I'm aware that you had no true interest in that woman,” she says softly.

You hum in amusement.

“I’m also aware,” she continues, “That if you had been interested, it'd be none of my concern.”

You crane your head up to give her a confused look.

She shrugs. “You haven't been made mine. Not officially.”

You pause for a moment, reading her expression. If the longing you think you see in her eyes is really there, then it's about time you two had this conversation.

“I want to be yours,” you whisper. “If you'll have me.”

“Don't be ridiculous,”

and your heart drops, until,

“Of course, I'll have you. It'd be an honor to call you mine.”

A wide smile stretches across your face, and her large hand cups your cheek as she pulls you in for a kiss, tender and loving.

You pull away, lips still gracing her own.

“We’ll have to tell Mel…” you dare to whisper.

She scoffs, playfully rolling her eyes before her lips begin to trail down your jaw, your neck, your shoulder. She plants a hand on your thigh, grabbing at the plush before snaking it toward your heat.

“Let me give you one more before we think about that.”

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

Taglist: @kierancaust, @langedelalune, @vii-v, @genderfluidlesbain999, @sevikasrightboob, @leone007, @femliyah, @tojisbestslut, @vyvvycg

#ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #ambessa x y/n #ambessa imagine #ambessa one shot #ambessa smut #ambessa arcane #arcane smut #arcane imagine #arcane one shot #wlw #sapphic #lesbian

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azzibuckets · 1 month ago

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worth the wait part one

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: happy pride! here's part one of a new series of pazzi enemies to fwb to lovers. feel free to let me know your thoughts, and live reacts are always greatly appreciated!

word count: 4.3k i believe

wtw masterlist

2018 - Minsk, Belarus

Clang.

The ball spins pathetically around the rim once, twice, before falling desolately to the side. Azzi fixes her eyes on the floor as she jogs to rebound it, refusing to meet the the stare of her coaches. It’s her fourth miss in a row, and usually she’s able to shake it off and focus on the next shot if it weren’t for the cocky, arrogant, blonde headed bitch—that shouldn’t be so good at basketball but somehow fucking is—snickering behind her.

“Fudd, I think you’re supposed to be aiming for the net,” the blonde in question says under her breath, glee written across her face before she dribbles the ball between her legs, steps back, and shoots it so cleanly that it falls through the net without disturbing a single thread.

Azzi grits her teeth, trying to resist the urge to chuck the basketball at Paige’s smirk. But not wanting to get benched by her coaches that are always droning on and on about sportsmanship and supportive team culture, she settles for a hard shoulder check instead, sending Paige wincing and grabbing her arm like the typical drama queen that she is.

Azzi rolls her eyes. Usually she’s all for teamwork and bonding and all that sappy crap, but she’s also never been on the same team with a girl whose sole intention seems to be pressing on every one of her nerves until she explodes. “Fuck you, Bueckers.”

“I mean, geez,” the blonde wiggles her eyebrows, her smirk widening from cheek to cheek. “Get in line.”

“I wouldn’t touch you even if you paid me a million dollars,” Azzi mutters, shuddering at the thought of even hugging her.

“I don’t know,” the older girl drawls. Her fingers graze across Azzi’s shoulder, sneaking under the cloth of her jersey to brush over the ridge of her muscle. “You feel pretty tense.” She trails her hand slowly down her arm. “If you ever need some stress relief, you know where to find me.”

“Don’t touch me,” Azzi snaps, jerking away. Paige only winks before jogging to catch up with the rest of the team as they break on the bleachers. Cheeks turning pink, Azzi groans and stomps away.

From day one, Paige has been like that: flirtatious, easy-going, charming. Everyone on the team had naturally gravitated towards her last season—that is, everyone but Azzi, if you don’t count the first week that they’d met. During tryouts, she’d been mildly intrigued by how a bone-skinny white chick was crossing over the most seasoned girls on the team, and when Paige had nodded coolly at her and they’d had a brief conversation, that intrigue had turned into interest. The way Paige had looked at her, had sidled closer and whispered a joke in her ear, had made Azzi feel seen on a team full of players so much older and experienced than she was. But to hell with that, Azzi thinks. Because since then, she'd gotten to know Paige for who she really is, and the older girl is nothing but a self-conceited asshole.

༉‧₊˚✧

“I don’t know,” Sam Brunelle says, taking a slow sip of her water. “I think she’s pretty hilarious.”

Azzi stabs a piece of broccoli with her fork. “She’s immature,” she corrects. “She makes fun of people and she can’t go one goddamn minute without making a stupid yo mama joke.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess she likes to have a lot of fun,” Sam relents. “But she keeps the team light-hearted. I think that’s pretty important.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Azzi fumes. Paige has always been supportive of everyone else on the team, cheering them on from the bench or hyping them up after big games. Azzi, on the other hand, has never received the same treatment. Their history is a bitter war of sharp elbows and sneers; she can't even remember the last time Paige had said something remotely nice to her. “She leaves you alone, but she’s always messing with me.”

Sam, one of the oldest on the team and ever the wiser, tilts her head to study the dark haired girl carefully. “I think she’s always messing with you ‘cause you’re the only one that doesn’t like her.” She shrugs. “Maybe she cares about your opinion.” She leans in closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe she wants to be friends.” She utters the last word like a bad word, and Azzi rolls her eyes and throws a crumpled up napkin at her. Sam breaks out in laughter at the look of disgust on the younger girl’s face.

Azzi’s about to respond when she’s interrupted by a tray dropping loudly on their table. The devil herself plops down in one of the seats, stretching out her legs as if she hadn’t just rudely cut off their conversation. Then she has the nerve to blow out a long, tired sigh, as if she’s doing them a favor, gracing the two girls by just being there. Azzi’s jaw tightens in exasperation, but Sam is all sunshine and smiles. “Hey, P,” she grins, dapping Paige up.

Azzi glares down at her plate, trying to ignore Paige breathing heavily next to her. Maybe if she pretends that she doesn’t exist, the blonde will finally leave her alone.

But panting and breathing get louder and louder, and Azzi swears she can feel it hot on her cheek. Snapping her head, she turns face to face with Paige, who’s looking over her shoulder—way too close for comfort, has she ever heard of personal space?—with twisted lips and furrowed eyebrows. “Yo, that shit looks nasty,” Paige says, eyes trained on Azzi’s plate.

“Ugh, get away from me,” Azzi complains, roughly pushing her away. Her heartbeat, having quickened from their proximity, begins to slow down, but her body physically recoils. “And it’s called vegetables, Bueckers,” she adds flatly. “Maybe you should try eating healthy for once too.”

Paige sits back in her seat, clearly pleased from her knack of getting a ruse out of Azzi so easily. Pointing her fork at her pasta, she says, “Carbs,” then at at her corndog and says, “Protein,” and then at the dollop of ketchup on her plate and says, with an overly pleased smile, “Vegetables.”

Sam immediately cracks up as if Paige had made the funniest joke in the world. Azzi stomps on her foot under the table. “Your eating habits are gonna catch up to you one day,” Azzi sniffs, shoving the last of her broccoli into her mouth, hoping she can get the meal over with as quick as possible so she can hide in her room, away from annoying blondes that breathe too loud and give unwarranted, wrong opinions.

“Until then, I’ll still be breaking your ankles,” Paige grins, clearly referencing the moment in practice earlier that day where Azzi had tripped over her own feet in an attempt to defend Paige’s drive to the basket. She’d been so angered by the pure confidence on Paige’s face and the trash talk in her ear the entire scrimmage, that everything she’d learned about lateral footwork had flew out of her mind as she’d fallen on Paige and even fouled her in the process.

“God, you’re insufferable.” Azzi gives Paige the dirtiest look she can manage. “Who even invited you to sit with us?”

“What, I need an invite to bond with my teammates?” Paige leans over again, shoulder poking into Azzi's as she reaches over her to snatch the garlic bread from her plate. “You don’t mind, right? Since you got your veggies and all?” Before the younger girl can even blink, the garlic bread is stuffed inside her mouth, and Paige starts chewing loudly without breaking eye contact with Azzi. Sam snorts in disbelief.

“Oh my god!” Azzi stands up, cheeks reddening with anger. “Are you actually a child?” Pushing her chair back loudly, she leaves the dining room in a storm.

Sam winces. “Are you trying to kill her?”

“Not my fault she gets all hot and bothered just like that.” Paige wipes a crumb from her lip, napkin falling away to reveal a satisfied smile.

Sam shakes her head knowingly. “You like it.” She’s known both of the girls for more than a year now, and by now she’s used to the fact that they have their own dance. It’s weird, and they have a funky sort of chemistry that they’ll both probably refuse to ever address, but it makes for some good drama, Sam thinks.

Paige snorts. “No, I don’t. People that uptight need to loosen up every once in a while. It’s good for them.”

“It’s okay to admit that you like seeing her get flustered.” Sam nudges Paige’s arm, a twinkle in her eye. “For someone who claims to hate her, you talk about her an awful lot.”

“Nah, shut up Sam.” Paige stands up abruptly, moving to grab her finished plate.

“You want me to shut up?”

“Yes,” Paige grunts, pushing her chair in.

“So I guess you don’t want me to tell you about the room assignments?”

Paige freezes. Turning around slowly, she glares at the taller blonde. “What room assignments?”

Sam takes a piece of paper from her pocket. “Oh, nothing,” she says airily, waving it. “Just that you and Azzi are rooming together tonight.”

“What?” Paige grabs the paper from Sam, scanning it anxiously. True enough, it says Room 310 - Paige Bueckers, Azzi Fudd. “But I thought I was rooming with Hailey!”

Sam beams. “I guess the coaches changed their mind.”

“No.” Paige paces around, gripping the paper so tight it turns into a ball in her hand. “I can’t room with Fudd. She probably sleeps with a stick up her butt too!”

“She’s not that bad, P,” Sam defends. “You guys are more alike than you think.”

“I’m not bossy, or a party pooper, or incapable of having any fun,” Paige shoots back, offended that Sam would even liken her to someone who doesn't think yo mama jokes are funny. Because who doesn't think yo mama jokes are funny?

Sam shrugs. “I’m just saying. You guys have an awful lot of assumptions about each other. Maybe if you actually spent some time together, you’d change your mind a bit.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Paige scoffs, even though it makes total sense. But she’s never really been logical when it comes to Azzi, and she’s not about to start now. “Whatever. I’m gonna go check on the room and make sure she doesn’t have her hands all over everything already.”

Raising an eyebrow, Sam watches her go too.

When Paige reaches the room, she takes second to square her shoulders and catch her breath. Azzi has a way of makes her upset like no one else can, her heartbeat always skyrocketing and chest heaving after their arguments. But she needs to control herself, to uphold the facade of unbotheredness. Taking a deep breath to calm herself down, she slides her key card over the lock and opens the door with a swing.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Azzi’s jaw drops, the halfway folded shirt in her hand dropping on the bed.

“Surprise.” Paige smirks. “Hey, roomie.”

“Nuh uh.” Azzi massages her temples, panic embedded in the lines of her eyes. “This is not happening right now.”

“I know.” Paige closes the door with her foot and drags her suitcase and duffel bag in. “Too good to be true, huh?”

“I thought I was rooming with Sam!” Azzi says indignantly.

“And I thought me and Hailey were gonna be together,” Paige grumbles. “Trust me, I don’t wanna be here any more than you do.”

Azzi flops back on the bed, groaning, and Paige freezes when her shirt slides up to show the tan skin of her abs, muscles flexing as she reaches to grab a pillow. Swallowing hard, she forces her eyes away. Now was not a good time to be admiring the body of her sworn enemy, no matter how good she looked. “I can’t room with you,” Azzi repeats.

“Yeah, well.” Paige tosses her backpack on the armchair and starts unzipping her suitcase. “It is what it is.” She starts rummaging through her clothes, a pile of USA gear and Hopkins hoodies slowly starting to form next to her as she searches.

“What are you doing?” Azzi asks, stunned by how the blonde has managed to make a mess of their room in a mere two minutes.

“Deciding my fit for tomorrow.” Paige scrunches her eyebrows as she looks between two blue shirts, both exactly the same except one slightly darker in shade. “Gotta look good for the ladies.”

“Paige, you wear the same thing every day.” Azzi stuffs the pillow over her face in an effort to suffocate herself and end this nightmare. “The color and pattern doesn’t matter when it’s still shirts and sweats.”

“It’s cute that you pay so much attention to what I wear,” Paige says, “But I actually brought jeans and flannels this time. So yes, it does matter.”

“Whatever.” Azzi gets up and heads for the bathroom, kicking aside a neon green hoodie in her way. Paige yelps, reaching for the ugly piece of clothing and cradling it in her hands. “Don’t make a mess. I’m gonna take a shower, if you know what that is.”

Paige narrows her eyes, bringing the hoodie closer to her chest. “Don’t leave your products out, or I’mma use all of them.”

༉‧₊˚✧

Paige wakes up before her alarm clock. Sun streams in through the windows, casting a golden haze on everything in the room, including the girl asleep on the bed beside her. She’s snuggled into a pink blanket that she’d brought from home, lips slightly parted as quiet snores come from her mouth. She looks soft, vulnerable, her guard down in a way Paige has never seen before.

Her mouth goes dry for a second, and she doesn’t know why. Shaking her head at herself, Paige stares up at the ceiling. The team has film before breakfast, then a workout, followed by recovery, lunch, more film, evening practice, and team dinner. It’s a packed day, and Paige already feels the lethargic pull of sleep from just sitting in the warmth of her sheets. Forcing herself out of bed, she begins to get ready.

It’s ten minutes to nine, the time they’re supposed to meet, when Paige is about to head out the door. Azzi is still fast asleep, and for a second she considers being nice and shaking her awake. But then she remembers Azzi calling her insufferable yesterday, and snickering to herself, she leaves. That girl has never been late to a single workout; it would do her some good to be humbled every once in a while.

Their coach is drawing out a play on the whiteboard next to the TV when Azzi runs in, out of breath, curls a mess and eyes anxious. “I’m so sorry,” she pants. “I slept in.”

“Get in your seat, Fudd."

Azzi looks around the room frantically. The nearest empty seat is next to Paige, damn her, and she’s sure her already annoyed coach wouldn’t appreciate her wasting even more time searching for another seat, so she sidles over and sits down resentfully.

“Morning, sunshine,” Paige whispers from the corner of her mouth.

Azzi sniffs suddenly, smelling a whiff of something familiar. Eyes narrowing, she leans in closer and takes another inhale to be sure. “Is that my shampoo?” she whispers angrily.

“Coconut with a hint of hibiscus and honey?” Paige shrugs, trying to fight back her laughter. “Perhaps.”

“I told you not to touch my products!”

“And I told you that I’d use them if you left them out, so.” Paige continues sketching in her notebook, not bothering to even look over at Azzi.

“You don’t even have curly hair,” Azzi says scathingly.

“Oops,” Paige says, not looking very sorry at all. “Maybe I shouldn’t have used your conditioner too then.”

Azzi makes a mental note to pack away all her shower products later. Her roommate is actually deranged. “And why the fuck didn’t you wake me up?” she hisses.

“You were too deep in your beauty sleep.” Paige side eyes her. “Doesn’t seem like it worked, though,” she adds, knowing full well that she’s lying. Paige may be a hater, but she's still gay, and much to her chagrin, Azzi, despite frizzy hair and bags under her eyes, is admittedly pretty.

“I thought teammates were supposed to have each others’ backs,” Azzi grits out.

“I guess you have a point.” Paige shifts her notebook within eyesight of Azzi. “You can copy my notes.”

“Really?” Azzi, stunned by her sudden kindness, huddles in to squint at the paper. Her face falls when she realizes that the only thing on the sheet is a big dick, with even bigger balls. And hair.

“You’re an asshole,” Azzi says, slightly embarrassed that she'd thought Paige could even be capable of being nice for a single second.

“Not a dick?” Paige can’t help it. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.

Azzi doesn't speak to her for the rest of the day.

༉‧₊˚✧

They win their first game, blowing out Italy 86-48. Paige is giddy, having finished with a solid 12 points and 5 assists, and she’s riding that high until her dad deliver the bad news.

“We’re doing what?”

Bob pats Paige on the back. “We offered to take out the Fudds for dinner, our treat.”

“The Fudds?” Paige echoes incredulously. “As in, Azzi’s family?”

“That’s correct.” Bob nods. “We happened to sit next to her parents during the game and we were talking about how good you and Azzi click together.”

“On the court,” Paige specifies. “And only on the court. Basketball’s the only thing we ever agree on, and that’s being generous.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” her dad reprimands. “They’re nice people, Katie and Tim, and Azzi seems lovely. We’re going to dinner and we’re having a good time.” His tone leaves no room for disagreement, and Paige slumps down in her seat, defeated. “It’s an up-scale place, so go to your room and pick out something nice to wear. Meet us in an hour in the lobby.”

“Okay,” she mumbles begrudgingly.

The rest of the drive back to the hotel is silent as Paige stews in her thoughts. Sitting through dinner with Azzi seems hellish, and knowing her parents’ tendency to talk on and on, it’ll surely end up being a multi-hour affair. Maybe she can fake being sick and leave early. Paige brightens up at the idea, and spends the next fifteen minutes devising a plan to fully sell it.

Wanting to put off dinner as long as possible, Paige takes her time heading back to the room, choosing to take the stairs even though her legs are still tired and aching from the game. She’s barely opened the door to her room when Azzi’s scrambled up from the bed and saying, “I need to borrow something.”

“Borrow something?” Paige goes to the closet and begins to ruffle through her more formal tops, starting to put together her own outfit.

“I realized I forgot all my nice clothes at home,” Azzi says. “I only have sweats and shit.”

“Aw, weren’t you just making fun of me for—”

“Paige,” Azzi interrupts. “Now is not the time.”

Paige rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine.” She looks through her clothes again, this time with a wary eye. “I guess you can borrow this.” She throws a long black sleeve at Azzi.

“Bro, what is this?” Azzi gingerly picks up the piece of clothing with two fingers as if it’s poisonous. “You gave me your ugliest top!” she accuses.

“I didn’t!” Paige turns her back. “Beggars can’t be choosers anyways.”

“Can’t I have something, like, a little bit more interesting?” Azzi pushes past Paige, taking her spot in front of the closet to look for herself. “Like this,” she holds up a tiny crop top that’s more like a glorified sports bra, and Paige’s eyes widen.

“Hell no.” The older girl snatches it away from her. “We’re eating dinner with our parents, not going to a party.”

“There’s gonna be cute Belarusian guys at the restaurant, I know it,” Azzi complains. “I gotta look my best.”

Paige blinks. “I don’t know why you think that helps your case.”

“Well, what about this one?” Azzi points to another crop top, this one slightly less revealing. Paige is about to relent when she imagines Azzi showing up with even a sliver of abs and toned arms out. The thought of having to sit next to Azzi, with nowhere to escape, when she’s looking like that, makes her shiver, and she hates it.

“No,” Paige says firmly. “You’re shorter than me so it’s definitely gonna show way too much skin on you.”

“When the fuck did you turn into a nun?” Azzi grumbles.

Paige glares at her. “Look, either you borrow this one or you get nothing. It’s up to you.”

Protesting under her breath, Azzi grabs back the black long-sleeve and goes to the bathroom to change. Paige changes too and sits on the bed as she waits for the dark haired girl to finish up. When Azzi finally comes out, she stares at Paige dumbfoundedly. “You’re literally wearing a crop top and short shorts.”

“I can wear revealing shit,” Paige says. “You’re fifteen. It would be a crime if I enabled the baby of the team to walk around in clothes like this.”

“I’m not the baby of the team,” Azzi says, crossing her arms even though she knows she younger than most of her teammates by a full two years. “And fifteen is plenty big.”

“You are,” Paige argues back.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Harrumphing, Azzi gives up and leaves the room, forcing Paige to scramble to get her phone and purse in order to catch up. The doors of the elevator are about to meet when Paige hurriedly sticks her hand between them and pushes her way in. “Seriously?” she pants, looking pointedly at where Azzi’s finger had been frantically pushing the close button.

Azzi‘s mouth pulls into a tight line. “You coulda taken the stairs. Lord knows you need the conditioning.”

Paige scoffs, and the rest of the elevator ride down is silent, both of them bristling.

Their parents are running late, so they take a seat in the lobby to wait. Paige makes sure to leave an extra chair between them. Silence fills the air between them, heavy and pervasive, until Azzi suddenly asks, “Can I ask you a favor?”

“No.” Paige’s response is immediate. She'd already very generously let Azzi borrow her clothes. What else could the younger girl possibly need?

Azzi huffs and forges ahead anyways. “Look, my parents are super worried about me.”

“Why?” Paige questions reluctantly. She’s in no mood to entertain Azzi's request for a favor, but her curiosity wins out; why would Azzi of all people have parents worrying over her? Despite how much she dislikes the girl, she can admit that she’s unusually independent and capable. It's honestly half the reason why Paige resents her so much.

“Because…” Azzi crosses her arms, like she’s trying to make herself smaller. “I don’t know. They’re scared I’m not making any friends. Which is completely stupid, because I’m close to Sam and Jordan!” she says the last part defiantly, as if she’s trying to convince herself more than anything.

Paige stays quiet. To be truthful, it’s not a wrong observation. Azzi is more introverted and on the shyer side, and despite being one of the few returning girls from last season, she still hasn’t fully integrated into the team dynamic.

“And once they saw us play together, they got super excited. For whatever reason, they thought I made a new friend, and the fact that it was you—” Azzi cuts herself off, shaking her head in embarrassment.

Once again, the blonde is curious. “Why me?” she prods.

“I don’t know. They’ve seen you play a ton and they admire your work ethic, I guess.”

“They know what’s up,” Paige says approvingly with a solemn nod.

Azzi holds back from rolling her eyes. “Listen, can we just play it chill at dinner? We don’t have to pretend to be besties, but let’s just hold off on the arguing for a couple hours.” She rubs her palms against her thighs, almost as if she’s nervous, and her pants come away damp. “I just don’t wanna disappoint them.”

Paige opens her mouth, about to crack another joke, but then Azzi looks down, avoiding her eyes, still hunched over herself and looking like she’s trying to disappear, and something about how vulnerable the younger girl looks makes her heart twinge a little. So she plays it off by clearing her throat instead, and busies herself with looking at the receptionist, who’s actually quite pretty. “Yeah, whatever. That’s fine.”

The dark haired girl shifts next to her. Paige swears she sees a small smile flash across her face before it’s quickly controlled into a stony mask. “Thanks.”

༉‧₊˚✧

2017 - Colorado Springs, Colorado

1 year ago: training camp day one

“Nervous?”

Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde next to her. It’s her first time actually looking at her face, and she realizes with a start that the girl is disarmingly pretty, golden wisps of hair escaping her Nike headband, and her eyes are a sharp, deep blue.

“No,” she lies. “I’m making this roster.”

“Nice.” The blonde grins at her, and it’s toothy and big, and it makes Azzi do a double take. “I am too.”

The rest of day one passes by quickly. Every so often, Azzi looks up from a drill and swears she sees blue eyes lingering on her before they quickly look away. She finds out from the yelling of the coaches that the blonde's name is Paige, and the name rolls around in her mind for longer than she can explain. Yet they don't talk again, merely exchanging high fives and mumbling "Good jobs" before they both end up using the bathroom before they head out of the gym for the day.

“You’re something, Fudd.” Paige wipes her hands with a paper towel as she leans coolly against the wall. “Where you from?”

“Virginia,” Azzi says, a little shyly. “You?”

“Minnesota.” Paige leans in closer, ever the charmer at fifteen years old. “But I’ve always wanted to go to the DMV.”

Azzi, flustered by how she can smell Paige's perfume, stammers out, “It’s pretty nice up there.”

“It’s nicer knowing I’ll have a pretty girl to show me around when I visit.” Azzi is fourteen, and this is the first time anyone has so blatantly flirted with her, and she’s kinda confused but she kinda likes it? Still, she's speechless, at an utter loss for words before Paige says, “Well, I guess I'll see you,” her hand brushing Azzi’s hip as she walks behind her to the door. Azzi puts a hand on the counter, steadying herself from the heated feeling of warm fingers against her bare skin.

“Yeah, see you,” Azzi breathes out, but when she looks behind her, the girl is lone gone.

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconnwbb #wcbb #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #fic

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