#They really deserved and earned this championship

[marella-art]

Just had to take a few minutes to doodle this, it's so cool to be able to see them win their first cup ever! 🐀

[pucksandpower]

Hey Natalia, hope you’re doing good ❤️ Please could I request enemies to lovers with Max. You’re constantly at each other’s throats in front of everyone and Christian has had enough of your shit and demands to see you in the office. But when you continue to fight, he’s like nah I don’t wanna be involved, sort your shit out together and leaves. And you end up fucking on his desk and after you’re suddenly super friendly around eachother. Thank you lovely! xxx

Whiplash

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: You and Max discover that there is a thin line between lust and hate

Warnings: 18+ content

You storm into Christian’s office, scowling as Max follows right behind you. He slams the door shut and you both take a seat across from Christian, refusing to even look at each other.

“I’m sure you both know why I called you in here,” Christian says sternly. “The tension between you two has gone too far. It’s affecting the team and we can’t have that.”

You scoff and cross your arms. “Why don’t you talk to him about it then? I’m not the problem here.”

Max scowls. “Oh please, don’t pretend like you’re so innocent. You’ve been nothing but hostile towards me since the start of the season.”

“Only because you did the same!” You retort. “I was nothing but nice when I first joined the team. You’re the one with the attitude problem.”

“Enough!” Christian shouts, silencing you both. “I don’t care who started it. I’m ending it. We’re in the middle of a championship fight and I need my drivers to work together, not against each other.”

You sink lower in your chair, still refusing to look at Max. The animosity radiates off of him in waves.

“Now you’re going to stay in here until you work this out,” Christian says firmly. “I don’t care if it takes all night. Fix this mess or both of your seats are on the line.”

He heads for the door and you spring up from your chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“Deadly,” Christian replies before shutting the door. You hear the lock click into place from the outside.

You jiggle the handle and pound on the door. “Let us out!”

No response.

He’s really done it, that bastard. Locked you in a room alone with your most hated rival.

You take a deep breath before turning around. Max sits there glaring at you, jaw clenched. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters.

“For once we agree on something,” you snap.

His glare hardens. “Don’t pretend you’re blameless. You’ve been nasty since you got here.”

You storm over to him. “Because you decided to hate me from day one! I tried to be nice but you were so damn hostile. What’s your problem with me anyway?”

Max stands up abruptly, getting in your face. “My problem is you waltzing in here like you own the place when I’m the number one driver.”

You shove him in the chest. “Get over yourself! I earned my spot here.”

He shoves you back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”

Your blood boils as you stare him down. God he’s infuriating. And stubborn as hell. You doubt you’ll ever get him to admit any fault in this situation.

“Well I’m not going anywhere so I guess you’ll just have to get used to it,” you snap.

Max steps even closer, eyes blazing. Your noses nearly touch from how close he stands. “Is that so?” His voice comes out low, almost husky.

A shiver runs down your spine but you keep glaring at him. “Yeah, that’s so.”

You expect him to shoot back some nasty retort. Instead his eyes flick down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your heated gaze again.

Suddenly the energy shifts between you. The anger and tension remains but it transforms into something more primal. More dangerous.

Your breaths come heavier as electricity crackles in the nonexistent space left between you. Max’s pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as your own.

“I ...” Your voice comes out hoarse. “We should ...”

But neither of you make any move to step away. Without thinking your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Max tracks the movement with his intense stare.

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his mouth onto yours.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes advantage, deepening it. His hands grasp your hips roughly as he walks you backwards until your back hits the wall.

You barely process what’s happening. One second you were at each other’s throats, the next his body is pressing urgently against yours.

A moan escapes you when his lips move to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin there and you thread your fingers into his hair.

“This is insane,” you pant out even as you tug him closer.

“I know,” Max breathes against your neck. His hands skim up your sides, pushing up your shirt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.” You crash your lips together again, tasting blood when you nip at him.

Max groans into your mouth as your tongues slide together. He hitches one of your legs around his hip, grinding against you.

You break the kiss to tip your head back, moaning at the feeling. Fuck, you despise this man, but right now you need him more than anything.

His hips keep up that delicious friction as he mouths at your collarbone. “I’m still going to beat you,” he rasps out.

You smirk, nails digging into his shoulders. “In your dreams.”

Max’s eyes darken at your taunt. Without warning, he grips your thighs and lifts you onto Christian’s desk. You gasp as he pushes between your legs, his growing arousal obvious.

“Careful what you wish for,” he murmurs before crushing his mouth to yours once more.

You moan into the frenzied kiss, tongues tangling as you tug at his hair. His hands slide up your thighs, fumbling with the button of your jeans to push them down around your ankles. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him against your heated core.

Even through the layers of clothing you can feel how hard he is. You rock your hips, desperate for more friction. Max groans and moves his lips to your neck, nipping down to your collarbone.

Your head tips back as his fingers dance up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “God, I hate you so much,” you moan.

“I know.” His voice comes out rough, filled with lust.

Impatient, you reach for the hem of his shirt and pull it over his head, tossing it aside. Your eyes rake over his muscular chest and arms. Unable to resist, you lean in and scrape your teeth over his nipple.

Max hisses in a breath, hands clenching on your hips. “Fuck ...”

You grin, laving your tongue over the sensitive nub as your fingers move to his belt buckle. With shaky hands you get it open and reach into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

He shudders against you. “Shit, Y/N ...”

You stroke him firmly, reveling in the moans and curses falling from his lips. His own hands move under your shirt, palming your breasts through your bra.

It’s not enough. You strip off your shirt and reach back to unclasp your bra. Max wastes no time dipping his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips.

“Oh god ...” you gasp, back arching into him. His teeth and tongue work over your sensitive peaks until you’re writhing beneath him.

The sound of voices outside the door makes you both freeze. Fuck. The race weekend is still going on around you. Anyone could walk by and hear what’s happening.

You meet Max’s heated gaze. “We should stop,” you pant out half-heartedly.

His eyes blaze with defiance and lust. “No fucking way.”

Before you can react he drops to his knees, grasping your hips to pull you towards the edge of the desk.

Max tugs strongly on your lacy underwear until it gives way at the seams, baring you to him. He pauses to appreciate the view, eyes roaming hungrily over your glistening folds.

“I’m still going to beat you tomorrow,” he rasps.

You tug on his hair impatiently. “Just get on with it before we get caught.”

With a wicked grin he dives in, mouth latching onto your throbbing clit. You cry out, quickly slapping a hand over your own mouth.

You fumble with his belt, desperate to feel him. Max groans as you wrap your hand around his length.

“Fuck, just like that,” he groans against your skin, increasing the rhythm of his tongue in response. The desk rocks dangerously beneath you but neither of you slow your ministrations.

You whimper his name, pleasure building steadily under his expert touch. The fingers of one hand twist in his hair while you keep your other hand moving up and down in measured strokes as you near the edge.

“Look at me,” Max commands raggedly. You open your eyes to meet his wild gaze. The connection between you crackles.

“Max ...” you gasp as your climax crashes over you. You slap a hand over your lips, muffling your cries.

As you float back down, Max withdraws his mouth. You keen at the loss but then he’s lining himself up at your entrance. Gripping your hip tightly, he pushes inside in one smooth motion.

You cling to his shoulders, nails digging in as you adjust around him. Max trembles with restraint, giving you a moment before he starts to move.

Then he sets a relentless pace, the desk slamming against the wall with each powerful snap of his hips. You wrap your legs around him, spurring him even deeper.

Max pounds into you relentlessly, wrenching desperate moans from your lips. You’re vaguely aware of picture frames and papers tumbling to the floor around you but the chaos only adds to the thrill.

You’re close, the pressure building deep inside. With a few more well-angled thrusts you topple over the edge, coming hard around him. Your breasts bounce as your back arches sharply off the desk.

“There you go, princess,” Max rasps. He continues driving into your spasming center until his rhythm turns choppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Max grits out. You clench around him, greedy for his release. His hips stutter and then he spills inside you with a guttural groan. The sensation pushes you over the edge again, your vision whiting out from the intensity.

Breathing raggedly, Max collapses on top of you, pinning you to the desk. You’re both slick with sweat and utterly spent, your heart rates slowly returning to normal. You run your fingers through his damp waves soothingly.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing. As the haze of lust clears, the ramifications of what just happened settle over you.

You just slept with your sworn rival on your team principal’s desk.

After a long moment Max pulls out of you and steps back, tucking himself away. On shaky legs you slide off the desk, stumbling slightly as you find your feet, and rush to put on your clothes.

Max grabs his shirt off the floor and shrugs back into it. His hair is mussed wildly and his lips are kiss-swollen. You’re sure you look much the same.

You and Max spring apart at the sound of the lock clicking open. Christian strides back into his office, oblivious to the disheveled state that both of his drivers are in.

“Well, have you two worked out your differences?” He looks between you expectantly.

You smooth down your rumpled shirt and attempt to tuck your wild hair back into place. Your cheeks flame as you meet Christian’s gaze.

“I think we’ve come to an ... understanding,” Max says evenly, though you notice a hint of color in his cheeks as well.

Christian surveys his office, taking in the askew trophies and books scattered across the floor. You hold your breath, certain he’s going to put two and two together.

“It seems you had a disagreement about reorganizing my office during your chat,” Christian says wryly.

You nearly choke in surprise. Does he really not realize what just transpired on his desk? You chance a glance at Max and have to suppress a hysterical giggle at the disbelief on his face.

“I apologize for the mess, we got a bit ... heated,” you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing at the double meaning.

“Yes, clearly things escalated between you two.” Christian frowns at a photo of him and Dietrich Mateschitz now lying cracked on the floor. You resist the urge to shrink under his disappointed dad stare.

“However, the important thing is you’ve worked through this animosity once and for all, correct?” He looks between you expectantly.

You and Max nod in unison. “Water under the bridge,” Max assures him. You’re impressed by how steady he manages to keep his voice even as you can see the barely contained mirth dancing in his eyes.

“Excellent. I’ll inform the team that tensions are resolved and they can stop walking on eggshells around the both of you.” Christian claps his hands together, apparently satisfied. “Now get out of here and get ready for free practice.”

You and Max don’t need telling twice. As soon as the door shuts behind you, the laughter you’ve been holding in bubbles out.

“I can’t believe he actually bought that,” Max says between chuckles.

“We literally destroyed his office and he thinks we just had a minor spat,” you giggle, shaking your head incredulously.

Your laughter trails off as the reality of what happened sinks in. You just had crazy hot sex with Max Verstappen. Where do you go from here?

Before you can overthink it, Max presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Meet me at the hotel tonight? We should continue this conversation somewhere more private,” he murmurs suggestively.

You bite your lip but find yourself nodding. As complicated and ill-advised as this may be, you can’t find it in yourself to deny your attraction to Max now that you’ve given in to it.

“It’s a date,” you whisper back.

Max grins and steals another quick kiss before you part ways to get changed.

[nats--sw]

Orange Juice | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader Where Leah finds you again after a while and decides to help you out This is based on this request Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, alcohol addiction my masterlist

Football was incredible. Ever since you were a kid, kicking the ball around always made you happy. Your parents thought it was just a phase, that by the time you hit your teens, you'd move on to something else. But that never happened.You earned a scholarship in the US and you only returned to England after establishing yourself as a future star in the NWSL. You had a bright future there, but when Arsenal showed interest, you couldn’t say no to the club that made you fall in love with the game. 

By then, you’d already faced your first injury, you ruptured your ACL at 19. 

But that was already in the past, now you were in your new club. 

Leah was the same age as you when you joined the team, so you two clicked right away as the youngest on the team. Then, at 21, you both made your senior debuts for England, Leah as a defender and you as a forward. But shortly after that camp, you tore your hamstring, leaving you out again. 

And the thing with Leah… It wasn’t until you were 23 that, after months of innocent flirting and endless scenes of jealousy, you both finally admitted there was something more between you. It was one of the best moments of your life, you were playing great, Leah was playing great too, you’d just confessed how in love you were, and Arsenal was in the race for the league title. But then your body betrayed you again. 

It happened during a game against Aston Villa in 2021. You were subbed in after 63 minutes, and by the 70th minute, you had to be stretchered off after a bad fall from a collision with one of the players. 

“Y/n!” Leah rushed to see you after the game, her heart racing when she saw you crying in your cubby. “What happened?” she asked, a bit calmer when she noticed the ice bandage was on your ankle and not on your knee. 

“Just a sprain, but a bad one” you said, trying to hold back your tears. With the adrenaline now wearing off, the pain was really hitting you. “I’ll be out for at least six weeks”

“You’ll miss the rest of the season,” Leah blurted out. When she saw you hide your face with your shirt and start crying, she realized her mistake. “Love, I’m sorry” she said, kneeling beside you, trying to comfort you. “You’ll get through this, I promise,” she whispered, taking your hand and kissing it. 

You did get through it, but the following season brought another setback, a meniscus injury this time. 

“England striker, Y/n L/n, will undergo surgery and will miss the next  European Women's Championship.”

The reporter’s voice echoed in Leah’s head, she still remembered it clearly. It has crushed her, but it hurt even more seeing you on the hospital bed, turning your back on her.

Leah was set to captain the Lionesses while you were stuck on the sidelines, unable to play. It wasn’t her fault, but you couldn’t help feeling that pang of envy.

You thought you’d seen the worst of it, but when you watched Leah and the rest of your old teammates lift a trophy in a packed Wembley, it broke you. 

“Y/n! Where’d you go darling?!” Leah’s voice was ecstatic over the phone, with the sound of the girls celebrating in the background. “I tried to find you. You’ve got to come and celebrate with us!”

Leah had no idea you were already back at the house you two shared, the England shirt you wore during the match now lying on the bathroom floor. 

“I wasn’t feeling well” you replied, your voice tired.

“Huh? Is it your knee? Want me to bring something for the pain?”

You felt like a selfish jerk for resenting the person you were supposed to love, but you wouldn’t take away Leah’s moment. You knew she wouldn’t do that to you either. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry” you lied. “Just go enjoy yourself with the girls, you all deserve it.” you said, fighting back tears. But as soon as Leah said goodbye, you lost it. You cried all night and the next morning, watching them celebrate on tv. You were supposed to be there. You cried so much that your eyes were swollen, making it impossible to hide from Leah that you’d been crying. But, lucky for you (if that’s what you call it), Leah didn’t call you for two days, still celebrating. 

Her face was everywhere, on tv morning, noon and night. 

Then, Leah’s sudden fame messed with your relationship. It felt like you were drifting further apart. Interviews, radio shows, tv appearances, her Insta blowing up, it was all too much too fast. She didn’t have time to be with you during your recovery, and you weren’t up for a holiday in Ibiza with her and the rest of your teammates. 

The breaking point came during that time, while she was partying in Ibiza. You two had a huge argument when Leah found out you’d skipped your recovery session. Leah could argue for hours when she was convinced she was right, but with a hangover the size of Europe, your upset voice was the last thing she wanted to hear. 

“Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?!” Leah was yelling into the phone, while Keira sat nearby, clearly uncomfortable listening to the argument. 

“I just needed to stay home, away from everything and get some rest” you explained, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. 

“If you were going to skip the sessions, you could’ve at least come with me” Leah snapped, pacing back and forth. 

That really got under your skin. Leah wasn’t just upset about you missing the sessions, she was more annoyed that you turned her down. 

“I miss you,” Leah said, but even Keira could hear how empty that sounded.

Things had been off between you two since before the Euro camp even started.

“You miss partying with me, which isn’t the same,” you shot back. Leah had days off before the trip and could’ve spent time with you, but instead, she kept finding excuses to hang out with the girls.

“Are you seriously saying that?” Leah almost shouted. Keira’s eyes widened, thinking Leah must still be a bit drunk to be going off like this.

“You could be here if you missed me. You could’ve come to my sessions, which you know are a nightmare, but instead, you’re partying in Ibiza.”

“Fuck, Y/n. I just won the Euros! Of course I want to celebrate. If you knew how great it felt, you wouldn’t be saying this shit. It’s not my fault your stupid knee decided to mess up.”

That was the last straw for Keira, who quickly grabbed the phone from Leah’s hand.

“Y/n, Leah’s drunk. She doesn’t mean what she’s saying,” Keira said, giving Leah a stern look.

“Tell Leah to go fuck herself,” you snapped.

Leah took that to heart. Twitter was quick to pick up on the videos from that night, showing Leah getting pretty drunk. But what no one knew was that in one of the group chats with the girls, someone had shared a video where Alessia and Ella were laughing, it was silly, and in the background, Leah was dancing way too close with another girl. At first glance, it might not have been obvious, but you knew Leah well enough to recognize her, even in the dark.

When Leah came home from Ibiza, your stuff was gone.

The next season was awkward. Everyone on the team knew there’d been some drama, but they didn’t know the details. It was clear that you and Leah had been together for ages, then suddenly broken up after Ibiza. And some of them knew you had renewed your contract for just one more year.

One day, Lia joined you for lunch, ignoring Leah. “You know she didn’t cheat on me, right?” you said, trying to set the record straight.

There’d been rumors flying around that Leah had cheated, but that wasn’t true. After seeing that video, you confronted Leah when she called asking why you weren’t home. She’d sworn on her mother’s life that even though she’d been with that woman all night, nothing more than a few dances had happened. Leah wasn’t a good liar, so you believed her.

“Yeah,” Lia said, “but Keira spilled some stuff, so I know Leah was kind of an idiot with you.”

“I feel like I messed up everyone’s holiday,” you said with a sigh. You hadn’t talked much to the other girls either, and they’d picked up on your indifference to their Euro win.

“It’s not always easy to celebrate someone else’s big moment,” Lia said, taking another bite.

The next season didn’t get any better for you. Your performance was tanking because of how you were feeling, both physically and mentally, so Leah wasn’t shocked to see your name missing from the England squad list again. 

Leah had already missed the World Cup due to her ACL injury, and while she was in Australia, watching from the stands as her teammates made it to the final, she finally got a taste of how tough it was for you during the Euros. And it hit her, she realized it was probably even harder for you. She was a defender, but you were a striker, the star everyone was watching, the one who scored all the goals. When you got sidelined, replaced by the season’s top scorer and other younger players, it was like you’d been forgotten overnight. That hit hard.

You both messed up, that was clear. Leah knew she could have handled things better, and she was determined to make it right as soon as she got back to England. But fixing things wasn’t going to be easy.

Leah was hanging out with the team, getting ready for the pre-season meeting, when she noticed something odd. You weren’t there, and Jonas had this sad look on his face. Just as she was about to ask where you were, you walked in with crutches and wearing a knee brace. 

“Morning,” you said as you made your way to the center of the room, with Jonas helping you along.

Leah did a double take. You were in sportswear, but not in the Arsenal kit.

“I don’t know if you all heard, but a few weeks ago I blew up my knee,” you said, glancing at Leah with a sad smile. 

Leah’s heart dropped. That meant you’d torn your ACL and meniscus again, plus your MCL.

“And I’d made it clear that I’d only renewed for one more season... last season. So...” you said, taking a deep breath and avoiding eye contact with Leah. “I’m retiring, I mean, professionally… from football. I won’t be renewing.” You fought back tears, quickly wiping your cheeks with your jersey sleeve. “I just came to say goodbye.”

Leah stayed in her chair while the other girls got up to give you hugs and say their goodbyes. Kim and Jonas noticed what was going on and told everyone to give you and Leah some space.

“How bad is it?” Leah asked, still sitting, arms crossed, eyes locked on your knee brace. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t heard about this sooner. She was clearly shocked.

“Well, it’s the second time I’ve messed up this knee,” you said, sinking into a chair a little away from Leah. “The doctor says I’ll never get back to even 60% of my old self. I don’t want to play if I can’t give it my all.”

“You can still do it,” Leah said, her voice firm.

“No, I can’t. My record’s already bad. What club’s gonna want a player who’s always at risk of injury?” you said, rolling your eyes.

“We’ll pay,” Leah insisted.

“You’re not the club,” you replied with a sarcastic smile. “They offered me one more season, but they’ll cut my salary. And I don’t want to be a burden, not anymore.”

“Y/n, an injury doesn’t mean your career’s over,” Leah said, raising her voice a bit. “You just need to get through this and move on. Just like last time.”

“It’s not that simple,” you snapped, annoyed that Leah wasn’t getting it. “Do you really think I can compete with Alessia or Stina? I can barely score more than one goal a month, I can't even run like before, Leah. And that’s my job!”

“But-”

“No!” you cut her off, dropping your crutches in anger. “Just leave me alone. If I want to retire now, that’s my choice. I’m not you!” You cried harder. “Nobody misses me on the team! I’m not you!” 

Leah bit her lip, struggling to hold back her tears.

“I do miss you,” she admitted, wishing she could find the guts to stand up, walk over, and kiss you to show how she felt. But ironically, the fear of losing you forever left her feeling paralyzed.

“I can’t do this,” you said, struggling to stand up. “If you start talking about us, I’ll take back my decision, and I don’t want that. Good luck,” you said, wiping away your tears as you left the room.

That was the last Leah saw of you. Your retirement was lowkey, just an announcement and a few social media posts. Leah found out later that you’d gone back to the States as if you’d never been there at all.

You ended up in the US on a whim, just wanting to forget Leah, Arsenal, England, and football. That had been two years ago. No one knew where you were or cared that you were spending everyday drunk in some bar. 

You were okay with that. 

If it weren’t for a family matter, you’d still be hiding out there.

Your plan was simple: wrap up your stuff, grab some cash to continue your drinking habits of shitty american beer, and then return. But as soon as you landed, you hit the first bar you saw and pretty much stayed there.

It wasn't uncommon for former (failed) footballers to turn into addicts, and you were no different. Although you had attempted to quit drinking a year ago, when your money was running out, but without any support system in the US you couldn’t stay sober for more than a month before heading back to that familiar bar.

You were so drunk you didn’t even worry about running into anyone you knew now back in London. The only detail you vaguely recalled, though you were unsure of its significance, was avoiding blonde women. But you didn’t think twice about the men.

“Jacob,” Leah said, still in shock. She’d been sleeping when her brother called, saying he was sure he’d seen you drinking heavily in a bar he’d just arrived at with his friends.

“Glad you’re here,” Jacob said, guiding her to where you were. “She didn’t see me, I wasn’t sure how she’d react, so I wanted to wait until you got here.” He glanced at you as he spoke.

Leah’s heart sank when she saw you. It was definitely you, but you looked totally different, completely out of it and about to pass out on the bar.

“I’ll take her home,” Leah said quietly, making her way towards you. “Y/n,” she called softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. When you didn’t respond, Leah shook you gently and called your name again. “Y/n.”

You barely opened your eyes, but you recognized her immediately. “Lee,” you mumbled, and tears started rolling down your cheeks, though you didn’t really know why.

It wasn’t the first time you’d cried while being drunk, and it wasn’t the first time you’d cried for Leah while being drunk either.

“Hey,” Leah said, gently wiping the tears from your face with her thumbs. She didn’t remove her hands, as you were barely able to hold your head up. “Let me help you.”

Leah signaled to Jacob with a nod to help lift you from the other side. As they carried you to the car, Leah couldn’t wrap her head around what was going on. She’d never seen you this drunk before, not even when you used to drink occasionally during your time together.

With Jacob’s help, Leah got you into the back seat of the car and drove quickly to her home, which had also been yours a few years back.

Leah was totally stuck on what to do now. If it were up to her, she’d have tossed you in a hot bath to get rid of the alcohol smell, but she didn’t want to risk you passing out in the tub.

So, she just put you in the guest room. She placed a towel on your pillow, took off your jacket and shoes, and got you settled in bed. She also left a glass of water and some painkillers for when you woke up.

Next morning, when Leah woke up, the first thing she did was check on you, but she was surprised to find the room empty. The water and pills were still there, She freaked out a little, she couldn’t let you slip away again, not this time. She rushed downstairs and, while searching for her car keys, she noticed the kitchen was a mess. All the cupboard doors were open, and there was broken glass on the floor. Then she saw that the door to the backyard was wide open.

Trying to be quiet, she headed outside and found you sitting on the small terrace you’d set up years ago, holding a bottle of wine with your eyes shut.

“I’m awake,” you mumbled without bothering to open your eyes when you heard the door.

“It’s… 9 am” Leah said, pulling out her phone, her voice tinged with worry. “Isn’t it a bit early to be drinking?”

“It’s for the hangover,” you replied, taking a swig straight from the bottle. Leah looked around, noticing there was no glass or cup in sight. “Sorry, the glass broke when I grabbed it”

Leah stood there with her hands on her hips, looking worried. She had no idea where to start.

“Do you even remember how you ended up here?” Leah asked, stepping closer. She noticed you were shivering, probably from the morning chill. Without hesitation, she took off her hoodie and draped it over your shoulders, relieved when you didn’t push her away.

“Ah… I don’t really remember,” you said, trying to force a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“What’s going on with you?” Leah asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

You shrugged and took another swig from the bottle. Leah was taken aback by how sober you looked despite the drinking. It seemed your tolerance was crazy high.

“Why did you leave?” Leah asked, gently placing her hand on your knee. At the touch, you jumped up, but the dizziness hit you hard, almost making you fall over. Leah quickly helped you back into your seat. “I won’t touch you again,” she said, holding up both hands as if to show she meant no harm. “I’m just asking you not to run away.”

You stared at Leah for a few seconds, noticing her glazed eyes and the slight tremble in her lower lip. You wanted to get out of there and avoid the whole sad scene, but you knew you wouldn’t get far and you didn’t even have any money left.

“I don’t want to answer any questions,” you muttered, staring at the ground.

“I need to ask a few things,” Leah said, almost reaching out to take your hand but stopping herself just in time. “I haven’t seen you in two years. Haven’t heard a thing from you.”

“That was the point. You had enough going on with your stuff. I didn’t want to add to it,” you said, trying to avoid her eyes.

“Damn it, Y/n, I never stopped caring about you. Not when we broke up, and not when you disappeared,” Leah said, quickly wiping away a tear. “Yeah, we messed up, but we could have fixed things back then, and we still can-”

“No, Leah.”

“Yes, we can-”

“Don’t say that. I’m not sober enough to deal with this,” you said, feeling frustration creeping in.

“Then go take a shower, and we’ll talk,” Leah said, her frustration matching yours. Why did you have to be so stubborn all the time?

“I’m not sober,” you repeated, stressing each word and holding her gaze, hoping she’d get it.

Leah swallowed hard, taking in the mess you were. Your hands were still shaking, and even though she thought your pale skin might just be from the morning, your flushed cheeks and the redness on your nose told a different story. The dark circles under your eyes were deep, making you look worse than she’d imagined.

Leah always thought she was the heavy drinker between the two of you. Her cabinet was stocked with all kinds of alcohol, and she’d always found it odd how you’d cringe whenever she brought home a new bottle. She remembered you mentioning a relative with addiction problems back when you weren’t even together, but she never thought it would hit you too.

“Have you… have you tried to quit?” Leah asked, her voice cracking as she grasped the seriousness of the situation. You nodded slowly, looking down, clearly embarrassed. “Could you try again?” she asked.

This time, you shook your head. “I can’t.”

“I can help you,” Leah said, determined.

“I don’t want your help,” you said frustrated, trying to get up again but failing.

“Y/n, look at yourself,” Leah said, exasperated. “You can’t even stand. Please, let me help you.”

You reluctantly agreed to let her help, mostly to get her to stop pushing. You figured that if you said yes and she saw how messed up you were, she’d leave you alone. What you didn’t remember was how stubborn Leah could be when she was set on something.

Leah couldn’t believe she actually managed to get you to go to rehab, but it seemed like it was working after a while. According to the doctor, you were doing great, really putting in the effort in your sessions and activities. So, it didn’t take long for you to get the green light for a day out, and of course, Leah was the one you’d spend it with.

“Good morning,” Leah said softly when she saw you. It was wild how you were starting to look more like yourself again.

“Morning,” you replied. It was weird to think that just a few months ago you were alone in the States, drinking day and night. And now Leah was here, smiling at you again. It was something you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Leah said when you two were in her car. “I checked with the doctor because it might be a... sensitive topic for you.” Instantly, your heart raced in panic. Leah noticed your breathing quicken and gently placed her hand on your knee while steering with the other. You placed your hand over hers, and she didn’t hesitate to intertwine your fingers. “Just relax,” she said. “I think you’ll like it. And if I’m wrong, just let me know, and we’ll forget about it. No big deal.” She stopped at a red light, bringing your hand to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss.

It was something that had always helped you chill out. Even though you weren’t together anymore (not physically, at least. Both of you knew those feelings were still there, just waiting for the right time), it still felt good.

When Leah parked the car and you looked out the window, your heart raced again. You were right in front of a football pitch. Leah knew how much your struggles with the end of your career were a trigger for your addiction, so being here wasn’t exactly ideal.

“Leah, I don’t think-”

“Shh,” she said, gently taking your hand to help you out of the car. “Just give it a few minutes, okay? If it’s too much, we’ll head back.” She cupped your face, locking eyes with you.

You nodded, holding her hand tightly. Leah didn’t say anything, but she could feel the tension in your grip.

You walked together to the middle of the field. It wasn’t as big as the one you used to play on, but seeing it made you smile a bit, remembering the good times you had there with Leah.

“I should’ve been more supportive, you know,” Leah said as you both settled on the grass, still damp from the morning dew. “After my injury and the World Cup, I finally realized how lonely you must’ve felt. Part of it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you replied. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

“You were my girlfriend. I should’ve been there for you, giving you the support you needed,” Leah said, her tears starting to fall. You hated seeing her cry; it always made you feel awful.

“I was tough to deal with too. I didn’t make it easy for you,” you admitted, resting your head on Leah’s shoulder.  She turned and kissed your forehead without hesitation.

“Do you think we can get through this?” She whispered.

“I think we’re on the right track.”

Leah nodded and after a few minutes of silence, she stood up. “Don’t move,” she said, running back to the car. She came back with a mini football, the kind you can hold in one hand. “Wanna play?” she asked with a small, hopeful smile.

You laughed, shaking your head, but took her hand to stand up. The feel of the ball in your hands was weird but you couldn’t say no to Leah.

“Let’s warm up before my friends get here,” she said with a smirk. You didn’t get what she meant at first, but the excitement of kicking a ball again had you too pumped to question it.

Leah’s friends turned out to be a bunch of 12 year olds who had joined her every week to play football together. There were about seven girls, with the oldest being 13. She was the one who kept glancing at you the whole time.

“Excuse me,” the oldest girl said as they were about to leave after the game ended. “You’re Y/n L/n, right?” she asked, eyes locked on you.

“Jackie!” Leah hurried over and tried to cover the girl’s mouth. “What did I say about the questions?”

Leah kept talking to the girl, but you couldn’t catch what she was saying. Jackie was 13 now, but she was only 11 when you retired, and probably no older than 7 when you were at your peak. It touched you that she recognized you.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you said, holding Leah’s hand for support. “What’s up?”

“Your hair is longer and darker now,” Jackie said, eyeing you closely. “And your face is a bit different, but I remember when you kicked that penalty into the goal. I saw it in person!”

“Jackie,” Leah said again, but you pulled on her arm.

“Do you really remember?” you asked.

“I do! I saw you play. My sister took me to that game. Even though Arsenal lost, your penalty was the best.” Jackie said, her eyes shining.

Leah watched silently, a big smile on her face as she saw you light up with that familiar spark you’d lost over the years. She let you have a moment with Jackie, impressed by how you were reconnecting with your past. It made her even more certain about the idea she’d been planning to share with you.

The next weekend, you both were back out on the field with the girls. You spent some time teaching Jackie a few tricks. Your stamina wasn’t what it used to be, so Leah gave you a break. 

“I wish I had the energy of a 12 year old,” Leah said, flopping down next to you on the grass and handing you a bottle of water, but you shook your head.

“I’m good,” you said, pulling out a bottle of orange juice from your bag. Leah looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“But you don’t like orange juice,” she said, wrinkling her nose as you popped the cap and the citrus scent hit the air.

“You don’t like it,” you said with a grin. “I never hated it.”

“You never bought it when we lived together,” Leah pointed out.

“That’s because you didn’t like kissing me with juice on my lips,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at her. “You were always so picky, even with that.”

Leah shook her head, remembering how she’d pull away in the middle of a kiss if she tasted something like orange juice on your lips.

“I’ve been drinking a lot of orange juice lately because plain water gets boring,” you said, putting the bottle away and sitting up straight. You glanced at Leah, who seemed like she wanted to say something.

"Your doctor mentioned you're about to be discharged," Leah said, glancing at you with a curious look.

"Yeah," you replied, a bit embarrassed. "I wanted to talk to you about that too." Leah raised an eyebrow, curious. "I don't have anywhere to stay, and my family's all moved away from London. And I need to keep up with the weekly therapy."

"You can stay with me," Leah said before you could even ask. 

"Thank you," you said with a relieved smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

"Can I confess something?" Leah asked, fiddling with the bottle in her hands.

"Sure."

"I'm afraid you'll leave again," she admitted, biting her lip. "You have no reason to stay, and I don’t want you to be alone again," she added, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. "That’s why I've been thinking about something..."

You felt a bit panicked, knowing what Leah could be thinking.

"I’m not going to play again-" you started, but Leah cut you off.

"I know, honey," she said, stroking your hand with her thumb. "But I've been thinking...these girls need someone to teach them," she said, nodding toward the group of girls who were too busy fighting over the ball to rest.

"No, Leah-"

"Shh, let me finish," Leah said with a laugh. "It won’t be professional. It'll start as an amateur academy. We just need to build a dressing room, add a few more seats, and recruit some more girls."

"Leah, I'm not a coach," you said, shaking your head. "And running an academy, even an amateur one, costs money."

"I’ve got the money," she assured you. "I'm already talking to some local sponsors. And you’re great with the girls, you’ve got experience, and it’ll keep you busy doing something you still care about, even if you won’t admit it right now."

"I don’t know..."

"Just give it a shot," Leah said, bringing your hand to her lips and giving it a gentle kiss. "If you don’t like it, we’ll figure out something else."

You took a deep breath, feeling unsure but finally nodded. "Alright, I'll give it a try."

Leah was feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. After all the hard work, the tough times, and a few relapses along the way, today might be the day you could finally move back to her place. But she’d spent the night taking away every trace of alcohol from the house. Pouring out all those liquor bottles, which had cost her a fortune, felt a bit like a sacrifice, but knowing she was doing it for you made it almost satisfying. She’d also packed up all the wine glasses and stashed them in the attic, figuring they’d be better off out of sight for a while. 

She’d gone a bit overboard with the shopping too, piles of chocolate, different coffee flavors, and gallons of orange juice to cover any cravings you might have. And she’d moved her medals, trophies, and awards into her bedroom. She figured it would be better to ease you back into things slowly, rather than hitting you with the full weight of her football career all at once. 

“Good morning,” Leah said as soon as she saw you dragging your suitcase in.

You greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, and she offered to put your suitcase in the car while you settled into the passenger seat.

“I’m really nervous,” you admitted, shifting uncomfortably in the seat.

Leah didn’t say much, just reached out her hand. You took it without hesitation, intertwining your fingers with hers for comfort.

“I think it’s best if we skip the game with the girls today,” Leah suggested, seeing you nod in agreement. “Alright then, let’s go home.”

The drive to the house was quiet, neither of you saying a word. Leah held your hand the whole time, even after you two stepped inside.

"I got the guest room ready for you," Leah said, setting your suitcase on the floor.

"Will you come with me?" you asked. Leah nodded immediately, following you to the room. She smiled as you flopped onto the bed. "God, I missed sleeping in a good bed," you said, then looked at Leah, who was leaning against the door frame. "Come here," you said, patting the bed.

Leah kicked off her shoes and lay down next to you. She was a little surprised when you rested your head on her chest, but her hand instinctively went to your hair, stroking it gently. Throughout your rehab, you had been close, but Leah always worried about moving too fast, unsure about what the future held for both of you.

"You've changed a lot," you murmured, closing your eyes and smiling at the scent of Leah's shirt. "I like this side of you."

"What side?" Leah whispered.

"The side that takes care of me. I like you taking care of me."

Leah bit her lip, feeling it tremble a little. "I should have taken better care of you before. Maybe then you wouldn't have left."

"I didn't give you the chance. I didn't want to hear from you."

You both stayed silent for a few minutes, Leah holding you tighter.

"And now? Will you give me a chance to take care of you?"

"I’m doing that already," you said, lifting yourself up a little to look at her. "Thank you for not letting me leave again." You gave her a soft, short kiss on the lips.

Leah didn't ask for more, didn't move her hands or deepen the kiss. That small contact was enough for her. Trying again would be a slow process, and she didn't want to go back to what you had before. She wanted to start fresh, avoiding the mistakes of the past.

After almost two months, things were looking up. 

When you woke up, Leah wasn't in bed. You weren’t sharing a room yet, but she spent most nights with you, and last night had been one of those.

After showering, you headed to the kitchen and found Leah putting things away in the fridge. 

"Morning," you said, startling her. She quickly shut the fridge door and looked at you with wide eyes. "Everything okay?" you asked, walking towards her curiously.

"Uh, yeah, everything's fine," she said, taking a step back and letting out a curse as she bumped into the fridge.

"What are you hiding?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

"N-nothing," she said, trying to squirm out of the situation, but you were quicker. You cornered her against the fridge. "Shouldn’t you be going? It's your first day of training with the girls," she reminded you.

"I can’t leave without my good morning kiss," you said, watching her features soften a little.

"I haven’t brushed my teeth," she lied, standing on her tiptoes to keep you from kissing her. She was definitely hiding something.

For a moment, you thought it might be something with alcohol. You'd noticed that all the alcohol in the house was gone, even the liquor filled candy Leah used to eat. But it was early in the morning, and Leah wouldn't be drinking anything with alcohol at that time. You trusted her, she was fully committed to your recovery. On the rare occasions she had a drink, she’d brush her teeth multiple times before kissing you. 

Leah thought she'd kept it a secret, but you'd caught her almost drinking the extra mint mouthwash.

So, it was highly unlikely that was the reason she didn’t want to kiss you.

"I'll be mad if you don't kiss me," you said, playing your last card.

Leah rolled her eyes but leaned in, brushing her nose against yours before giving you a short kiss. When she felt your tongue graze her lip, she knew she was caught.

"Leah!" you exclaimed, patting her shoulder. "You were drinking my orange juice!"

"I was thirsty," Leah laughed. "I'll grab some more juice for you, I promise," she said, wrapping her arms around your waist. She tried to kiss you again, but you turned your face away, causing her lips to land on your cheek. "Hey, there's no more juice left. Your only chance to have some is kissing me," she said, still holding your waist.

"I hate you," you said, shaking your head before finally kissing her. "You're not supposed to like that juice."

"I think I got so used to tasting it when I kiss you that I've started to like it," Leah said with a grin.

"Did you really drink all my juice?" you asked, almost sadly, resting your head on Leah's shoulder.

"Of course not, love," she said, stroking your back. "I think I bought all the orange juice in London. I can't have my girl without her daily glass of juice."

"Thank you," you murmured, kissing her again.

"I should say that," Leah whispered back.

[burrowbabe]

Give and Take - Chapter 10

Hello hello ;) I got bored and decided to write the next chapter tonight! (not thoroughly proofread)

** trigger warning

Intense smut ... absolute filth. Inspired by 'Can I' by Kehlani.

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It was becoming increasingly difficult to take things slow with Joe. Every glance, every sly smirk and every secret kiss made you want to jump his bones. And you almost never got alone time to take things further, even if you wanted to.

Playing with yourself when thoughts of his naked body over came you, could only do so much. You needed real release. 

Tana's birthday was coming up, and while you had every intention of making her day special, you couldn't help but selfishly look forward to the trip to Las Vegas you all would be taking in honor of the occasion. That meant, private hotel rooms.

You booked the penthouse suite at Ceaser's Palace for your friends, and a separate room on another floor for yourself claiming there wouldn't be enough room to sleep everyone comfortably. 

"You prude! No one will be getting any sleep this weekend if I have anything to say about it." Tana exclaimed, sitting on her overly full luggage to zip it closed.

"You do what you want, but I need my beauty rest." You quip, pretending to throw your hair over your shoulder.

With an annoyed eye roll, Tana joins the rest of the crew outside to load up the car.

You resume gathering the last of your things before making your way down the hall. Before making it to the top of the stairs, a hand grabs your elbow, pulling you to the side of the dimly lit hall. Joe looks down at you with a small smile before pulling you in for a kiss.

With a sigh, you melt into his body, dropping your bag and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Do you really think we're going to be able to sneak away this weekend?" Joe asks, biting his lip.

"I hope so .. we deserve some proper alone time." You smirk.

"Oh yeah? What does that entail?"

"Hmm ... I'm thinking room service, fuzzy robes, champagne ..." You raise your eyebrows and look at him with sultry eyes.

"I like the sound of that." He replies, leaning down to the crook of your neck to inhale your perfume before landing a kiss right under your ear.

You're interrupted once again by a holler from your brother in the distance.

"We're gonna miss the flight!" He yells.

Disappointedly, you and Joe are broken out of each other's embrace and quickly make your way down to the garage.

Everyone had already claimed their seats in the large SUV, leaving only 2 open spots in the very back of the vehicle. Joe's size made it difficult to clammer into the last row, not without Ja'Marr razzing him. You didn't mind the close proximity though, you're able to clasp Joe's hand for the whole ride without any of the others noticing.

-----------

After a quick, booze filled trip on the private jet you had chartered, everyone was ready to throw their things down in their respective rooms, and get ready for the night ahead of them. 

Joe had claimed he got his own room as well as he would need to "hit the gym in the morning and maybe call it an early night", to which resulted in merciless teasing. You couldn't help but stifle your own laugh when he broke this news, learning that he is a terrible liar.

"Football is over man! You gotta cut loose." Ja'Marr clapped him on his back giving him a look in disbelief.

"We don't win championships with that attitude." He slyly remarked, earning a groan from his best friend.

"OK Sheisty ... wouldn't want to throw you off your 8 p.m. bedtime." Ja'Marr rolls his eyes in good fun but finally dropping the subject to Joe's relief.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach knowing you'd have all his attention tonight.

Touching up your smokey eye in the mirror, you heard a knock at your door. Assuming it was one of your friend summoning you for the dinner reservations you had made, you quickly grabbed your purse and threw on your short black heels.

"Coming!" You call out, trotting over to swing open the door to meet Joe's shocked expression. His eyes roamed your whole body. Your micro skirt showed off your perfectly tanned legs, while your black lace top exentuated your full chest.

"I - you ... I was just ..." He was lost for words.

"Just come here." You say, pulling him in for a glossy kiss.

"God, you're gonna kill me having to look at you all night." He sighed, moving his hand down your waist.

"You'll just have to wait." You smirk and pat the side of his cheek. "We're gonna be late"

You strut off towards the elevator, with him chasing after you like a puppy. 

The rest of your friends were waiting in the lobby roaring with laughter.

"Holy shit!" Tana interrupts the conversation she was having with Nick when her eyes land on you. "Now that's what I'm talking about! You'll have guys falling from trees for you looking like that!"

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your cheeks. She was the most blunt person you had ever known but she never failed to hype you up.

"I think you need a jacket." Your brother complains, earning an eyeroll from you.

"Enough about me! It's your weekend." You wave Tana off and the crew moves for the car to drive you all to the restaurant.

After running up a handsome bill at the most expensive restaurant on the strip, gambling was next on the agenda. You hated the thought of throwing money away, especially with high stakes. So you sat yourself at the penny slots and went to town. You kept looking around to make sure you kept tabs on your group, always making eye contact with Joe who was sat at the blackjack table with the others. 

He gives you a sublte motion with his two middle fingers to come over to the table. The motion alone sending a jolt to your nether regions. You cash out quickly, earning a mere $10, before making your way over to Joe. 

"I'm rich!" You wave your winning ticket in front of his face.

"Look at you, high roller." He laughs. Unknowingly you snake your arm around his shoulder, leaning into him, giggling. Ja'Marr makes a confused face making you stiffen and straighten up, stepping away from Joe.

"Sorry, I get touchy-feely when I'm drunk." You joke, trying to back pedal, awkwardly making eye contact with Ja'Marr again. A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you throw back the rest of your drink to distract yourself from the budding tension.

"This is boring, lets hit the club!" Tana says, breaking the silence - thank God.

"I second that. I need me some phone numbers." AJ shimmies his eyebrows suggestively.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Surely you were more nervous than you needed to be. 

You needed another drink, and ASAP.

The club was loud and busy. Sweaty bodies grinding all over each other as house music shook the floor. AJ flagged down a bottle service waitress and arranged a VIP section for all of you in the corner of the room.

It seemed like every round you all ordered, required a toast to Tana's birthday. Each proclaimation more outrageous and hilarious than the next. Each tequila soda was going down like water. Every glance in Joe's direction more sexually charged. The world was starting to disappear around you.

"I need to dance!" You announce, but fallen on deaf ears as everyone was engrossed in their own conversations.

You manage to get into a standing position and stumble slightly into the crowd of people. You didn't care, you swayed your body to the music. Closing your eyes and running your hands through your hair, you felt invincible. 

Some flashes indicated fans taking photos of you, but you didn't care about that either, you were having a blast. 

A pair of hands snake around your waist, pulling you into a tent in their pants. You allow them to move with you to the beat.

"You're so fucking sexy." The man shouts in your ear with his hot breath. You look up to see its a total stranger towering over you, and not the man you wanted it to be.

Suddenly, a hand clasps over yours, pulling you away from the stranger and down the hall towards the bathrooms. You're pushed into the wall, meeting Joe's eyes that have darkened. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the alcohol and his lips are plump from biting down on them.

"Are you OK?" He asks, searching your face for any type of concern.

"I'm better now." You say, sliding your hands up his abdomen.

"You drive me crazy you know that?" 

Joe pulls you close and smashes his lips to yours, moving desperately against you.

"Let's go home." You huff in between kisses.

You follow Joe's lead as he pulls you through the crowd of people, expertly avoiding your table full of friends.

Your panties are absolutley soaked and you're both practically running to the exit to get the next cab to the hotel. 

The ride back is silent but so sexually charged, it was palpable.

It took major restraint and self-control to keep from doing it right there in the car or even the elevator up to the room.

Bursting through the door and locking it behind you, you pounce on Joe. Backing up towards the bed before the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, making him fall flat on his back.

Finally making contact with Joe's soft lips again made a shiver run down your spine - so wet, so plump, so right.

Moving in sync with one another, your lips stay attached, only breaking slightly to introduce your tongues. 

Joe groans at the taste of sweet liquor on your mouth, pulling your hips closer so you collapse into his lap, straddling him on your bed.

Running your hands through his soft blonde hair, you sigh in relief at the contact he makes with your ass, grasping it in his big hands. Pulling you closer to the bulge in his pants, your pussy grinds against him offering you at least some relief.

Joe pulls back slightly to quickly grab the hem of your shirt to take it off, exposing your black lace covered breasts. Before diving in to kiss your neck, you push his shoulders back to get off of his lap. A look of panic washes over his face, thinking you were changing your mind. But that was far from true. Wasting no time, you spread his knees apart, kneeling down in between them.

With a sigh of relief and a groan accompanying it, Joe watches you work on his zipper, pulling down his grey jeans. A tent in his boxers was an understatement. The outline of his hard cock looked bigger than you ever imagined. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you hook your fingers under the band of his boxers, slowly pulling them off to be thrown in the pile with his jeans. His cock springs up in front of your eyes, making your jaw drop slightly.

"Fuck." You mutter, eyeing his member standing at attention. Taking your hand, you wrap it around the bottom of his shaft, looking to meet his eyes again to see his pleased reaction. His tip leaked with pre cum, which you happily wiped with your thumb before attaching your lips to his pink, throbbing tip. Giving it a small kiss, Joe watches you intently before you lick a stripe from base to tip causing him to roll his head back in pleasure.

"Holy shit ... fuck me." He groans.

Spitting on his tip, you watch it drip down before taking his whole cock in your mouth. With a hiss, Joe grabs the back of your head gently with one hand, silently begging you not to move.

"Fuck ... keep doing that and I'm gonna cum already." He mutters defeatedly.

Pushing down further, you let his tip hit the back of your throat, earning another loud groan from Joe. Slowly sucking all the way up to the top, you come off his tip with a 'pop' sound. 

Joe looks down at you with a darkness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"C'mere baby." In one swift motion, he grabs your hips to lead you back up to the bed, pulling you back into his lap to unclip your bra and taste himself on your lips. Flipping you over onto your back, Joe pulls on your lower lip with his teeth mid-kiss, pulling off your skirt and underwear and quickly tossing them over with the rest of the clothes. Completely exposed now, Joe breaks from the kiss to stand back and look at your naked body.

His mouth parts slightly, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"So perfect." he mutters, looking you up and down.

Grabbing your ankles and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, he kneels in front of your dripping center, licking a stripe from your entrance to the top of your throbbing clit earning a loud moan from you.

"Joey!" you exclaim, already writhing from the contact.

Moving his hands to grip under your thighs, he holds you open to devour you. He starts with small kitten licks on your clit, kissing and sucking on the sensitive nub. 

No guy had ever gone down on you before, let alone knew where the clit was. So, to have someone be so attentive to your pleasure first was shocking and amazing.

Moving faster circles on your clit, Joe introduces two fingers into your entrance, sliding them in slowly.

Your back begins to arch and you feel that coil in your stomach.

"Joe ... oh my God.. y-yes please don't stop" you cry out. His assault on your clit is merciless as his fingers pump in and out of you faster and faster. His free hand won't let you rise far off the bed, he pins you down as you writhe beneath him in pleasure.

"Oh God Joey ... I'm gonna cum." you whine, egging him on to add a third finger inside of you.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you choke out a string of moans. Joe continues licking your clit softly as your orgasm tears through you. With your legs shaking, and breath hitched in your throat, Joe makes a string of kisses up your inner thigh as you come down from your high.

Flipping you over, he pulls your hips so your core meets his throbbing cock. Grabbing a condom from his pants pocket, he tears it open with hi mouth, adjusting it over himself.

With a smack to your ass, you jolt forward from the contact, moaning loudly. 

"So wet for me." He growls, sliding his tip up and down your entrance.

"Please, Joe." You whine, moving to your elbows to arch your ass higher in the air.

In one swift motion he penetrates you, earning a shocked gasp from you. You choke out a moan as you adjust to his size. He pumps in and out of you deep and hard, your bodies smacking together with each movement.

Your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss. There was no stopping the loud moans coming from you no matter who heard. And Joe's sweet affirmations about how tight and beautiful you were made it even harder not to cum right then and there. 

Joe suddenly pulls out to your dismay causing you to whine. He sits with his back against the headboard. "C'mere baby."

You crawl over to hima nd straddle his lap, taking him in your hand to position him at you entrance once again. Sinking down on top of him, you both moan in unison. 

"So good for me." He says, grpping your hips and grinding up into you. Your clit rubs against his lower stomach perfectly, adding to the already overwhelming sensation. He sucks on your right nipple making you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Cum for me baby." He demands in a low, husky whisper.

You core tightens and your body begins to shake. Joe forces you down harder on him and moves your hips faster against him.

"Fuck - yes!" You whimper, slowing your movements and shuttering against him. Joe growls and tips his head back against the head board as he jerks up into you, reaching his own climax.

You collapse into him meeting his lips one last time before pulling off to lay beside him.

You find it hard to catch your breath as you come back to reality.

"You still think you're broken?" He asks with a cocky smile.

You rapidly shake your head and bite your lip. "Where have you been all my life?"

[f1mariee]

Just saw a comment that if Lando wins WDC it will be undeserved and not earned… that’s one of the most stupid things I have ever read.

If Lando wins the WDC of course it’s earned. No one ever before could catch up such a big gap. The chances are also not that high for Lando, but they are there. And if he really does that it’s fully deserved. No championship was won without mistakes (we don’t talk about max his dominance). He knows very very well that he made mistakes which cost him points BUT as well as McLaren cost him points AND the first 5 races where the car wasn’t really on top. No one, literally no one, expects Oscar so move to the side for Lando. That’s not what Lando wants. It’s more about that the team will work together better and don’t battle each other on track. Simple as that. Oscar will get his podiums and if he is fast enough wins this season.

Lando completely earned all his points this season… why talking it down just because he is doing a good job ?

The driver with the most points wins and therefore is completely earned and deserved. No matter if it is Max, Lando or Charles…

People tend to forget that F1 is still a team sport. The team comes first.

[drivestraight]

u must know, i am very new to the world of f1 and its rpf shadow realm, but i wanted to say eat them alive has gripped me to the point where i read it in one sitting and sent my friend (who doesnt know anything about f1) 3 10-minute audio clips of me recounting what i just read. i feel so bad for them. anyways! my prediction for how the last race pans out might be really nonsensical, and maybe it’s because i have a lando bias (despite everything), but i imagine that oscar might let lando pass him — “gifting” him the championship, allowing it to haunt him that he never deserved/earned the win, mirroring what lando wanted oscar to do in the race last year (and now he realizes, this isn’t how he wanted to Win). but also, knowing how much oscar truly WANTS this… i don’t think he’d give it up for lando??? god i’m actually at a loss of what could happen in the last race, and i don’t know if it’s cause i’m dumb, but truly i look forward to your update. thank you for writing something this touching and heartwrenching. sending you all the flowers and admiration i have!!

yeah. i’m so sorry the one thing oscar does not do at the end of eat them alive is let lando pass him to win the championship 💀💀💀

did we. uh. read the same fic…

[driveitlikesebastianvettelwould]

Funniest thing is Oscar would have had a big enough gap for the team to pit Lando first to "cover Hamilton" and still come out ahead had he not gone into the gravel before pitting .... and then immediately ruined his fresh tyres going into the gravel after pitting.

That race was 71 laps. Not 48. If he didn't have the pace in the last stint, he didn't earn the win. A race isn't won in the first corner, it's won when you cross the line.

Regardless, between the strategy and McLaren already having OP1 merch on hand (which they didn't have for the driver who's been with them in a reserve or active driver role since 2018 ... nobody else finds that suspicious?), they knew who they were gifting that win to before that race even started. And if that happens again and Lando is serious about competing for a championship someday, he's going to have to start looking for a new team where the favoritism isn't so blatant.

I agree. That is exactly the point. You don’t win a race in the first corner. It is ridiculous for a team to expect their faster driver to stay behind their teammate the entire race, and using strategy to do it is just crooked.

They never pitted Lando to undercut, they made that very clear on his radio, they planned to keep him behind to cover Lewis(so absolutely ridiculous), so Piastri could stay ahead. It was McLaren and Piastri that messed that up. McLaren by even having the audacity to try to keep Lando behind for most of the race and Piastri for making mistakes. Lando made a choice to stick it to them because of what they were doing to his race. He is giving them everything and they continue to blunder his efforts with shitty strategy and yesterday they just straight up stole a race from him.

They put him on the back burner with absolutely no logical reason to do so. He needs the points they just made him give to his teammate. It really does stink. They sent him a message yesterday by prioritizing Piastri even though he was better all weekend, including during the race, and he answered back during the race.

They need to actually get their shit together and support Lando. He is their better driver. The one who is bringing the fight to Max, despite his team screwing up his strategy every race. They need to prioritize Lando, especially when he out qualifies Piastri and gets pole position to boot. I’m not saying they need to sacrifice Piastri season, that would be unfair and unethical, but they can not win a championship if they put him before Lando during races where Lando is faster and can beat Piastri by battling. I think racing should be fair. What they did on Sunday to Lando was unethical and so far from fair. It was the opposite. They have no reason to put Piastri’s race in front of Lando’s, especially when he is faster and deserves to fight for his position and not be held back.

Speculation here, but I feel this was one of those turning points for Lando. I feel he will never see them the same. I hope he stands up for himself against what they did. They have a lot to talk about in regards to how they are gonna go forward the rest of the season.

So yeah I agree, thanks for the message☺️.

[snakejar]

the whole williams thing is so bizzare and i am sure absolutely nobody wins from it.

i get that alex is the objectively better driver. i get how important points or even positions are in the bigger picture of the constructors championship and finance wise, and i get that alex has a far better shot of doing better. but this leaves such a sour taste in everyone's mouth that im not sure its worth it.

if you look at the current scene on social media, its a shitshow. williams' comments sections are filled with disapproval, and people are hating both alex and logan with vigour. this is horrible moment for williams.

and what if alex gets into the points? what if he actually does deliver and bumps williams up the rankings? its not a good look anyway. people are going to say he hasnt earned it, he doesnt deserve it, and they're going to be annoyed. the f1 crowds love drama and they love it when drivers fail. they come into the race with expectations that alex is going to fail and fumble the second chance that williams has given him in the form of logan's car, and if he doesnt, then they're going to be pissed that their expectations haven't been fulfilled.

but what if alex doesnt get any points? people are going to point and laugh and they are going to turn their backs on alex and williams more than they have on friday and saturday. again, people love mocking mistakes and disappointment. worse yet, what if alex crashes again? sends it into the wall in turn 8 the same way he did in fp1? he and williams will never hear the end of it.

i cannot imagine the hit this will do to logan's confidence. he was the last driver to get resigned in 2023, but by signing him, williams have put faith in him. they have put trust in his development and his performance for 2024. the level of disrespect this is to logan is genuinely crazy. logan has done nothing but do his best and play for the team, but he has to pay for alex's mistake, and now it is another missed opportunity for him to prove himself. if you look at free practice results from the aus gp, logan and alex's times weren't even separated by a massive margin. there's a huge probability that logan is not going to get resigned for the 2025 season, and there are very few chances for him to prove himself this season. by doing this, williams is telling logan that they have no faith in him, they don't believe he'll perform when they need him to. im afraid this might be the start to the end of logan's f1 career.

what's worse is that williams has lately been the team that appealed to the fans. even if they consistently drove around in the back of the field, fans still loved them for their team dynamic and their drivers and being a small team. they need fan support, because if they dont have the best drivers or a decent cars, then they need to at least have people backing them. but this is just so cold and so un-williamslike, and is going to take a hit on the amount of support they have going forward.

at the end of the day, f1 will always be a game of money. time and time again formula 1 has proved that it cares more about profit than the careers of their drivers. teams will obviously do what will get them the most points, positions, and ultimately prize money. but unless alex pulls off a goddamn miracle in the race tomorrow, i really do not think that any of this is worth it in the end.

[mirrorball-writings]

Watch Me.

Isabelle Clarichet is a racing prodigy. She is beyond talented and has won countless races and championships, but she still faces doubt and criticism simply because she is a woman. Thankfully, one team believes in her, and gives her the opportunity she deserves to move up the ranks and ultimately earn a seat in Formula 1.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: sexism

I’ve heard the cheers after every race, and they never sound like they do when I’m the one standing on the podium. When I hold the trophy over my head and spray the champagne, I don’t hear roaring applause. It’s quieter; there’s more whispering, and I can always hear the one guy in the back making some inappropriate comment, asking me to take off the race suit and show off my fireproofs, show off my body. Or something like that. It doesn’t matter how close the race was, or how far ahead I was from the next car, it’s always the same. I’m used to it now — it’s been this way even since I was karting. I’m used to the hush over the crowd when they realize that a girl won the race, and I’m used to the awkward conversations when people say, “Really, Isabelle? Why would you want to be a racing driver? You could do something more… conventional.” They’ve never figured out the right word to use. I’m used to all the judgment and doubts, but most of all, I’m used to the rejections.

I’ve always been a talented driver. My parents hammered that in early: If I’m going to do something, I had better do it right. If I’m going to try something, I had better be successful. Since my early karting days, I’ve been a fair rival to even the prodigies on the track, and my competitors learned early on to respect me as one of their own. Unfortunately, not everyone got that memo. I was barely a teenager when I realized that. While all my friends were getting their first sponsorships and team offers, I was still sitting with my blank kart, not a brand to be seen. At first, I thought it was luck of the draw, but I knew my place, and I knew that I was better than many of my competitors, who were flooded with offers to join training programs. The obvious difference between us was the unavoidable fact that I was a girl. I was only thirteen when I came to terms with the fact that my journey in racing will not get easier. I will always have to fight to be taken seriously, and I will have to drive twice as fast to get the same respect in this sport. It isn’t fair, but that’s how it is. Talent alone was not enough for me.

F4 starts at fifteen, so teams usually like to give offers for their training programs when drivers are still fourteen. For me, thirteen and fourteen passed by with no contacts, and fifteen didn’t seem to be going any better. When I asked the man who ran my local karting league, he recommended going to the teams myself, and asking to be considered for a seat. He told me, “Isabelle, you’re talented. You deserve a seat, at least as much as these other drivers do. You have to understand that teams are nervous to give you a seat, because they’ve never had a girl drive for them. I know that you can handle it, but you have to show them that you have what it takes. They won’t realize it on their own.” It’s unfair. It’s beyond unfair. I knew that at fifteen, and a fifteen-year-old girl should never be facing the realization that she will always be at a disadvantage, just because she’s a girl. But, ultimately, I knew he was right. I had already seen it firsthand: No teams were going to come to me, so if I wanted an offer, I would have to go to them myself.

I wanted to drive for ART. They were in France, so they wouldn’t be too far away, and they were an incredible racing team where I would really have the opportunity to improve and work towards a Formula 1 seat. I flew out to France, and I made my case. I showed them my records, and all the awards and championships I had won with my racing. They seemed impressed, but when the time came for them to decide whether I’d get an offer, all they said was, “We don’t think you’re the right fit for our team.” I was shocked, and I was embarrassed, but I was not hopeless. I went to DAMS, and I gave them the same presentation. I received the same answer.

“You’re just not the right fit for our team.”

“We’re not sure you’re ready for this next step in your career.”

“Maybe take a few more years in karting, and then we can reconsider.”

“We just want to make sure our drivers are ready for the pressure of F4.”

I went home. I trained, and I raced, and I won, again and again and again. I proved myself, again and again and again. I put myself out there, and I made records, and I kept winning. And yet, all remained silent — no offers, no contact. No team would sign a girl to a seat.

I was sixteen when I finally got an offer. It was from PREMA. They wanted me to come to their headquarters for training, to hopefully put me into an F3 seat for next season. I couldn’t pass it up, and a few weeks later, I had packed my things and moved to Italy, to what would end up being my home for almost three years.

I thought being signed to a team would be the end of it, but the whispers remained. PREMA itself was supportive, and I wasn’t even the only girl in their program. Being around other female drivers, and being in a program that believed that we could perform just as well as boys, was a welcome change, and plenty of the other F3 teams and drivers had the same respect for me as PREMA did. Still, we saw it in the news, and we heard the comments at the races. Any mistake I made, and we were bound to hear questions of whether a girl was really cut out for an intense sport like racing. No matter how much I assured them I had what it takes, they always wanted to ask my teammate what he thought about it. He must know better.

I started F3 at sixteen, and F2 at seventeen. I raced harder than ever, and the original skeptics shut up after long. I raced just as well as my teammate, and I had more podiums than many of my competitors. I didn’t win the championship, but I was close behind. I won sixth in F3, a far better placement than most rookies, and I couldn’t ask for much better, since I knew I wouldn’t beat the records of Piastri, Sargeant, Vesti, and the like. My first year in F2, I ended up in sixth. My second year, I won second place. I still heard the criticism and the doubts, and I couldn’t escape the negative comments on social media, but things were much quieter. I was proud of my results, and I was proud of how well I had proved that I had what it takes, but I expected nothing of it, at least for a few years to come. Much to my surprise, though, less than a month after the end of the F2 season, I got an offer for a Formula 1 seat. All of my hard work had paid off, and it was time to prove once and for all that I deserved to be a driver just as much as anybody else.

Pre-season training flew by in an F1 car, literally and metaphorically. Being surrounded by the drivers I had watched growing up, and being a rookie alongside some of my best friends from the past few years, made the experience just that much more of a dream, although it certainly all felt unreal to finally be here, living out the daydream I had had since the day I started karting so many years ago. After all the rejections, all the doubts, I had certainly had many days where I thought this would never come to me, and yet I was here, driving a real F1 car, preparing to take my place on a real F1 team for the upcoming season. My arm was bruised from being pinched.

I had made it. I thought to myself,  “This is the end of the naysayers. This is the end of the skepticism and the judgment. This is the beginning of a career of respect, where I will finally be seen as equal to the other drivers.” That was my assumption, and I was sure it would be the truth, but my contract had still not been announced. There was speculation, to be sure, about who would take the seat this year, and about whether I or any other F2 drivers would end up as reserve drivers or in actual seats this year in F1, but no formal announcements had been made, so I was only working on assumption when I assured myself that this season would be different. I could never have imagined how wrong I could have been.

I woke up on January 18 like I did any other day. Alarm goes off, I roll out of bed, I brush my teeth, I eat breakfast. It was almost an hour before I opened my phone — almost an hour that I was awake and unaware of what was going on. When I did check my phone, though, I saw hundreds, maybe thousands, of notifications waiting for me on every social media platform I owned. Tags, reposts, follows, comments; something must have happened for this many people to be taking this much notice of me. Upon opening Instagram, I was met with a bright graphic from one of the many F1 news accounts I follow. I couldn’t miss the bold text: “F2 runner-up Isabelle Clarichet to join F1 this season?!”

How could they have found out? We hadn’t made the announcement, and I knew we weren’t going to for a few more weeks, as we were still getting everything sorted. When I looked in the caption, I found my answer: They didn’t know if this was true, but they had heard rumours from an “anonymous source within the F1 community” that I had been doing training with one of the teams. I decided not to address any of the innumerable questions about whether this was true, because I wasn’t supposed to let anyone outside of my immediate family and closest friends know that I had signed a contract until the team made their own official announcement. My own silence, though, didn’t stop the comments and messages from flooding in. I received countless DMs and mentions in posts and comments telling me the same things I had heard so many times before in my career.

“Women don’t belong in motorsport.”

“Go back to ballet class.”

“She won’t be able to handle the pressure of real racing.”

“What happened to hiring athletes?”

It isn’t fair. Again and again I’ve proved my worth and shown the world that I could handle pressure and competition, that I could win, and still people doubt whether I deserve to be here. Thankfully, having done well in F2 and F3, I had gained a following over the years of people excited to see a woman excelling in a male-dominated sport like racing, and they were happy to support me every time one of these ignorant comments appeared. And, thankfully, the opinions of some random guy on the internet doesn’t really matter, because I’d already signed a contract with a team, and whatever people thought about it wouldn’t change the fact that I would be racing. I tried to encourage myself with that idea, that their opinions couldn’t change reality. But it still hurt. It hurt so much to know that I would probably never be enough for them, just because I was a girl.

Three weeks is a long time to wait when your inbox is constantly flooded with questions and speculations about where you’re racing next year. Three weeks is a long time to continuously see hateful messages and be unable to defend yourself against them. But three weeks was how long I would have to wait before an official statement could be put out revealing my contract with the team. Those three weeks were filled with training, track practice, and silent tears of frustration. They went by quickly.

I could almost hear the uproar when the news went out. I could almost feel the tension in the air as people would be reading about where I had signed, as people would be making up their minds about whether or not they would support me this year. I knew the moment I opened my phone, I would see thousands of congratulations clashed against thousands of hateful worlds, but I was prepared, and I knew that this was what was in store for me for the rest of my career. I wasn’t worried. I had my team on my side, and I had the support and respect of all the other drivers on the grid. I had proved myself before, and I was prepared to do it again, and again, and again, every day for the rest of my life. And, indeed, when I opened up my phone, I saw the announcement there. I saw the comments. I saw the excitement and the disappointment and the anger all mingled together, right there in front of me, for myself and the world to see. But overshadowing it all was the fact that this was real, and this contract had been signed and the seat had been taken and the person who had done so was me. And that announcement said a name, and it was my name. My name.

“Nineteen-year-old Isabelle Clarichet to join Mercedes F1 team 2023.”

This is the first part of my F1 "series" Baby Driver (yes, I know Baby Driver is also a movie title, but I just love the sound of it so that's the series name). I put "series" in quotes because it won't be a series in the traditional sense, meaning it won't follow one constant plotline, but it will instead be a number of different scenarios and stories of the same character and in the same universe, if that makes sense. So all of the stories will be about Isabelle and her experiences in F1 and interactions with other drivers. I should point out as a disclaimer that obviously I had to switch around some drivers so that Isabelle could race at Mercedes, so I apologize if I mention someone racing at a different team than they actually do. Feel free to request any story, F1 or not, and you can also request stories for Baby Driver as well if you have any ideas!

[saintmagx]

I Knew you were Trouble ❤️‍🔥

In which y/n joins the WWE as a female competitor and is thrown into the crazy world of the Usos. Friendship, love , betrayal and mutual pining awaits.

AN: Literally making this for myself, might publish more of it, might not - enjoy I guess? 😳😂

in this reality, Trinity is still with WWE

Pairing: Jimmy uso x reader, Jey uso x reader (platonic)

w/c: 766

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity, jealous Jimmy, bad writing, cringe story telling, the Usos (because they are a warning in themselves) ⚠️

I was in your sights, you got me alone, you found me❤️‍🔥

“And the challenger, being accompanied by the Usos, from y/h/t, y/r/n”

I was on top of the world. My life couldn’t be much better. I had my boys walking me down to the ring to face off against Charlotte for the Woman’s championship. I had been busting my ass for the past 8 months and finally earned my shot at the title. Nothing could ruin this moment for me - right?

“What the - ”

THUD

Then there was darkness.

Ok, so we may be getting a little bit ahead of ourselves, let’s take it back to 8 months ago, when it was your first day on Smackdown.

8 months ago

I was finally getting my opportunity after years of busting my ass in the independent circuit. I guess you could say I had made a name for myself and the WWE just had to have me.

Tonight I was making my debut on Smackdown, I was teaming up with Naomi to face off against Carmella and Mandy Rose. Carmella and Mandy where the current Woman’s tag team champions and Naomi had been teaming with Natalya - however she had been injured and I was asked to step in. This match could make or break me - I HAD to impress.

Standing backstage doing my pre-match stretched I’m broken from my trance

“Hey girl, I’m honestly so excited to be partnering with you tonight”

“Trinity hey, honestly same - though I’m a little disappointed we have to lose the match.”

“Yeah it bummed me out abit too at first, but all we have to do is put on one hell of a show”

“Good luck tonight baby” my eyes switch from Trinity to the handsome as hell man who approached her. His smile was infections, enough to make me weak at the knees. Wait…..baby?

“Y/n, this is my husband Jon, Jon this is y/n”

As if time stopped, his attention was on me, I could feel his eyes bore into me, slowly dragging up my body, my cheeks HAD to be red, oh god please don’t let anyone notice. Jon smirked at me - safe to say he noticed.

“Pleasure to meet you y/n”

Before I could reply, another equally as handsome man joined his side.

“Josh, this is y/n, y/n this is Josh, Jon's brother” Trinity said as she was stretching out for our match.

“I’m the handsome brother” Josh says, with a wink

“You do remember we are twins right?” Jon retorts

“Obviously uce, but I’m still the better looking brother”

Josh stood there with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. He had ruffled his brothers feathers once more and he was proud of himself.

These boy are going to be trouble.

• ❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Our match was set up for us to lose, but we put on one hell of a show - main event material. Back at the gorilla Hunter were there to chat with me after my debut.

“Think of the bigger picture y/n” Hunter says

“You can’t always win. Remember when you go through that curtain you are telling a story, selling it with you matches and promos. Anyway, this sets it up perfectly for you guys to go for the titles”

“What?” I look up at him in disbelief

“The titles?”

“Y/n your hard work and determination shows off. The tag titles is a fantastic opportunity to kick start your time here.”

Not really sure what came over me but next thing I knew I had my arms wrapped around hunter squeezing him tight.

“You have no idea how much this means to me, thank you, thank you, thank you - I won’t let you down”

“You deserve it kid, now go show everyone what you are made of”

Leaving the gorilla my eyes glance to Trinity and the boys walking towards catering.

“TRIN DID YOU HEAR” I scream, jumping her from behind.

“HUNTER IS GIVING US THE TAG TITLES”

“What?”

A twinge of jealousy spreads across me as I watch Jon dip his head down and place a kiss on Trinity's forehead - wait, I shouldn’t even be feeling like this - I give myself a shake and turn my attention to Josh.

“We have to celebrate”

“Josh, we haven’t actually won the titles yet, let’s save the celebrations till then huh?” I laugh

“Wait that’s a great idea, let’s do drinks, come on y/n let’s go get ready” Trin says as she drags me off.

Guess we are celebrating tonight.

If I’d have know how the night would turn out, I’d have headed straight back to the hotel.

[ray935sworld]

Addiction - How it ended (1/4)

Jorge Lorenzo x Alex Marquez

The 2015 season comes to an end and with it, Sepang happens. Rossi happens. Marc happens. And Jorge and Alex will have to deal with it.

Alex hadn't expected that things would go this way.

He had often imagined what it would be like when the stress of the past weeks and months would finally leave Jorge alone.

He waited that there was no longer an anxious tension in his shoulder and when he finally slept well without going around the next circuit before bed a dozen times in his head.

Alex had noticed it a few races ago. Jorge had texted him later, more rarely. His muscles were tense when they finally met. And he was exhausted.

Still while Alex was already cuddling under the covers of whatever hotel room or motorhome they snuck away to, he was once more reviewing his notes about the upcoming race.

Alex no longer managed to lure Jorge away from his gym session or distract him from reviewing data.

At first he had taken it personal.

"Not now Alex" he had said when the younger one sat down next to him in the yamaha motorhome. He sat down on the floor, putting his head on his tight, dangerously close to his crotch.

Normally that was the cue for a blowjob. Now Jorge just rejected him.

It felt like Jorge had lost interest in him. The older had taken a few minutes to catch up with his anxiety after he stood up and disappeared without a word. He immediately went to grab him and hug the moto2 rider to reassure him about the real reason for not devouring him.

And Alex felt stupid. But happy. And loved.

He had no doubt that he could win his 5th title this year. A part of him still wanted to see Rossi win his 10th championship. It was a childish wish. He wanted to see the master do it one more time to complete and round up his legacy.

But this part was small. He knew Jorge deserved it. He had seen him working harder than ever before, more stressed than ever.

Alex prayed it would all pay out at the end and let them to the well deserved break.

Part of him wouldn't know what would happen if he didn't. He would want to be with Jorge the whole time to comfort him.

But how?

He wouldn't be able to stay away that long without raising suspion. The thought that he wouldn't be able to be on his side during the celebration was already bad. But he couldn't imagine not being there to cheer him up.

So he decided to just be decided - to just know that he would win. So he wondered what they would do once Jorge had clawed the title and he finally let lose of his intense fitness and health rituals.

He had a vague idea of what they would do. They would go on vacation together. Jorge had everything booked already since months.

He had booked a small cabine at a small island, very private and not very popular or generally known, so they didn't had to worry about prying eyes. They would spent two weeks there. They would go swimming and have lots of celebrations sex.

They planned to be a normal couple for once. No worries. Just love. Sex. Cooking. Cuddling. Sharing memories. Making new ones. More sex.

Alex really needed it. He wanted to forget his season and only focus on the future and the present.

He wanted his Jorge back. The real Jorge. Not the racer Lorenzo, his boyfriend had to be now since the focus on the title rivals grew.

Alex loved him even like that. Even when he was a rude asshole, he still loved him. But he preferred having him above him, when he kissed his face a few million times, telling him how much he loved him, until Alex almost couldn't breath from laughing too hard.

He couldn't wait for the season to be over, but as the last few races approached, everything changed.

He had hoped that there'd be a game changer moment. A moment that gave his lover an advantage to ease his worries after the last weeks.

But not like this.

He didn't expect that it would happen like this. But it did. The advantage Jorge got was earned through Marc.

And his big brother paid for it.

The first time Alex saw it, read about it, realized what this all meant, he felt frozen. He silently stared at the articles that seemed to be overflow the internet.

One after the other popped up and he knew tomorrow the motogp news papers would be filled with it. The TVs in the whole world were already glowing with it.

Marc the cheater. Marc the championship decider. Marc who manipulated the race. Marc who -

One accusations was worst than the next one and there was no way to stop it. It came all over them, like a flood that couldn't be stopped.

The younger brother wondered if smashing his phone against the garage door was an appropriate reaction.

He felt rage in his heart and head. He felt the anger take over his body. He wanted to scream and cry and run to the Italian to yell at him what an asshole he was.

The childish bit of admiration died. Every bit of empathy he had for him died.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to confront him. He wanted to run to his own teammate and yell at Franco what an impossible human his mentor was.

He wanted to ask if that was really the man the older Italian was looking up to. Because he no longer was the one he could look up to.

But he didn't. He did none of it. He remembered that he was surrounded by cameras and any type of questionable action was just another cookie for all those Italian journalists.

And he didn't want to give them the satisfaction. He wouldn't do them that favor. So he just turned his phone off, carefully guarding his facial expression as he left his garage.

He didn't want anyone to know that he had already read the general public bullshit.

He knew where he had to go. He wanted to run. But that was too much. So he slowly went toward the motorhome. There were still enough people eager to shoot a pic and misinterpreted it of him running worriedly to his brother.

But he knew where he had to be right now. He knew who needed him right now.

He wanted to go to Jorge and kiss him stupid. He didn't. He went to the one who needed him the most now.

Marc.

Every step felt like torture. Then he finally arrived. He felt his hands shaking as he unlocked the door to tbe motorhome. But he didn't had the time to care.

"Marc!"

He yelled, his voice on edge. For a moment there was silence. His anxiety peaked. Where was his brother? Was he okay?

Then a broken "He-Here" reached him and the whole world disappeared. There was nothing more, just Alex hearing his brothers voice.

He immediately ran towards the sound. He almost fell down but he only knew he had to worry. He heard a a deep sob, clearly from his brother.

"Marc!" he exclaimed just to show that he was here. He had to prove that he was there, in reach. He was here to protect him. There was nothing that could get between those two.

Alex froze as he saw his older brother - his brother who always been the strongest and bravest man he knew - sitting on the floor, tears screaming down his face.

He was leaning against his bed, looking at him with empty eyes.

His cheeks were wet, deeply covered with tears. His eyes were red. He was about to cry again and now the younger one felt the tears sting in his eyes as well. Marc hadn't deserved that. He hadn't deserved to be treated like that.

"Alex, I... I... It's bad" he sobbed. "It's so fucking bad."

There was no hesitation left in him. There wasn't even a glimpse of him trying to be strong for Alex. That how he knew how bad it actually was. Marc may never hide his feelings but he had always tried to be strong. And now... Now he was there, on the floor, crying his eyes out.

Alex was still frozen until his brother opened his arms with a sad look, making grabby hands for him. Without hesitation he rushed to him and hugged him.

He basically fell on top of him, covering his body with his. He gathered him in his arms. He pressed him against his chest and felt how he started sobbing.

Alex didn't say anything.

He let him cry and cry, holding him close and kissing his head every once in a while. He knew it calmed him. He let him sob and he knew he wouldn't make jokes afterwards.

They always joke about every embarrassing thing the other did but this - this was too serious to make jokes.

Alex wasn't sure how long it took until Marc's crying started to resembles words again.

It was a long time.

At some point, Marc sat back up, Alex still holding his hand. He started to ramble about the accusation.

"It's... It's a lie. I didn't... I wouldn't have... I don't intervene with the championship. I mean - why would I? I - I - It'd be amazing if he wins 10. I mean... I... I don't even like Lorenzo!"

Well, I do. "I know" Alex said, leaning in for a hug and pulling him close again.

Marc was rambling some more. One article after the other started to show up and the fans seemed to be dragged along with the insanity. It seemed like he had spent every minute since the press conference consuming all the hate comments and rude articles.

Alex didn't say anything against it. He was just trying to comfort his older brother. He hated seeing him cry. It always felt wrong.

So he sat there, holding him close, trying to fill the hate in the older Spaniards head with love. After some time Marc was too tired. He had cried for a long time. The race and his anxiety gave him the rest.

He fell asleep, still sitting on the ground, by now again hold in Alex arms. The other brother stayed like this some more, until he was sure his slow breathing was really sleep.

Then he stood up, lifting Marc and put him to bed.

He sighed as he left his room. He was still thinking about the things that had happened.

Finally he was able to really understand what all this meant.

A penalty like that, meant that Jorge had the best shot on the championship and Alex should be happy. He should be over the moon and he was.

All he wanted was to turn around and sneak to the yamaha garage.

He wouldn't even had to make some shit up. Mace was asleep. He wouldn't even notice... But he would have to leave him.

And even the thought of Yamaha made him cringe.

Of course, Jorge had nothing to do with all this, but just the possibility of getting near that asshole made his blood boil.

Not after seeing Marc like that.

He shook his head and grabbed his phone out of his jacket which he had discharged earlier. He smiled as he looked at the screen of his phone.

Jorge had texted him. A few times during the past hours.

Jorge: Guess who just got the best shot for Valencia!

It's his own fault

You know that all the BS they are talking is made up, right?

There's no deal between me and him.

I would have told you. You know I don't lie to you, right?

And I wouldn't want the help

You know that

You do, right?

Alex: Yes I know

Marc was crying his eyes out so yes I am sure there was no deal

Jorge: I'm sorry to hear that

I guess that means we won't see each other?

(I know I'm a horrible person for suggesting you sneak away for a hook up while your brother is sad)

Alex: I can't leave him now

I'm sorry...

He's completely out of it

I've never seen him like this. It's scary. He's sleeping now but I don't want him to wake up alone. I can't leave him now

Jorge: No worries, really

Alex: He's my brother

I'm sorry

I just don't want him to be alone rn

Jorge: Hey, everything is fine. You're amazing. You're a great brother

Take care of him

And take care of yourself

I love you

Alex: I love you too

He slipped his phone back as he went back. He just hoped this all would settle soon.

He was wrong. He was more wrong than he could have ever imagined. Over the race free weekend, the blind hate and the biased harassment continued. It got so bad, not even Alex dared to open the motogp related comment sections on social media anymore.

Marc had stopped long ago. At first his older brother had still tried to read the articles. He claimed it was to understand but at the end it had only tortured him more and more.

It caused one break down after the other and Alex witnessed all of them.

He knew what to look for. He knew the subtle signs in him. He knew when then first cracks of his perfect smile started to show. He knew them all too well and he knew what to do.

So he stayed around and looking after him. He was actually terrified to leave his brother alone.

The first time of hearing his brother cry like that and rushing to him in his Motorhome was a shock. It was still deep in his bones, lurking, haunting his mind, reminding him of what it was like.

Seeing Marc like that had been terrifying. He was his older brother. His strong, protective, confident older brother. He wasn't the only sitting crying on the floor in need to be held.

Still, Alex didn't hesitate for a moment, ready to give him everything he needed and more.

He refused to put him through something like that alone. They were brothers. They would always stand together, facing the world as a front, no matter who might be against them.

Even if that mean that he didn't get to see his boyfriend. And that he couldn't text him because he was constantly around Marc.

He was too afraid something happened and Marc couldn't handle his own thoughts anymore.

It was only in Valencia, late in the evening after Marc had finally fallen asleep again, that he felt comfortable leaving him.

He just had to see Jorge. He had to kiss and hug him and tell him, face to face that he believes in him and that he would be able to win this.

He quickly sent a text.

Alex: Marc is asleep. I guess you're too but if not, do you wanna meet?

He didn't got a reply. He went still outside, walking a little bit, hoping for an answer that never came.

Not until the morning.

Jorge: Would have loved to, but I was already asleep :(

Alex: No problem. I figured, old man

Jorge: Hey!

Alex: what? It's true!

Jorge: Today's youth....

Really no respect

Alex: Awe, but I love you anyway

Even though you're old

Jorge: Love you too

Brat

He smiled.

The stress really seemed to be less now. He could joke again. That was a welcome improvement.

The weekend went on as expected. One session after the other passed and Alex was once more grateful that his brother was a motogp rider as the race started.

He had started to see the pearks of it since he and Jorge got together. It meant he could sit openly in the garage or in the motorhome with his parents while anxiously watching the race.

He didn't had to pretend that those were just a bunch of strangers or coworkers. He could show that he was nervous about the result because there was a rider he cared about.

He could even be in a press conference and no one bat an eye why he looked so worried when checking the screen.

Everyone assumed he was worried about Marc.

Which he was. But maybe he was more worried about his boyfriend.

Maybe.

Just a little bit.

He knew that one mistake could mean that Jorge lost. He would lose everything he worked so hard for.

Maybe, he thought, maybe then the accusations against Marc would die down.

He shook his head. No. He wasn't allowed to think like that. Jorge would win because he was the best rider on the grid. Marc had nothing to do. The accusations would die down on his own.

And when he saw his lover cross the finish line as the winner of the race, he felt like he could breath again.

Jorge had done it. His man had won the championship.

He wanted to scream and laugh and run outside to kiss him on the finish line.

He didn't do that.

Obviously.

He didn't want to risk knocking Marc of his bike from the shock. And all the reactions from the public.

And his parents.

Therefore he just sat there, smiling bright in the Honda garage. Officially he was grinning and clapping for the double podium Honda had manged to score.

Afterall his brother was P2 and Dani was P3. He had every reason to smile.

Sure he hadn't noticed that either of them was on the podium until his father told him to get up to greet them in Parc ferme.

He was too busy watching his boyfriend make his cringe celebration. He thought it said a lot about him that he just felt more love seeing him like that.

Even if it was embarrassing.

And he thought it was hot. Maybe he should be worried about that. Anyway...

He stood in his place at Honda, squeezed in between some mechanics as his brother went to jump at them. They hugged and screamed and Alex was happy to see him.

The season was over. They were done.

And just for a moment he allowed himself to look around. His face wondered as he turned to the yamaha rider that had won the race.

He smiled at Jorge who happend to look at him as well in that moment.

He was breathing heavily, his cheeks red. He looked happy. Very and truly happy. And just some more happy and obviously releaved as he saw Alex.

They looked at each other, all sounds gone. Just for a second the world froze, granting them a moment of peace.

Both thought the same thing.

"I love you"

Alex really wanted to go hug his lover and kiss him. He wanted to tell him how well he did. He couldn't but he wanted. At least they had a plan for tonight because they surely wouldn't spent the night separated.

Then the world kept running and spinning. Music, yelling and laughing woke them both up without anyone realizing that they had a moment.

The next days and weeks went by quickly.

They had gotten their few days ago, spent them wrapped up in each other, not thinking about anything else.

They pretended to be normal. Just two men in love. Nothing else. No controversy. No fear of coming out. Just two lovers spending time together.

Reality caught them. Everyone seemed to want a piece of the new championship and Alex had some quiet dace at home.

Still the comments and articles didn't die down.

They had all hoped Rossi would keep his mouth shut over the break but it only got worst.

Marc seemed to be the most hated man in Italy and it got to him. He was starting to get angry. He was done with all the hate and backlash. He was tired of looking away.

Alex had started to subconsciously ignore everything happening. He wanted to rest.

But then he heard his brother discussing one of those hateful articles and his blood froze.

"There's an interview in which Rossi claims it all because of an intimate connection between a Marquez and Lorenzo!"

Alex wanted to run. He looked up from his seat, staring at his brother who had an angry look in his eyes.

"Like what the fuck! That sounds like I'm sleeping with him!"

"So he makes now personal alligations up?" his mother asked. "An intimate connection between you and him? That's low. Even for him."

They kept suspecting Marc was the one sleeping with Jorge. He didn't even cross their mind. He felt himself twitch in his seat.

They didn't even thought about him maybe sleeping with Jorge. Did they still see him as too young? Naive? Or was it such a horrific thing that they didn't even assumed he - the little brother - would be able to do that?

Alex blood ran cold.

This was bad. This was really terrifying bad.

This could either be the most crazy coincidence in history... Or the man who now had a burning hate against his family now knew his biggest secret.

[slutouttanowhere]

Pairing: Damian Priest x Zharia Starr (oc)

Warnings: self doubt, gaslighting/manipulation, violence

a/n: unlike my other fics, I’ve decided to make this a little more kayfabe than behind the curtain. This idea has been rolling around in my head for a while, and now that the other stories have taken a mental back burner it was easier to create for a different thing…ya know? Any who hope y’all enjoy this, there may or may more be more to this story, or I may for a series of one shots for Damien and Zharia. I’ll be making an character intro for her so make sure you follow me to see more 🫶🏽

I laid in the middle of the ring, frustrated by yet another loss, it's been almost a month of me struggling to pick up a victory. Almost a month of me getting screwed out of championship title opportunities, I was sick of it, but I felt helpless. The crowd was in a frenzy, a mix of reactions, their emotions mirrored my own.‘This is my brutality’ The Judgment Day’s music played throughout the arena. I rolled my eyes, but I didn't bother picking myself up. The mood I was in, if they planned on jumping me, I wouldn't fight them off. The five of them climbed the apron like a pack of starving wolves, and I were their first meal in days. I hung my head hung, eyes staring at my palms, the crowd roaring. I could hear Rhea’s devious chuckle from behind me, her presence felt like a looming, oncoming storm as she stood behind me. Her knees touching my back, Damian mumbled, “I got it.” Before speaking in the microphone, and addressing me directly.

“Zharria Starr…you’re too pretty to be looking this sad, stand up. Come on, up, up.” Damian grabbed me by my arm, him being much more physically strong than I, it was no point to fight against him. From this close distance, I had to tilt my head to see his face, he wore a playful grin on his lips, and his eyes sparkled underneath the bright arena lights. I couldn't hold his stare because it was too intense, I could feel my face heat up, so I moved to JD next. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, and his posture straight. He too had a small grin stretched across his lips, but it didn't affect me the way Damian’s did. Rhea’s muscular bicep warped around the back of my neck, her hand coming to rest at the base of my throat. The combination of her muscles reminded me how easy it would be for her to sling me down into the mat, and Damian watched how Rhea’s hand caressed my skin, sending a sinful heat in the pit of my stomach right between my thighs.

“Sweetie, didn't we warn you? It was only a matter of time before you hit bottom, it was only a matter of time before you got tired of the wwe making you chase your tail, and it was only a matter of time before you realized, the same opportunities that you know you deserve will just be handed to those that did nothing to earn them.” Her voice snaked right into my ear, sending a chill down my spine, her fingers slowly slid up the base of my neck to grip my chin forcing me to look up at Finn.

“It’s a shame really, you’re hands down one of the most talented women in th WWE, but here you are, bottom of the barrel, and there Becky Lynch is…off to Wrestlemania. Main Eventing, your spot, in your spotlight.” He tisked, shaking his head pitifully, then Rhea, turned my head to Damian, and that sensation from earlier magnified, it was indescribable. He took a step forward, bending at the waste to meet me at my height. My breathing was heavy, my eyes stung from tears threatening to spill. Right when one began to slip, he reached a hand up to my face, and caught it on his finger. Bringing his finger to his lips, he licked my salty tears, and smiled all the while.

“Didn’t we tell you, right when you reach that threshold of didsapointment, The Judgement Day would be right there to pick up the pieces, and give you something new. The offer still stands mija, got you a special seat at the table, right next to me.” He takes my hand, gently pulling me from underneath Rhea, and she lets me go. When I turned to look at her, she held a dark smile on her blackened lips, her eyes held promises of something knee weakening. Damian’s finger hooked under my chin, brought my face to his, and stared right into my soul. He held the mic to his lips, “So, what will it be? Roll with the most feared, and powerful faction in the WWE today, and sit right on the lap of the High Priest. Or…parish.” I parted my lips, thinking I had the right answer, but Rhea chimed in again before I could say anything.

“Choose, wisely.” She warned, my heart jumped from the unexpected proximity of her voice, I swallowed the lump in my throat, but spoke bravely, gripping onto Damian’s hand. His smile spreading wider, he held the mic up so they could hear me clearly, he watched me with anticipation.

“Yes…I’ll join Judgement Day.” I spoke with clarity, knowing this would be the end of my cookie cutter persona, and without a second thought I let the darkness consume me. Damian brought my hand up to his lips, kissing my knuckles, but it didn't last long before Rhea snatched me from him, her arms pulling me into a bear hug, then roughly kissing me on the cheek. I just barely blinked before she put me over her shoulder, and slammed me into the matt on my back.

“Welcome to The Judgment Day babe.” Rhea chuckled into the mic as she straddled the top of me, though it was physically painful, looking up at her was a beautiful sight really. I don't regret my decision at all.

[sukunasun]

any drafts or thoughts u want an excuse to post ..?

spearheading the 'geto is good at games' campaign until he gets the recognition he deserves. losing one game of street fighter isn't fair evidence when he's literally an all-time taiko no tatsujin great at eighteen. just look at the marks and ridges on his worn-out game-branded drumsticks tucked under his bed, yes he has them for optimal performance. tossed next to the—just as worn—converse chucks. he always manages to score a 'perfect' in DDR, and owes it to the shoes. the staff knows he's here when they hear beethoven virus booming through the speakers, shoulder-length hair pushed back with a metal-wired headband while the group of local kids stand around the console with sparkling eyes, admiring the master himself.

but he doesn't brag. modest and so tight-lipped about it, face cringing the moment you ask about the shiny holographic trophy sitting in his dorm closet. he's busy with pulling your panties off under your skirt, pleated and pressed to perfection as he sinks his fingertips into soft flesh. ask him about anything else, anything but his starcraft II championship trophy.

all the things he could do when left alone with you on a hot summer's day like this but he pouts and sulks over a lost bet. exacerbated by the fact that his best friend won't shut up about it. brings it up every time they pass by the arcade or a mcdonalds. "remember that time you—" gojo doesn't even get to finish his sentence, laughing at the way geto's eye twitches involuntarily.

geto swears he's over it. forget that he still has that same urge to revisit old fighting games, his face scrunched up in concentration as the selection breezes past every character but ryu and his brawny muscles. he doesn't have a reason why, only that it's the one he remembers choosing that very day.

fuck it, he thinks. there are worse things, but the fact that gojo's got his hands on his own ps5 the moment it drops makes his blood boil. ready to snatch the console for himself when the man can barely steer or walk in a straight line. everyone assumes gojo satoru is great at everything, praises him for it, honoured one or whatever. pfft. geto knows effort is exactly what he lacks. "this is so hard!" gojo whines, already bored when he's yet to get past the tutorials of final fantasy vii. because he doesn't have the knack for it, this is where talent or bloodlines won't help, arcade games and their simple mechanics won't do now that he's left to traverse rpgs and action-adventures. it's why he gives the controller over to geto, leaving his hands free to clap and smack his broad back in excitement when he finishes the game in two days.

and he isn't always this competitive. geto likes when there isn't so much of a challenge too, when he can take his time decorating his island with the twins, their inputs are of utmost importance. loves that you sit in his lap as he patiently breezes through different maps in mario kart. feeling your kiss on his cheek as he crosses that checkered finish line in first place.

one kiss turns into two, then three and more. soon after he's found a new challenge in the form of making you come undone as many times as he can. pleasure dom is not a label he gives himself, it's one he has to earn. oh how you feed his ego, he feels so terrible. this isn't about winning, this was about loving you, making you feel good, but he's too selfish of a lover.

arch your back, strike a pose, preferably in a bayonetta costume. he takes his time, he relishes in the feel of leather, pulling the zipper down the middle with his teeth, and tries his best to resist ripping it apart. you've really outdone yourself, so thoughtful. he peels it off your body slowly, sensually. enough of a gentleman to appreciate the finer things, although not as much that he wouldn't pull out before he jerks himself off over your face. rectangular glasses that sit askew now painted with his seed.

loves making you shake and tremble, acting like he's unaware of how expertly his fingers play with you, his touch had been curious the first time, now he inches closer with familiarity, settling into a steady rubbing rhythm over your slickened cunt, teasing your clit each time he skims it before plunging his fingers inside. probing against a spot that has you leaking all over his sheets. it's not stars in your eyes but tears, hot and streaming down your face when he won't stop despite your garbled pleas. how you whine and dig your fingernails into his biceps, a little scared but so very excited, ecstatic even when he pulls out a bad dragon and you swear he's your soulmate.

[russilton]

Is it bad that I want the Kimi experiment to fail bc i am tired of the obsession, especially when it comes at the expense of George.

I have very very complicated feelings about Kimi— he’s a kid, but he’s also a rich nepo kid. He’s got talent, but I don’t think he’s more special than most others. He deserves a shot as much as anyone else, but his shot has come at the expense of two different drivers who earned it just as much, but don’t necessarily have the same kind of family connection and financial backing. He’s so young and I don’t think it’s right to throw money at people that young because of what it does to their ego’s- but that’s not reasonable to expect him to turn it down.

He comes into a seat I feel a deep amount of grief and anguish over losing Lewis from, it automatically sets him up on the wrong foot for me emotionally, and that’s not his fault, but feelings don’t follow flattened logic. His promotion comes bundled with upset about how junior series and Mercedes choices are being handled, grief from Lewis, anger about Toto and his thoughtless, foot in mouth comments, and a sense of… wrong about how Fred was unfairly sidelined and somewhat disrespected by hiring a fresh 18 year old over him.

My gut, petty want is for Kimi to not work out, because it would be a perfect up yours to Toto and all of those who yes-man’d his comments and allowed his dad to shit talk George and act as if dropping Lewis was was always the plan. It would hopefully teach f1 execs squeezing teenagers for a couple more years of money has a detrimental effect, and doesn’t just produce more shitty entitled max’s. That is because I’m bitter, and frustrated, and angry

But I’ve also had enough therapy to know it doesn’t really fix anything does it— it’s not gonna make Lewis come back. It’s not gonna put Fred in a Williams on track to Merc the same way George got. It’s not gonna take away the hurt, or the shitty comments about George, or put back my faith in Mercedes, or my friends who used to like Merc and George and now can’t stand it. It won’t give me my Gewis in championships cars.

I don’t think it makes any of us horrifically bad people to kinda want those things, because sports are petty beasts made of this kind of thinking— and we are allowed to be angry sometimes. BUT I also think it doesn’t make any of us feel much better at the end of it.

You can do both, you can be petty and give yourself some eye rolling I told you so moments while ALSO just not letting that shit consume you, you know? Bc it might be satisfying but it will not feed you long term.

[formulaocean]

Lewis is getting Enzo Ferrari’s house in Maranello? Kind of scared that they’re going to push Charles aside like all of team LH has been saying 😕

I really wouldn’t stress! Ferrari has made it pretty clear that Charles is a long term interest and he’s done pretty well in contract negotiations- other than Lewis and Max he earns/will earn the most.

Remember that part of Lewis’s contract is ambassadorship and this comes under that! Having only the two 7 time world champions in Enzo Ferrari’s house? It’s a pretty good image. It’s already providing talk and honestly it’s the reception he deserves.

What’s more important is the focus that Ferrari will be putting into the car and streamlining their pit wall so that they are in a position where drivers, car, and team can fight for both championships. Trust that Charles will be doing everything he can to get a road in Maranello named after him. Maybe in a decade or so he’ll try out the house too but something tells me that he’ll want to earn it first.

EDIT: now seeing this was likely made up lol so really don’t stress!

[captainmartin20]

FYI, there’s no need for the Aces to protect Tip or AC. Why? GSV will not get them because of their age. You might say, “Well, Tip just won 6th POTY.” Yes, that’s correct, but Tip can just voice it to the front office (who will communicate it to GSV), that she’ll retire if she gets picked. She’s said in a recent article that if she came back it will be with the Aces. There’s honestly no point to protect these two because of their age and out of all the other eligible UFAs that will be in the expansion draft (that don’t get protected), Tip nor AC would be the one GSV would pick either. There’s also no point in protecting Syd either. She’s been with the Aces for 3 seasons signing Training Camp contracts. I love Syd, but she wouldn’t be the one that GSV would select as their ONE UFA for this expansion draft as well.

Kiah - there’s history of injuries.

KP - if they protect her and she still decides to explore FA in January, then it would be a bad look on the Aces part if they core her so she can’t leave. Like why core a player that (potentially) wants to leave and go somewhere else? Let them go and move on.

Queen - there’s no need to protect her.

KB - for being a 1st round pick back in 2022 who has not improved on defense (not to mention chronic injuries), she doesn’t deserve the protection.

Meg: I’m sorry, she’s been inconsistent all season and her defense is just not there. No offense to Meg, but I wouldn’t waste a protection on her.

Kate: shadowed AC all season, potentially the heir-apparent for when AC retires (end of 2025 season?). She’s earned Becky’s trust, and that’s unheard of with Becky as she’s not one to usually trust rookies. People need to stop with “she barely played in the 2nd half of the season.” She also got injured before the break. “She said she was 100%.” All players that are competitive will say that, but as a medical professional, she had an Achilles injury on top of a grade 2 ankle sprain. With their schedule the rest of the season, that’s not enough time to FULLY HEAL and REHAB. Not even the 10-12 day break they had would help.

Protected Players: A’ja, JY, Chelsea, KP*, Kate…not sure who for the last spot.

If Kate doesn’t get protected, just watching interviews Natalie has had, her GSV style of play and what kind of players she’s looking for, Nakase will take Kate. Take this quote:

“DEFENSE is gonna be where we hang our hats. We’re gonna be GRITTY, we’re gonna be PHYSICAL, we’re gonna be DISRUPTIVE. I can just see us with so much toughness where our defense is gonna create our offense. I want easy buckets just right out of the gate. We’re gonna be probably a little bit younger, so I want HIGH ENERGY, and offensively, we are going to pass. that. ball. That ball is gonna be passed. I’ve learned a lot from the championship culture here in Golden State, and you cannot guard ball movement. Ball movement is unguardable. Isolation - NO. The Curry, the Draymond…going back with Clay - everything he did was catch and shoot. I want that ball to be moved and we’re gonna play with a lot of energy.” - Natalie Nakase when asked the style of play for GSV.

“Team over self (on and off the court).” - Natalie when asked about GSV’s motto.

several points were made, anon.

i really think the aces will protect kate.

however, if the aces are dumb and stupid enough to leave kate unprotected, natalie is 100% picking her up. not only does she recognise kate's skills seeing as she was there every step of the way in her rookie year, kate's marketable, and has an established fanbase of her own (me)