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bucketgetter535 · 10 days ago

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No Margin for Error: Chapter Eight

CW: Drinking (ish)

WC: 7k

Notes: 29383828 hours of studying later and here we are. Please leave thoughts/reactions I live for them

They left Colorado on a private flight as the sun was barely stretching over the mountains, soft morning light spilling through the clouds like it didn’t know what kind of weight the next few weeks would carry.

Azzi didn’t sleep much on the plane. Paige did. Or pretended to. Hood up, headphones in, her long legs stretched out with that practiced ease only athletes carried — like she knew her body was a machine and she knew when to shut it down. Azzi didn’t bother pretending. Her mind was too loud.

By the time they touched down in the Netherlands, Paige had reassembled herself.

It was kind of incredible, honestly. Less than twelve hours ago, Azzi had her hands tangled in Paige’s sweatshirt and her name caught in Paige’s throat, all softness and low gasps in the dark. And now here Paige was — hair tied up, sunglasses on, gear bag slung over her shoulder like she was walking into war — completely locked in. A full reset. Like she’d flipped a switch somewhere over the Atlantic and become Ferrari’s golden girl again.

Part of Azzi admired it. The other part… well. The other part watched too closely, wondering if maybe Paige flipped that switch a little too easily sometimes.

They didn’t talk much once they got to the paddock. They didn’t really need to. It was Thursday — track walk, media, data briefings, and updates from the engineers. Azzi dove into her own schedule without hesitation, greeting a few familiar faces, nodding at the camera crew hovering around the hospitality building.

Ferrari’s garage was already humming with activity by the time she stepped in. Mechanics hunched over laptops, engineers wheeling tires into place. She could smell brake dust and rubber. It felt good — sharp and focused — even if the air was heavier than Colorado’s. More humid. The track at Zandvoort was tight and technical, the banks more old-school than she preferred, but she didn’t mind the challenge. She never had.

Mateo found her near the back of the garage, arms folded, eyes scanning the rear wing on the new spec. His ever-present clipboard in hand.

“Welcome back, Champion,” he greeted, voice dry but fond. “How’s the altitude detox?”

Azzi gave him a look, one brow raised. “We were in the mountains, not Mars.”

“Still,” he shrugged, scribbling something onto a tablet. “Glad you survived.”

He said it casually, but his eyes flicked up just a beat slower than usual. The not-so-subtle question was there, right beneath the surface: How was your break? Who were you with?

Azzi didn’t bite. She just lifted her shoulder in a half-shrug and turned back to the car. “Didn’t forget how to drive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Mateo smirked. “Wouldn’t dare suggest it.”

They walked through the changes together — revised floor, some rear suspension tweaks, and updates to the diffuser they’d been testing in the sim. Small gains, mostly. They weren’t expecting to dominate this weekend, not with Red Bull’s pace at this circuit. Zandvoort had always been their guy’s playground. The orange-clad home crowd would make sure of that.

Ferrari’s real target was Monza. That much was clear from the way everything was framed — “data for next week,” “building confidence in the new package,” “testing race pace over quali speed.”

Fine. Azzi could play the long game. She always had.

She was mid-way through some telemetry comparisons with Mateo when she caught the tail end of movement across the garage — just enough to draw her attention.

Paige.

Standing in the opposite corner, talking to Luka, her posture easy but attentive, one hand gesturing slightly while the other held her drink bottle. The headphones she always wore before debriefs sat loose around her neck, and the red of her Ferrari polo hugged her biceps in that stupid, unfair way that made Azzi glance too long.

There was a faint sheen of heat in the air — maybe from the track, maybe from jet lag — but Azzi felt it anyway. A flicker low in her spine.

She looked good. That was the problem.

Azzi looked away before her stare could become obvious.

Mateo was still talking, oblivious. “We’ll get the baseline this afternoon, and I’ll push the long-run setup to the sim files tonight.”

Azzi nodded, lips pressed together.

And then — because of course — she caught movement again.

Dirk.

Dirk van der Meer — with his annoyingly symmetrical face and stupidly strong jawline and that half-foreign, half-familiar charm that always made the media swoon. He was lingering just outside the Red Bull hospitality tent, talking to someone from Alpine but looking way too comfortable doing it. He spotted her, of course. He always did. Gave her that little two-fingered salute like he thought he was clever.

She didn’t return it.

Instead, she turned back to the car and focused on what actually mattered — the downforce data, the tires they’d be testing in practice, the mounting pressure of being Ferrari’s two-time champion while still having to chase Red Bull every other weekend.

But it still gnawed at her.

Dirk. Paige �� with her jaw set like she hadn’t just spent a week letting Azzi drag her back to bed every morning.

It was stupid. She knew it was stupid. Paige wasn’t her girlfriend. Dirk wasn’t Paige’s boyfriend. None of it meant anything. They were all just doing their jobs.

But Azzi couldn’t shake the feeling crawling under her skin — the tightness in her chest, the flare of something ugly and sharp every time Dirk smiled at Paige like that, every time she caught him looking over with that faint, knowing smirk.

They hadn’t even been back a full day and the game face was already back on. Paige was composed, professional, unreadable. Azzi couldn’t decide if it was impressive or just… a little sad.

And maybe that was the thing that bothered her most.

Because under all of it — the jealousy, the tension, the stupid tightness in her jaw — was the knowledge that if Paige looked at her right now, Azzi wouldn’t be able to hide a damn thing.

–

Friday at Zandvoort was unremarkable, which, in Formula One, was almost worse than a disaster.

Practice One and Two came and went in a blur of engine notes, tire graining, and the occasional puff of beachside sand swirling into the corners. The Ferrari was… fine. Balanced enough to keep the rear from sliding, but not punchy. Not aggressive. Not what they’d need to really fight at the front.

It was clear from the first stint that this wasn’t their weekend. At least not yet.

Azzi felt it in every corner — the way she had to fight for grip, the way the rear end drifted just slightly out of sync with her hands. She didn’t complain. Mateo knew. Everyone did. This wasn’t a race car built for Zandvoort. It was a placeholder — a test bed. All eyes were already on Monza.

Which meant this weekend was about staying clean. Stay sharp. Collect data. Don’t crash. She could do that. She had done that, season after season. But it didn’t mean she liked it.

Paige, naturally, said nothing. Not to her, anyway. They’d exchanged a few clipped words in the garage between runs — tire temps, brake feedback, pressure settings. All technical. All safe. Nothing that touched anything real.

Azzi didn’t know if it was the car or the heat or the jet lag, but something felt off in the garage. Disconnected.

Even when Paige was only a few meters away, helmet under one arm, hair damp with sweat at her temples — she still felt too far.

And Azzi didn’t like that.

She didn’t say anything, of course. Not with the team crowding around, not with engineers sticking mics into their faces and media staff ushering them toward interviews. So she kept her head down. She signed the papers. She gave the sound bites. And when it was finally over — when the day had burned itself out and the sun dipped low behind the dunes — Dr. Liao’s assistant found them in the paddock.

Just a routine check. A post-break wellness evaluation. For both of them.

Which was fine. Boring, even. Azzi had nothing to report. She’d gotten sleep, eaten well, even managed a few hikes in Colorado that didn’t leave her knees screaming. Her vitals were perfect. No issues, no fatigue. Dr. Liao nodded, pleased, and made a note on her tablet.

And then it was Paige’s turn.

Dr. Liao was gentle, but thorough. There was history to consider — Paige’s crash before the summer break had almost been enough to warrant concussion protocol (It should have. Paige just ignored the doctors). She’d been cleared for this race, obviously. Otherwise she wouldn’t be in the car. But Liao still asked the questions.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine,” Paige said, without hesitation.

“Any nausea? Sensitivity to light?”

“No.”

“Sleep disruptions?”

“No.”

“Memory issues?”

“No.”

Dr. Liao studied her for a second. Paige’s expression didn’t move.

Azzi did her best not to roll her eyes.

Because Paige was lying. Not about everything — but enough. Enough for Azzi to know she was brushing symptoms under the rug. She’d seen the way Paige blinked harder under the bright lights in the garage. The way she’d rubbed the bridge of her nose after second practice. The tightness in her jaw when she thought no one was looking.

Azzi knew Paige. Knew how good she was at convincing people she was fine even when she wasn’t.

And it pissed her off. Just a little.

But she stayed quiet.

Eventually, Dr. Liao cleared her, if only with a subtle note to monitor and check again after Quali. And just like that, the session was over.

They walked out into the narrow hallway between medical and hospitality, neither of them saying much. The sun was setting fast now, slanting gold through the paddock windows.

Azzi was halfway through reaching for her phone when Paige said quietly, “Can we get food?”

Azzi blinked, a little surprised. Paige didn’t look at her — not directly. Just kept walking, slowly, voice a notch lower than usual.

It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t even really a suggestion. More like a reach.

Azzi studied her for a beat. Paige was tired — she could see it now, beneath the bravado and the sunglasses and the pressed polo. Her shoulders were still tense from the car, and her eyes had that faint glaze that came from staring at telemetry for hours.

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. There’s a restaurant in the hotel.”

“Okay,” Paige said, and something about the way her voice dropped again — quiet, like relief — made Azzi’s chest go warm and tight at the same time.

They didn’t talk as they made their way to the car. They didn’t need to.

But something had shifted — small, subtle. Like a gear had finally clicked back into place.

Azzi didn’t know what Paige would say over dinner. If she’d finally open up. If she’d deflect and pretend like always.

But for the first time all day, she didn’t feel like she was driving alone.

–

They ended up not bothering with the restaurant.

Paige had looked at the elevator buttons like they were a puzzle she didn’t have the energy to solve, and Azzi didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy lukewarm hotel pasta while surrounded by stiff-backed diners and wandering photographers.

Instead, they took the quiet route: room service menus tossed onto the bed, shoes kicked off in opposite corners, and phones left somewhere between the floor and the windowsill.

Azzi’s room was on the twelfth floor. Not penthouse, but close. High enough to see the curve of the sea on clear days. Tonight it was dark, low clouds rolling in over the dunes. The sky looked heavy.

Their food came in less than twenty minutes, wheeled in by a teenager who looked like he was trying not to trip over his own feet at the sight of two Ferrari drivers sharing a hotel room. Paige tipped him before Azzi could move. She didn’t say anything about it.

Dinner was unremarkable — a grilled chicken sandwich for Paige, a salad bowl for Azzi that she only ate half of. Neither of them was particularly hungry. Not really. It was just a thing to do with their hands. Something to fill the space.

Azzi didn’t ask until Paige had finished most of her sandwich. Her head was leaned back against the headboard, one leg bent, hotel slippers on. The sleeves of her polo were rolled just slightly up her arms. It looked natural. Comfortable.

Azzi set her fork down.

“So,” she said, quiet, careful. “Headaches are better, huh?”

Paige blinked. Her jaw shifted like she was debating whether to lie again.

“They’re not gone,” she said finally. “But yeah. A lot better.”

Azzi watched her. “And the light stuff?”

Paige hesitated. “Still happens sometimes.”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. That one lingers.”

She wasn’t saying it just to say it. She’d had a concussion once — Suzuka, her first year in F1. A tire wall, a misjudged braking point, and three days of brutal nausea and floating vision. She hadn’t admitted it at the time, of course. But she’d remembered the way it felt. The way it stayed.

Paige didn’t say much else. She just pushed her plate a few inches away and leaned back again, letting her phone rest flat on her stomach.

Azzi didn’t push. She could tell Paige was spent — not in the physical way, but that mental burnt-out silence she slipped into when her brain had been on fire all day and needed something stupid to cool it off.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Paige was on TikTok. Earbuds in. One in, one out. Azzi didn’t even notice at first, until Paige snorted — an actual laugh, low and surprised — and nudged her foot.

Azzi looked over.

“What?”

Paige turned the phone toward her, grinning faintly. “Someone made an edit.”

Azzi squinted at the screen. It was an F1 fancam — clips of the two of them stitched together to some overdramatic song about tension and unsaid feelings. Garage glances. Post-race hugs. Press conference smirks. All edited in glossy, high-contrast color correction and captioned in shaky all-caps.

Azzi leaned closer, chewing the inside of her cheek as she read.

Paige tapped the caption. “Read it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but obliged, deadpan: “they hate each other so bad that it’s sexy as hell.”

Paige broke into a full laugh then — not loud, but real. Her head tilted back against the headboard, and she smiled like it wasn’t something she had to think about.

Azzi didn’t laugh, but she smiled too.

She didn’t know what this was — them, like this. Quiet. Not fighting. Not faking. Just… here.

It wasn’t complicated. But maybe it was something.

She didn’t need a caption to tell her that.

–

Race day at Zandvoort was uneventful, which, in Formula One terms, was nearly a gift.

No crashes. No surprise rain. No pit stop disasters or last-lap tire blowouts. Just a clean, controlled 72 laps around a twisty Dutch circuit with more orange smoke than actual drama.

Paige finished fourth. Azzi, fifth.

It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t bad either.

The team radios had been calm, almost boring. Fred had come over the line once — just once — with an even-toned directive: Hold positions. No fighting.

Paige had been ahead by a few seconds at that point. Azzi could’ve pushed. Would’ve, maybe, on a different weekend. But her tires weren’t fresh and her car wasn’t magic and she knew when to live to fight another day. So she sat behind her teammate and took the points.

22 total for Ferrari. Solid haul.

But now? Now they were back in the paddock, the post-race haze still clinging to their skin and hair like sweat and champagne residue, and the meeting room smelled like engine oil and air conditioning.

Azzi sat in the middle of a long glass table, hair still damp from her driver’s room shower, Mateo on one side of her, Fred on the other. Across the table sat Paige, elbow on the armrest, eyes half-lidded like she was bored already. Luka leaned in to speak to her every so often, murmuring something Azzi couldn’t hear.

Fred cleared his throat.

“Monza,” he said, which was the only word necessary to command the room’s attention. “We’ve got the car. And we’ve got the drivers.”

The weight of that hung for a second.

Azzi knew what it meant. So did Paige. They’d been in this position before, only not quite like this. Not with the standings as tight as they were. Not with Ferrari actually expecting them to win, not hoping.

Paige had scored more points in the Netherlands. Which meant that now — after months of clawing her way up — she was one single championship point behind Azzi.

One.

Azzi should’ve felt threatened, probably. But she didn’t. Not really. If anything, she felt… awake. Like the season was finally breathing down their necks for real.

Fred continued. “You know how important Monza is. You know what it means to this team. This car was built for the straights — we’ve been saying it all year. You two kept it clean today, and that’s good. But Monza’s not about clean. It’s about finishing first.”

He paused. “And second.”

Azzi felt the burn of it — that Ferrari expectation. It wasn’t new. But it was heavy in a way that always seemed heavier here, in red, under the weight of a tifosi-filled grandstand and every Italian sponsor who fancied themselves a team principal for the weekend.

“There are going to be eyes on us,” Fred said. “From inside and out. We need results.”

Mateo nodded beside her, sliding his tablet around to show some figures — wind tunnel improvements, tweaks to the rear wing, the new engine mapping that would open them up on the DRS straights. Azzi took it in, quiet but sharp-eyed.

Paige didn’t ask questions, but Azzi could see her tapping a pattern against her thigh — a tiny rhythm she only did when she was deep in her own head.

Fred looked at them both now.

“You two have gotten good at toeing the line,” he said. “But Monza’s not about points anymore. Not about strategy. Not this year.”

He looked at Paige. “If you’re ahead, finish ahead.”

Then to Azzi. “If you’re ahead, stay ahead.”

Azzi just nodded. There wasn’t much to say.

When the meeting wrapped, the engineers peeled off first, muttering to each other about sim time and cooling ducts. Fred stood, gave them a final nod, and left without ceremony — the kind of exit that told you he expected them to deliver without needing a damn pep talk.

It was just the two of them now. Azzi and Paige. Left behind in a room that had gone quiet too fast.

Paige pushed her chair back and stood, arms crossed, still looking every bit like the girl who’d just driven an entire race without breaking a sweat.

Azzi raised an eyebrow.

“Fourth place,” she said.

Paige smirked. “You’re welcome for the points.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “I could’ve taken you.”

“Yeah?” Paige tilted her head. “Guess we’ll never know.”

The thing was — Azzi knew she was right.

But Monza was coming. Home turf. Flat-out speed. And only one point between them now.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

–

The air in Monza buzzed different.

Not louder. Not even heavier. Just… sharper. Finer. Like the entire track had been scrubbed down to the grain and polished in Ferrari red, every sound bouncing twice off the barriers and settling in the bones. This wasn’t just another Grand Prix. This was the Grand Prix.

Home race. Temple of Speed. The place where miracles happened and legends were made or broken at the apex of Parabolica.

Azzi knew the pressure before she even landed. Knew it in the pit of her stomach, the way she always knew things she didn’t need to be told. The whispers. The media tension. The sponsors with private suites and fake smiles. The team principals who circled like hawks around each garage.

She handled it. She always did.

So did Paige.

That was the thing — whatever they’d done in the break, whatever they’d said or hadn’t said, they were back to being what they’d always been on track. Razor-edged and separate. Focused. Locked in. Like nothing else existed the second the helmet went on.

And the helmets — God, the helmets. Ferrari had let them pick the colors this weekend, in honor of the near-all-white car that paid tribute to the Scuderia’s earliest years. A throwback. An homage. Whatever you wanted to call it.

Azzi’s helmet was soft pink with white accents, clean and subtle, sharp where it needed to be. She hadn’t told anyone why she’d chosen pink. She didn’t need to.

Paige’s was lilac — almost silver under the Monza sun. Not loud. Just… unexpected. Understated. Cool. Very Paige.

Together, in their white fireproofs and red accents, they looked like two halves of something calculated.

Qualifying day brought with it a heat that shimmered off the asphalt like a dare. Azzi stood at the edge of the garage, engine rumble in her chest, helmet under one arm, watching the clouds hover behind the paddock. They weren’t going to interfere. They were just there to spectate, like everyone else.

The Ferrari was fast.

Shockingly fast.

They’d expected improvements — Monza was the race the car had been built for — but this? This was something else. This was a weapon on wheels. The straight-line speed alone was enough to punch a hole in the air and never look back.

Azzi felt it in Free Practice. So did Paige. The lap times were low. The tire wear was minimal. They weren’t fighting the track — they were floating over it, slicing through turns 6 and 7 like they had grip written into their blood.

But qualifying was a different beast.

First run went well. Clean. Azzi went fastest initially, but she knew it wouldn’t last. Paige hadn’t even gone out yet. Luka always held her back for traffic. Mateo glanced at Azzi after her run and gave her the familiar, unreadable engineer nod. The one that said, “Good, but don’t get comfortable.”

Second run, Q2, they were within two-tenths of each other. Azzi was smoother through turn 10. Paige was faster on the straight. They both knew it, even if no one said anything.

Then came Q3.

The big show.

Azzi went out first, nailed every sector, and took provisional pole.

The lap had felt like silk. Perfect entry into Turn One. No wobble through turns 4 or 5. The rear stuck like glue into turn 7 and opened up like a dream into the straight. It was the kind of lap that made you believe in the car, in the team, in yourself.

She parked it in the pit box and took off her gloves, eyes flicking to the screen.

Purple, purple, purple.

For now.

Then Paige went out.

Azzi didn’t need the timing monitor to know it was a good lap. She could feel it — from the sound of the throttle, the way the garage fell silent, every mechanic and engineer listening with the kind of reverence they usually saved for podiums.

Then the board lit up.

Purple, purple, purple.

Final sector: fastest of anyone. By two-hundredths.

Pole position: Paige Bueckers.

Azzi let out a breath. Didn’t even realize she’d been holding it.

On the other side of the garage, Paige pulled in, visor still down, engine ticking as it cooled. Luka came over the radio and said something only she could hear, but whatever it was made her laugh — quick and short and low.

She climbed out of the car like she’d just walked off a street corner. Calm. Loose. The purple helmet under one arm like it belonged there.

Azzi watched her from the monitor wall. Just for a second.

She wasn’t angry. Not exactly. Pole was pole. It could’ve been either of them. But the way Paige looked right now — like she expected it — made something churn low in her stomach.

Confidence was dangerous.

Paige had it in spades.

And tomorrow, they’d both have clean air.

Front row, Ferrari one-two.

Monza.

Game on.

–

The Monza crowd was electric, and the Ferraris lit the fuse.

It had started clean. Paige on pole. Azzi beside her. Front row. Home race. Red everywhere. Real red — the kind that lived in flags and banners, not just sponsorship decals. The kind of red that vibrated when the engines started and roared like a religion when the lights went out.

The first corner was textbook. Azzi tucked in right behind Paige, both Ferraris making it through the chicane without drama, the McLarens too far back to threaten. From there, it was clear: this wasn’t going to be a race for position. This was a race for pride. For the championship lead. For each other.

Lap after lap, they pushed. Hard. The kind of hard that made your hands sweat inside your gloves. That made your neck ache in the third stint. That made the team radios go quieter, not louder, because the engineers knew they couldn’t really manage them right now. They could only monitor.

“Paige’s pace looks like a one-stop,” Mateo said into Azzi’s ear around lap twelve. “She’s starting to lift through turn 10.”

Azzi didn’t answer at first. She was adjusting a brake bias setting with one hand and flicking her DRS closed with the other. Her eyes were locked on the faint shimmer of red in the distance — Paige, just outside the DRS window. She had been there for five laps. No closer. No farther.

“Copy,” Azzi said eventually. “Tell me when she boxes. I’ll follow.”

A beat. Then Mateo, dry: “You two should probably just get married.”

Azzi snorted. “I’ll propose if I pass her in pit lane.”

They went with the one-stop.

It wasn’t strategic genius — just a necessity. The car was quick on mediums, and track position mattered here more than almost anywhere. The McLarens were falling behind. Ten seconds. Then fifteen. This race was theirs alone.

Azzi finally got close again on lap twenty-four, just before the stops. Paige had been backing her up subtly, taking the corners wider, slowing entry speed to ruin her air. But Azzi knew the tricks. She’d done the same to Paige in Austria.

She ducked around the outside in turn 7 and nearly made it stick. The rear of the car twitched just slightly, the gravel taunting her, and Paige closed the door — not aggressively, just enough to remind Azzi who had track position.

They pitted one lap apart. Paige first. Azzi right after.

The outlaps were chaos — warm tires, heavy fuel still, and just enough wind picking up at Turn Three to make the front wing feel loose.

Azzi came out behind again. Just behind.

And then the race became something else.

It was the kind of fight they hadn’t had in months. Since Miami, before the break. Before hotel rooms and private flights and secrets. Before TikToks made them go viral for sharing water bottles and brushing shoulders in the garage. Before the way Azzi looked at Paige had changed from rivalry to… whatever this was.

They raced clean, but hard. There were no team orders. None would’ve been followed anyway.

Paige left space. Azzi took it. Azzi attacked through turn four and Paige held her off in turn ten. Then Paige defended into Turn One and Azzi nearly dove on her. Inches apart, no contact. Pure trust. Or something close to it.

They swapped positions twice more — once through sheer ERS timing, and once because Azzi went purple in sector two and Mateo told her to “stop playing nice.”

But Paige was holding something back. Always, always holding something back. She’d been nursing her tires for twenty laps and it showed in the final five. Her car came alive again just as Azzi’s started to slip.

The last lap came fast. Too fast.

Azzi was in DRS range but only just. She caught the rear wing coming out of the second Lesmo and knew that if she didn’t go for it in turn 11, she wasn’t going to get the chance again.

She lined it up. Wide entry. Early throttle.

But Paige had launched earlier. Perfect exit. Enough to keep her ahead.

Azzi crossed the finish line three-tenths behind her.

Three-tenths.

Close enough to taste the carbon dust from Paige’s rear wing. Close enough to count the track marbles dotting her diffuser. But not close enough.

Still, the fans loved it.

The whole straight erupted in applause. For Ferrari. For both of them.

And Azzi, hands on the wheel, staring at the cool-down screen in front of her, finally exhaled. The kind of breath you didn’t know you were holding until the checkered flag waved.

Mateo came over the radio.

“2nd. Amazing drive, Az. You gave her hell.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She just let the silence fill the cockpit.

Then: “She’s the leader now, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mateo said. “We’ll think about that next week.”

Azzi nodded once, not that anyone could see it. “Alright. Next week.”

–

The post-race media was exhausting. It always was at Monza. Flashbulbs, press pens, microphones shoved in every direction. Paige handled it like she always did — calm, smiling, hands on hips in her race suit with the light purple helmet at her feet. She didn’t gloat. Didn’t need to.

Azzi kept it tight. Professional. Said all the right things.

“We raced hard. That’s what people want to see.”

“Yes, I think we can bounce back.”

“I’m proud of the team. The car was incredible.”

And then finally, they were done.

The sun was starting to dip behind the paddock towers when Luka found them in the debrief room and tossed a folded piece of paper onto the table. “There’s a party tonight,” he said. “Private one. Team only. Some important sponsors are coming. You two are expected.”

Paige looked up from her water bottle. “Expected?”

“Celebration,” Luka said, shrugging. “It’s Monza. We won.”

Azzi met Paige’s eyes across the table.

It wasn’t about the race anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

A party, then.

Jew a few points between them.

One week off.

And a long season left to go.

–

The Monza night was warm, the kind that clung to your skin even after the sun had gone down. Somewhere beyond the Ferrari hospitality suite, fans still lined the fences, hoping for one last glimpse of the red suits, the miracle lap, the miracle finish. But inside the party, it was just team now — team and sponsors, catered food and strong drinks, and a playlist that hadn’t been updated since the 2010s.

Azzi stood near the long bar, sleeves of her Ferrari sweatshirt shoved halfway up her forearms, a pair of black shorts stopping just above her mid thigh. Her hair was still a little damp from the shower she’d taken post-race, and there was something about the hum of the celebration that didn’t quite touch her.

Paige was close. As she always was lately.

Not in a clingy way. Not in a way that screamed anything specific. Just… close enough that Azzi noticed when she stepped away to grab another drink, and close enough that she noticed when Paige came back without one.

Paige didn’t party with coworkers. That was something Azzi was learning. Oh, she could party — she’d seen it firsthand in Colorado. Paige had game when she wanted it. But this? With engineers in polos and sponsors in button-downs and camera phones sneaking in between fake toasts? Paige wasn’t at home here.

So she stayed close.

They made their rounds — smiled for a few pictures, shook hands with people who pretended to know what “tire deg” meant, accepted compliments from VIPs who asked the same questions in slightly different accents. Azzi took a few sips of a spritz she didn’t really want. Paige nursed a bottle of water like she was keeping score.

Their PR director eventually approached, all efficient smiles and phone in hand. “Can I borrow you both for just a minute?” she said, motioning toward a side area where a few higher-ups had gathered.

Azzi knew what that meant.

She didn’t expect Dirk van Asshole to be standing there when they arrived.

But of course he was. Hair pushed back like a 90s teen idol, linen shirt unbuttoned to an offensive degree, watch too big and too gold. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something that definitely wasn’t water. He smiled too easily, like he thought they were all in on a joke that didn’t exist.

“Azzi,” he said, stepping in with the kind of friendliness that made her want to physically recoil. “What a race.”

“Thanks,” she said, too flat to hide it.

“And Paige,” he added, like he was just remembering her name. “What a finish. I mean — we all thought Azzi had it in the bag.”

Paige’s smile didn’t move. “Guess not.”

Dirk laughed, too loud. “Well. She’s still the people’s champion, yeah? Always a favorite.”

Azzi felt Paige glance her way. One of those side glances that wasn’t really a glance at all. More like a signal.

Get me out of here.

Azzi didn’t hesitate. She blinked slowly, dropped her gaze to the floor like she was trying to focus, then lifted a hand to her forehead.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “Headache. I think… I think I need to sit down.”

Dirk’s eyes widened — just enough to confirm the trick worked. “Totally fine. You’ve had a long day. I’ll grab you some water.”

“No need,” Paige said quickly, hand already grazing Azzi’s elbow. “I’ll take her to the bathroom. She just needs air.”

Dirk blinked. “I could—”

“You couldn’t,” Paige muttered under her breath, just loud enough that Azzi caught it.

They left the circle with enough polite nods to make it believable, slipping through a small hallway toward the guest bathrooms.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Paige leaned against the marble counter, exhaled hard, and said, “I’m so done with that man.”

Azzi laughed softly. “No, he sucks.”

“He talks like he’s in a reality show,” Paige muttered, tugging her sleeves over her hands. “And not a good one. One of those ones where everyone ends up engaged after four episodes.”

“He’s not even a sponsor or a driver,” Azzi added. “He’s just, like… related to someone important.”

“So was Napoleon.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“Exactly.”

They didn’t get much further. The door creaked open and in stumbled a girl who couldn’t have been older than nineteen, wearing a mini dress that looked stolen from an influencer’s closet and a pair of heels that were definitely not made for standing. She squinted at them, half-recognizing, then muttered something about champagne and disappeared into a stall.

Paige raised her brows.

Azzi nodded once.

Time to go.

They slipped out of the bathroom like nothing had happened, back through the suite with practiced smiles and quiet waves. The party was still going strong, but they walked out unbothered, not making a scene. Just two drivers leaving a team function, still in uniform, still technically on the clock.

They were halfway down the corridor back to the elevators when Azzi’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, thumbed open her notifications, and froze.

“What?” Paige asked.

Azzi turned the screen so Paige could see.

A photo.

A little grainy, but clear enough. Paige, slightly turned toward Azzi at the bar. Azzi leaning in to say something. Both smiling. Both unguarded. The caption was dumb — something about chemistry and Ferrari fire — but the tweet had gone viral in under ten minutes. Thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets.

Paige blinked. “Already?”

“We didn’t even make it to the elevator.”

They stared at it for a second longer.

Then Azzi hit the side button, locking her phone.

Paige didn’t say anything else, but she smiled. Real this time.

And Azzi, without realizing, smiled back.

–

It was almost midnight when they finally made it back to Azzi’s room. Her hair was up now, loosely twisted into a bun that had started falling apart the second they left the party. She’d kicked off her sneakers near the hotel door, and now her sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, oversized and a little too warm for the air conditioning she’d turned up as high as it could go.

The TV was on, volume low — something stupid in Italian she wasn’t even pretending to follow. Paige was stretched out on the bed, half under the covers and still in her Ferrari shorts. Her legs were bare and tanned and pulled up at the knee, phone balanced on her stomach, one earbud in, the other dangling.

Azzi flopped down beside her, not quite on top of her, but close. Her legs slid under Paige’s, her bare foot brushing the side of Paige’s calf as she tugged a blanket over them. The room smelled like clean skin and leftover hair product. Not unpleasant. Just lived-in.

She unlocked her phone without thinking. Scrolled to TikTok.

And immediately choked on a laugh.

“Oh my God.”

Paige glanced over with one eye still on her own screen. “What.”

“We have ship edits.”

That got her attention.

Paige lifted her head slightly, frowning, until Azzi turned her phone toward her. Onscreen, the now-viral party photo zoomed slowly toward them with the dramatic flair only TikTok could summon. Some soft indie track played in the background — something with too much reverb and lyrics about fate and stars and “the way she looks at her.” Then came the slow dissolve into clips from the paddock, podium glances, moments where they brushed shoulders walking to the media pen.

The caption read:

“She looks at her like she’s the checkered flag.”

With a string of red heart emojis and a #F1Lesbians tag thrown in for good measure.

Azzi blinked. “I—okay, the effort is wild.”

“There’s music,” Paige said, dry as hell.

Azzi laughed, scrolling to another. This one had a heavier beat, more edits cut to radio calls — Mateo’s voice shouting “Paige is right behind you!” followed by a slow-mo of them walking through the tunnel in Miami. A pause, then a hard cut to the photo from tonight again. It was the final frame.

Azzi snorted. “That one’s a little dramatic.”

“They’re all dramatic,” Paige said, leaning her chin lightly on Azzi’s shoulder now. “We drive cars in circles. This is what people do to make it seem deep.”

Azzi kept scrolling, letting the edits autoplay. They were everywhere. Some were sweet. Others full-on romantic. A few were just reaction videos — fans freaking out, screaming into cameras, holding up their phones with wide eyes. One girl was fully crying. Actual tears. The caption just read: “I KNEW THEY WERE ENDGAME.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Endgame?”

Paige shrugged. “Bold of them to assume I make it to the end.”

Azzi tilted her head toward her. “You planning to DNF this storyline or…?”

Paige made a low sound in her throat. “I don’t know. I think I might be in a multi-season arc.”

Azzi smirked, but the words made her stomach flip a little. Not in a bad way.

They kept watching, switching between TikTok and Twitter now. The comments were a trip. Half were cute — people talking about how they always knew, how the looks in their eyes were “different.” Others were strange. Intense. Too much. A few men had decided to throw in their opinions, which, unsurprisingly, made the vibe go downhill fast.

“Why are there always men in the lesbian edits?” Azzi muttered, flicking past a comment that started with “this is why girls are single these days…”

Paige didn’t respond right away.

Her hand, warm and absent-minded, was tracing circles near Azzi’s knee under the blanket. Nothing too serious. Just… casual. Thoughtless, but not cold. Familiar. Her other hand came up to tug lightly at a piece of Azzi’s hair that had fallen from her bun.

Azzi paused.

Paige wasn’t like this all the time. Not even most of the time. But when she was — when she let her guard drop for even half a night — it felt like gravity shifted. Like Paige wasn’t just near her, but orbiting her. A little too close. A little too much.

But it didn’t feel bad.

Just confusing. In that warm, electric way that made Azzi forget what she was even watching.

“Don’t let Fred see these,” Paige murmured suddenly.

Azzi laughed. “Because?”

Paige sat up a little, propping her head on her fist. Her face was blank, but her eyes weren’t.

“Because he’ll ask if we’re ‘managing our brand well enough,’” she said, but her tone was light — like a joke.

Only it wasn’t really a joke.

Azzi didn’t say anything for a second. She just watched Paige, her face half-lit by the blue glow of the screen, the corner of her mouth turned in that almost-smile that meant she was pretending something wasn’t bothering her.

Azzi broke the silence. “He’d survive.”

Paige didn’t look up. “Would he, though?”

Azzi closed the app.

“Okay. Then we don’t let Fred see them.”

Paige met her eyes finally. Something in her gaze softened — not exactly gratitude, but something close to it. Relief maybe. Or something she wasn’t ready to name.

Azzi pulled the blanket tighter around both of them, settled back into the pillows. Paige adjusted too, falling in line like she always did, head dropping next to hers, arm brushing hers, breath slowing down with the quiet.

The room was still now. The edits were gone. The fans, the tweets, the noise — all of it faded into the low hum of hotel air and the gentle weight of Paige’s arm resting against her own.

Azzi stared at the ceiling for a long time before turning off the lamp.

Whatever they were — whatever people wanted to call it — she didn’t know. But she knew this: Paige had stayed.

And that mattered more than anything the internet could say.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #dallas wings

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amber-aromadiffusermachine · 2 years ago

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Discover the perfect scent machine for your home or office. Indulge in an aromatic experience that creates a welcoming atmosphere and promotes well-being.

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witchingwithscissors · 2 months ago

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Agathario AU | Agatha just needed a baseball coach for her kid. She didn’t plan on catching feelings.

Agatha studied the young woman who strolled onto her manicured lawn, looking more rebel than structured coach. Her hair was tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail and she exuded an easy confidence that clashed with Agatha’s buttoned-up demeanor.

“Coach Vidal?” Agatha asked, crossing her arms.

“That’s me,” Rio replied, shifting a duffel bag on her shoulder. “You must be Nicky’s mom.”

“Agatha,” she corrected, extending a handshake.

Nicky poked his head out from behind Agatha’s legs. “Are you really a pro ballplayer?”

Rio’s grin softened, and she switched briefly to Spanish. “Claro, pequeñín. Ready to become una estrella?”

Nicky’s eyes lit up. “You speak Spanish?”

“Grew up with it,” Rio said proudly, then winked at Agatha. “We can do lessons in both languages if you want.”

Agatha felt a tug in her chest at the easy way Rio included her son. Maybe hiring this woman had been the right call after all.

The first few weeks followed a steady pattern. Rio arrived twice a week to teach Nicky batting, pitching, and fielding. She teased him gently, guided him with a firm but patient hand, and didn’t seem to mind if he talked non-stop about cartoon superheroes in between drills.

Agatha hovered at a polite distance, watching. There was a careful neutrality to their exchanges; after all, she had hired Rio for a service, nothing more. Still, she couldn’t help warming to the girl’s enthusiasm and the way Nicky’s eyes danced whenever Rio praised him.

One evening, after Nicky sprawled out on the couch, exhausted from practice, Rio lingered to chat with Agatha in the kitchen. Soft conversation about baseball turned into more personal confessions like how Rio’s childhood had been turbulent, how she moved around too much to keep friends, or how Agatha had been a single mom since Nicky was a toddler.

A small hush settled as they each realized: They were sharing more than just small talk. And neither seemed ready to stop.

Agatha prided herself on being composed, but she found her thoughts drifting to Rio’s half-smile or her easy laugh at odd moments—during work meetings or while sorting laundry. Sometimes she’d recall the way Rio guided Nicky’s hands on the bat, so patient and earnest.

For Rio, the feeling was mutual. She’d arrive at the Harkness home and feel inexplicable relief like walking into a place she was actually wanted. She found herself joking in Spanish with Nicky, then translating for Agatha, who watched it all with a soft, guarded smile.

Over dinner one night—Agatha had insisted Rio stay, “since you’re already here”—Rio set down her fork and looked up. “I’m not… good at being part of people’s lives. I usually move on quick.”

Agatha poured more water for both of them. “I understand. I’m not great at letting people in, either.”

A flicker of vulnerability passed between them. Rio forced a grin, diffusing the heaviness. “We’re quite a pair, huh?”

Agatha merely smiled in that quiet, knowing way. “Maybe we are.”

A few weeks later, after a particularly great practice session, Rio turned to Agatha with a spark in her eye. “Let me take you somewhere fun tonight. A date, if you’re up for it.”

Agatha arched an eyebrow, intrigued. She’d half-expected a swanky bar or a chic restaurant. Instead, when they pulled up to an old-school batting cage on the edge of town, she let out a surprised laugh. “Seriously? This is your idea of a first date?”

Rio shrugged, pulling out two bats from her trunk. “Hey, I promised it’d be fun.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “Alright. Impress me.”

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, illuminating the row of cages. The muffled clang of metal on baseball echoed around them. Rio slid a token into the machine, stepped up to the plate, and cracked a ball dead center on her first swing. She launched several more in quick succession, her body relaxed and confident.

Watching from behind the chain-link, Agatha tried not to stare too blatantly at Rio’s toned arms, the flash of delicate skin as her shirt lifted with each swing. Still, a flutter in her stomach reminded her she wasn’t immune to the quiet lure of this woman.

When it was Agatha’s turn, Rio insisted on helping her form. “Loosen your grip,” Rio murmured, stepping behind her. Her hands slid over Agatha’s, guiding the bat. Their bodies almost touched, heat radiating between them.

Agatha swallowed hard, inhaling the faint scent of Rio’s shampoo. “You’re making this… distracting,” she teased breathlessly.

Rio’s lips curved near Agatha’s ear. “Maybe that’s on purpose.”

Agatha half-laughed, half-sighed. “You’re a lot of talk, you know that?”

Rio chuckled. “You can handle it.”

Agatha swung the bat… and missed by a mile. Both dissolved into laughter. But as the humor subsided, an underlying tension remained, heavier and more significant than simple flirtation.

After a few awkward misses, Rio hit pause on the machine. Agatha lowered the bat, feeling her heart pound. The realization struck her: She wanted this closeness with Rio. And not just tonight, but something real. Something a single mother like her had to be cautious about.

Rio noticed her pensive expression. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Agatha set the bat aside. “If we keep going,” she began softly, “it can’t just be a fling. I can’t do casual, Rio. I have a son to think about.”

Rio’s eyes flickered with understanding. “You think I’d do all this just to walk away?”

Agatha shrugged, vulnerability creeping into her posture. “I’m not sure...”

Rio nodded, stepping closer, voice steady but gentle. “I’m not walking away from this.”

Relief flooded Agatha’s features. She inhaled slowly, processing the weight of it. And then, they shared a look—both terrified and thrilled—before Rio tugged her in for a slow, tender kiss, their first real acknowledgment that this went beyond attraction.

When they finally pulled apart, Agatha rested her forehead against Rio’s shoulder. “A batting cage,” she murmured, a hint of humor in her tone. “You took me to a batting cage.”

Rio laughed softly, arms circling Agatha’s waist. “Next time let’s bring Nicky.”

In the following weeks, the lines between friend, coach, and potential partner blurred in a warmer, more open way. Nicky didn’t know the full extent of their new relationship, but he picked up on the extra smiles, the gentle touches when Rio and Agatha thought he wasn’t looking.

They continued their usual practices where Nicky’s batting form improved and Rio’s Spanish lessons made him giggle. Afterward, though, the three of them had dinner together, or occasionally went out for ice cream. On quieter nights, Agatha and Rio curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine, talking until midnight and a half.

Still, doubts crept in. Agatha worried about letting Rio into Nicky’s life too deeply, in case it all fell apart. Rio wrestled with her own history of drifting away whenever things got intense. Yet each time doubt rose, they found reasons to stay.

When Nicky asked Rio for help on a school project, it felt natural for Rio to spend a Saturday afternoon scattered with glue sticks and cardboard cutouts. Agatha watched from the kitchen doorway, heart swelling at the sight of her son beaming whenever Rio gave praise.

Agatha set down the dish she was washing and joined them at the table, silently thinking: Is this it? Is this how family forms—not in one grand moment, but in a series of small ones?

Rio caught her eye, smiling softly. Agatha felt a rush of gratitude for this messy, wonderful reality. That night, as they lay side by side on Agatha’s couch, exhaustion weighing on both, Rio confessed in a murmur, “I want this. You. Him. Even if it means settling down more than I ever have before.”

Agatha’s response was a gentle kiss and the whispered promise, “I’m scared, too. But I’m in.”

Eventually, Rio moved into the spare room “temporarily,” but no one bought that label for long. Nicky clung to her at bedtime, asking for Spanish lullabies or quick pep talks before important Little League games. She fit into their routine so seamlessly, it felt like she’d always been there.

One Sunday morning, Nicky bounded into the kitchen, hair disheveled, wearing his tiny baseball pajama set. Rio was frying eggs while Agatha skimmed the newspaper. She was old-fashioned that way. Without pausing, Nicky tugged on Rio’s shirt, blurting out, “Mami, can I have mine scrambled?”

Rio’s hand froze on the spatula. Agatha’s eyes shot up, breath caught in her throat. For a moment, Nicky didn’t realize the significance and he just thought he’d asked a question. But when Rio turned, her expression conflicted and tender all at once, he flushed.

“I—I mean, Rio,” he stammered, as if afraid he’d done something wrong.

Rio breathed out, heart hammering. “No, it’s okay.” She crouched down, meeting Nicky’s gaze. “If that’s what you want to call me… I’d be honored.”

Nicky’s shoulders eased, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, Mami.”

Agatha stood by, tears pricking her eyes. She reached over, resting a hand on Rio’s back, silently conveying that she was on board. This wasn’t a trivial word; it was a quiet vow that their family bond had become something real, something they all wanted to keep.

A little more here.

#agatha harkness #rio vidal #modern domestic agathario makes me asdfghjkl #agathario au #agathario fic #agatha all along

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astrogre · 1 year ago

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What gifts to buy for each Venus sign

Christmas is among us, my favourite season and time of the year. Venus is the planet of love, by nature it can display what we like to receive from others but if you don’t know their Venus or the house it’s in you can try to look at the persons Sun sign instead but Venus is ideal.

A gift based on their:

Sun sign will make them feel seen and like you know them well, it will be a gift they may appreciate

Venus sign is all they’ve ever desired it’s the pinnacle of their ideal gift. Especially as Venus represents how we like to receive and experience love

Aries/ 1H Venus

Gym membership, running shoes, thrill seeking experiences like tickets to bungee jumping, rock climbing, a skydiving event, gym outfit, tickets to their favourite artist, tickets to festival, cool lighter, archery classes, tickets to sports games, a shirt with their teams logo or merch from their favourite artists, scissors set, cooking tools, hair styling products like hairspray, hair dye, Fitbit/apple watch, knives set, sports gear, heavy bass headphones, tickets for those room smashing experiences, take them clay pigeon shooting, family destroying board games like Risk or Catan, diy tattoo kit, diy piercing kit, theme park tickets.

Aries Venus are by nature thrill seekers, Aries is ruled by the head and has 1st house influences, they can certainly appreciate something that ignites passion, they are impulsive and quick by nature to pursue what they desire. They need gifts that match their decisive nature and to let out that pent up energy they have in them, I honestly think experiences are the best for them. Or a box of hair dye for their impulsive moments

Taurus/ 2H Venus

Hire a chef or take them to a really good restaurant for a 5 course meal that serves orgasmic food and has impeccable visuals/atmosphere OR you can even arrange a 7 course homemade meal with the finest of recipes! , fine jewellery adorned with a gemstone, culinary experiences, cooking classes, kitchenware, go to fragrantica.com and find a high quality perfume to give, premium home decor, art, antique items, antique furniture, comfortable cosy clothing, hot water bottle, gardening tools, plants, selection of seeds for their garden, diffuser, essential oils, desserts like baklava/ferro rocher, luxury goods, wellness retreat subscription, day at the spa, tea set, comfy velvet winter pillows and bed sheets

Oh my Taurus natives, they know how to break a bank for Christmas and if not they can enjoy luxury on a budget! They enjoy the finer things of life of course Venus ruled, they know how to induge in pleasures and satisfaction. Due to the earthy influence they have a green finger and a natural affinity with plants and gardening, they may love flowers or want to grow plants themselves. Taurus venuses are rather easy to gift, if you know them they usually have a vice, it may be sleep, food or pure laziness, get them something according to their vice and they will treasure it.

Gemini/ 3H Venus

Really cool stationary, Spotify subscription, comedy show tickets, books from their favourite genre, a notebook, Grammarly subscription, cards against humanity board game, Duolingo subscription, multiplayer games, home kit recording studio, language learning stuff, calligraphy classes, kindle, portable car charger, Bluetooth speaker, karaoke machine, suitcase, travel accessories, a musical instrument, sealing wax kit, creative hobby supplies, microphone, podcasting equipment, audio editing software, a car, vr headset, Nintendo online subscription, Netflix/HBO/youtube/crunchyroll subscription

Gemini rules communication, short journeys and social engagement. Blessing these natives with tools to enhance their pleasant hobbies will make them swoon in gratitude, if you want to get them something make it engaging and whimsical. These natives are ruled by mercury and always welcome something that requires the mind.

Cancer/ 4H Venus

A cooking set, baking set, comfort food, commission artwork of the family, family photos, some really nice home decor, a keepsake/musical box adorned with velvets and soft materials that will store sentimental objects, a locket necklace, family recipe book make a recipe book of all their favourite foods and some foods you know they’d like, soft fluffy blanket, the family heirloom, hand crafted quilt, hand painted ceramic mug, animal crossing game, sims 4 game, games relating to the home, bring and fly in family that are far away as a surprise and cook their favourite meal together, household utilities, lush bath products, a personal chef for a day, a personal butler for a day, custom family tree art, ancestry DNA kit (please be careful though once you use them they keep your data and if they get hacked your information is out there), home movie night, comfy slippers and pyjamas, family board games, this christmas make them Christmas dinner this time.

Cancer rules the home and there’s nothing more appreciated by a cancer Venus than things that remind them of this. They are by nature expressive and nurturing, this time let them be pampered!

Leo/ 5H Venus

Hair care products, gift card for their favorite store, make them an edit no joke like a TikTok edit that makes them look really cool, one of those light up mirrors or a pretty handheld one if they don’t have one already, book them a photoshoot together if they don’t like the camera maybe post them on your social media and show affection for these bold natives, theatre tickets, bold sunglasses, luxury watch, good jewellery, VIP experiences like backstage passes or reservation to exclusive invite only restaurants, designer clothing that is a prestigious brand they love, commission style artwork, make them a playlist of songs that reminds you of them, fine wine, personalised fragrance creation that allows them to create their own signature fragrance, personalised makeup makeover, hire a stylist for them

A perfect gift for Leo’s need to have an element of self expression, luxury and incorporate their personality that garners attention from peers. They need a gift that makes them feel special, something tailored specifically for them that cannot be gifted to anyone else. Personalised gifts do well either this placement too. When I think of these natives I just think of that Meghan Trainor music video “Me Too” watch that and you’ll get their vibe.

Virgo/ 6H Venus

Skincare products, a blender for smoothies, lots of cleaning products, multi purpose aesthetic storage containers, Quora or chat gpt subscription (these guys like to be well informed), give them scientifically researched bath products that have all that vitamin breakdown qualities, make them a notion template to help them plan, quality office supplies like a desk organiser or chair, practical fitness gear like a yoga mat, a fitness tracker, get them a personal nutritionist, tailored meal prep services, bookshelf organiser system, a stylish briefcase, home office makeover (BUT PLEASE GET THEIR PERMISSION FIRST), online course subscription, digital subscription to news feed, you can never go wrong with practical things, an ikea haul, Costco membership, minimalist decor, multi vitamins, a precision watch, set of labelling and sorting tools, a neat tidy chess board, get them a nice little pet, honestly for some reason whenever I think of Virgos I think of matcha. Get them something matcha based.

Virgo Venus natives need gifts that resemble their routine and organisation, they can be rather difficult to purchase for since they have such a specific taste in mind. Gift cards are practical for them but they really need something that allows them to be more prepared. Take them out for comparison price shopping like say if you want to get them a sofa tell them you’ll take them out to Costco, Amazon, ikea, and compare the best ones. They are also very clean and efficient.

Libra Venus/ 7H Venus

Trending Make up like the fenty hot chocolit heat lip gloss, Korean skincare products, beautiful piece of art, a wedding ring 😏, bouquet of flowers, take them to a beautiful botanical garden, fashionable accessories like a silk scarf, books and courses on design, take them to a couples romantic date, a couples workshop, write them a love letter, museum date, tickets to an art exhibition, fine dining, an astrology synastry reading, if they’re single set up a blind date with someone who you KNOW they would like (make sure they’re handsome/pretty), couples retreat, love coach Patreon subscription, pottery/painting classes, relationship podcast subscription, relationship psychology books, fine fragrance/cologne

Libra is ruled by Venus and 7th house, all things related to love beauty and pleasure align with this native, even if they are single they have a natural gift for delving into relationships. Make sure that whatever gift you give them it is pleasing and sensual

Scorpio/ 8H Venus

Intimate gifts, a psychological crime documentary playlist like Epstein island documentary or YouTubers who speak of renowned cult leaders, personalised astrology reading, a dark seductive fragrance, dark artwork, dominance and submission guide book, shadow work journal with a lock on it, dark poetry and literature, escape room adventure tickets, monopoly game, dungeons and dragons game equipment, bdsm accessories, personalised erotic art, leather/latex clothing, bonding activities, empowering books like 48 Laws of Power, martial arts training, taxidermy, personal development workshops, intense workout equipment like a punching bag, chess, daggers, locks on their door or for their belongings like installing a lock for their drawers, buy them a ring camera and subscription, wine tasting experience

Give them something sultry and deep, it has to be psychological and empowering. They are not impressed by superficial gifts that mean nothing to them. They really like gifts that allow them to explore their nature and the darker aspects of existence.

Sagittarius/ 9H Venus

A scratch off map that allows you to scratch off countries you’ve been to, a surprise holiday where you take them abroad, Duolingo subscription, a wanderlust journal for them to document their experiences, passport accessories, an electric guitar, drums, take them to a fireworks display or do one at home for them, a telescope, a drone, binoculars, philosophical books or religious books based on their own beliefs and religion, running shoes, horse riding in the sunset experience, musical instruments, motivational and positive affirmations book or make some for them yourself, a book collection of all their motivational and positive messages they have said, a compass, pay for their tuition for a course they’ve always wanted, traveling stuff like suitcases, pillow for travelling, a portable flask, a disposable camera, a Polaroid camera, a tent, tickets to a cultural festival, hiking gear, skiing gear, camping gear, sketchbook, a donation in their name

Sagittarius Venus and 9H venuses love the concept of exploration whether it be in the mind or physically, the best gift you could give them is one that allows them to take in so much culture, information and experiences.

Capricorn/ 10H Venus

Customisable credit card (CUCU is a good site for this), a nice power suit like business attire, vintage pocket calculator, cufflinks or a tie, formal shoes, pay for their CV to be analysed by professionals in their industry, elegant timeless clothing and jewellery, make them business cards, get them a corporate slave (an assistant will do), pay for business class flights for their next trip abroad, project management courses, tickets to Ted Talk event, take them to and big them up at networking and entrepreneurial opportunities, a sleek desk, submit their work for trophies and awards, quality furniture, Starbucks or their fave coffee place gift cards, a fountain pen, personalised desk name plate, professional photoshoot, designer accessories like a Swiss watch, leather wallet, cheque book, pay for a professional calligrapher to design their signature, time management software

Our sweet cap Venuses and 10Hers need their professional acknowledgment, give them anything timeless and a way for them to better themselves. They love being the best of the best so give them things that support their ambitions.

Aquarius/ 11H Venus

A 3D printer, high tech phone, a gamer console, smart home device like Alexa, chat gpt subscription, AI art pieces of them, rubix cube, VR headset, bespoke one of a kind art piece, tickets to a science technology conference or musem, networking events, phone case, futuristic home decor, membership to an niche club their interested in, mini indoor garden like a plant terrarium, pay for an astronomy stargazing experience for them, alt clothing, goal setting journal, a camaraderie for their friendships can be a bracelet for an example, tickets to a unique workshop according to their niche interests, video editing software, a unique invention prototype for the industry their interested in say if it were cars then a mini Tesla or something, volunteer together, design software, film festival tickets, social cause merchandise, unique fashion piece, astronomy kit, an AI boyfriend or girlfriend, take them a Ted talk.

Always remember the specific niche interests of these natives they like things that are very niche and so sometimes asking them is actually the best thing to do. But make sure it’s something they’re passionate about not all of these natives live tech but they certainly are innovative.

Pisces/ 12H Venus

Seashell necklace, watercolour paints, fantasy book collection, their favourite mangas, handmade artwork, stained glass window art, dream interpretation book, flowerpedia book, vinyls, yoga mat, contact lenses, tickets to their favourite artist like mitski or the sort, create a playlist for them that’s about fantasy and imagination, they might like Disney consider taking them to Disneyland, windchime, subscription to mindfulness app, astrology book, go to the aquarium together, windchimes, art supplies, a dream journal, sound healing instruments, pay for their spiritual retreat, zen garden decor, a mystical music box, water fountain, take them to a mesmerising body of water, prayer mats, diary, write them a heartfelt letter of how amazing they are, take them to a nature retreat, wearable art

Dreamy imaginative gifts would be perfect for these people, they need gifts that allow them to appreciate their escape world where they have a reality that’s just better than here. Give them things that are as beautiful as their inner world.

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