MEU DEUS

Pqp, eu cuidaria tanto de vc Fran😭

#menamorafran

such a sweet picture :(💖

,, YOUR MINE ‘‘ nicholas chavez

warnings : smuttttyyyy

a/n : this is so long i’m sorry

summary : a virgin meets her new priest, charlie, and has unholy thoughts about him.

THIS IS NOT MEANT TO DISRESPECT ANYONE. IF YOU DONT SUPPORT/LIKE THIS THEN DONT READ IT !!!

PART 2

Maddie sat in the pew, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had turned white. She felt the cool wood of the church beneath her and inhaled deeply, trying to focus on the familiar scent of incense and the soft flickering of candlelight. The nave was quiet, save for the low murmur of a few others whispering their prayers. It was late afternoon, and the sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting hues of red, blue, and gold onto the marble floor.

She knew she needed to go to confession. Her stomach churned with guilt, and her heart raced every time she thought about what she was about to confess. It wasn’t her first time in the sacrament of penance, but this felt different. This was something she had never admitted to anyone, not even herself, until now.

She glanced toward the confessional, its dark wooden frame both inviting and intimidating. Her eyes flickered up to the crucifix above the altar, and she whispered a silent prayer for courage. Her new priest, Father Charlie, was in the confessional today. The thought of facing him in that small booth made her throat tighten, but she had no other choice. The weight of her secret was becoming unbearable.

Maddie had only known Father Charlie for a few months, ever since he had arrived at their parish. He was younger than she had expected—soft-spoken but with a presence that commanded attention. There was a warmth about him, something that made people feel at ease. But for Maddie, that ease had quickly turned into something else. Something she didn’t want to admit to herself, let alone to God.

With trembling hands, she stood and walked toward the confessional. Each step felt heavy, as though she were wading through water. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached the door and knelt down inside the small wooden booth, closing the door behind her. The familiar smell of wood polish and candle wax filled her nostrils, calming her for a brief moment.

Through the mesh screen, she could see the outline of Father Charlie sitting on the other side. She heard him clear his throat softly, then speak.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he began, his voice low and calming.

Maddie crossed herself and whispered, “Amen.”

He waited a moment, allowing the silence to settle between them, before he continued. “How long has it been since your last confession?”

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry. “A month, Father.”

There was another pause, and Maddie could feel his presence more acutely now, even though she couldn’t see him clearly. The confessional felt smaller than usual.

“Go ahead,” Father Charlie said gently. “What do you wish to confess?”

Maddie’s heart hammered in her chest, her hands trembling in her lap. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had rehearsed what she was going to say a dozen times in her mind, but now, in the quiet of the confessional, her carefully planned words scattered like dust.

“Father,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “I…I’ve been having impure thoughts.”

There was a moment of silence on the other side, and Maddie wondered if he could hear how fast her heart was beating. She clenched her hands tighter, trying to stop them from shaking.

“Go on,” Father Charlie said gently, his tone encouraging, as though he could sense her fear.

“I…” She swallowed again, her mouth dry. “It’s not just impure thoughts, Father. They’re about…someone.”

Maddie’s face burned with shame knowing she is talking about Father Charlie. She wanted to melt into the floor, to disappear and never have to face this moment again. She had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable, than she did in that instant.

On the other side of the screen, Father Charlie smirked His breathing remained steady, and Maddie wondered what he must be thinking. How could he not be shocked? How could he not recoil at her words? But there was no reaction. No sharp intake of breath, no awkward shuffling. Just silence. Maddie couldn’t bear it anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why this is happening. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time I see him, every time I hear his voice, I…I can’t help it. These thoughts, these feelings, they just…they won’t go away.”

Her chest tightened, and she fought back the tears that were threatening to spill over. She had never felt more ashamed, more humiliated.

After what felt like an eternity, Father Charlie finally spoke, his voice steady but softer now.

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said, his words careful. “It takes great courage to confess such things.”

Maddie let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding, but her heart still raced. She had no idea what he would say next. Would he condemn her? Would he tell her that her feelings were sinful, that she was wrong to have them?

“What you are feeling,” he continued after a brief pause, “is not uncommon. We are all human, and we all experience moments of weakness, moments when our thoughts stray in ways we wish they wouldn’t.”

Maddie nodded silently, tears beginning to blur her vision. She hadn’t expected compassion. She felt a flicker of relief, though the weight of her shame still pressed down on her.

Maddie wiped away a tear that had fallen, her heart feeling lighter now. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t this—a gentle reminder of her humanity, of their shared struggle. It wasn’t condemnation, but understanding.

“Your penance,” Father Charlie said quietly, “is to say three Hail Marys and to spend some time reflecting on the love that God has for you. He knows your heart, Maddie, and He forgives you.”

She nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over her for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you, Father,” she whispered.

As Maddie stood to leave the confessional, she paused for a moment, her hand on the door.

A week had passed since Maddie’s confession, and though she had tried to focus on her prayers, her thoughts kept returning to that moment in the confessional, her voice trembling as she admitted her feelings to Father Charlie. She avoided eye contact with him at Mass, ashamed of what she had shared, but there was something else too—an undeniable pull toward him, a curiosity about how he had handled her confession so calmly, so compassionately.

After Sunday Mass, Maddie lingered in the church longer than usual, kneeling in prayer but mostly trying to gather her thoughts. The church was quiet now, the soft shuffle of feet and the rustling of coats fading as people slowly filed out. The sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting a golden hue over the altar.

She was about to stand and leave when she heard a voice behind her.

"Maddie?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was him—Father Charlie. His voice had become unmistakable to her now, carrying a warmth that both soothed and unsettled her.

She turned slowly and found him standing just a few feet away, his black cassock crisp and formal, yet his expression kind and open. He wasn’t wearing the confessional mask of formality. This was just Charlie now—no screen, no distance.

“Father,” she said softly, her heart pounding in her chest again.

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment,” he said, taking a step closer. He gestured toward one of the pews, and she nodded, sitting down as he joined her. There was a moment of silence, and Maddie could feel the weight of it hanging between them. She kept her gaze lowered, studying her hands in her lap, unsure of what he was about to say.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your confession,” Charlie began, his voice steady but softer than usual. “And I believe there’s more to discuss than what we could cover in the confessional.”

Maddie’s heart skipped again, her stomach twisting. She didn’t know where this was going, but the tension in her body made her pulse race. She looked up at him, his eyes calm but serious.

“I want to help you, Maddie,” he continued, his voice gentle. “But I think it would be easier to talk in a more private setting. Not here, where everything feels so… formal.”

Her pulse quickened, and she felt the awkwardness rising inside her. Was he inviting her to…? No, she shook the thought away before it could fully form. He was still her priest, and this was still about her spiritual guidance. There couldn’t be anything more.

Charlie cleared his throat, his eyes shifting slightly as if he could sense her discomfort. “I was thinking,” he said slowly, “if you’re comfortable with it, maybe you could come over for dinner. We could talk more freely there, without the pressure of the confessional.”

Maddie blinked in surprise. Dinner? The idea of sitting across from him in a more intimate setting—without the screen, without the anonymity of the church—made her thighs burn. Her immediate instinct was to refuse, to put up a wall and protect herself from what she knew could happen if she let her guard down.

But then she remembered his kindness, the way he had listened to her confession without judgment, offering compassion where she had expected rejection. Maybe this was an opportunity to finally get clarity, to face the confusion and temptation she had been wrestling with.

“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” Charlie added quickly, his voice sincere. “This isn’t… this isn’t about anything inappropriate, Maddie. I just think it would help to have a real conversation. I understand if it’s too much, though.”

She met his eyes for the first time since that day in the confessional. There was nothing predatory in his gaze, no ulterior motive—just concern. He genuinely wanted to help her, and despite her fear, she trusted him. That trust, however, made it even more complicated.

“I… I think that might help,” Maddie said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, but Maddie barely touched her food. She could feel Charlie’s eyes on her every now and then, and the knot in her stomach tightened with each glance. Finally, he broke the silence.

“Maddie, I’ve noticed something,” he said, his tone gentle but serious. She looked up from her untouched plate, her heart skipping a beat. “What is it?”

“You’ve been… distracted. During Mass.”

Her heart sank, her breath catching in her throat. She knew what was coming. She could feel it in the air between them. Charlie leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been avoiding eye contact with me lately,” he continued. “And even before your confession… I could tell something was on your mind.”

Maddie’s face burned with embarrassment, and she dropped her gaze to the table, unable to meet his eyes. She had hoped he hadn’t noticed, but of course he had. He was her priest, after all—attuned to the nuances of the people in his care “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment, waiting for her to continue. The silence hung between them like a heavy weight.

“You’re right,” Maddie admitted, her fingers trembling as she played with the edge of her napkin. “I’ve been distracted. I haven’t been able to focus during Mass, and it’s… it’s because of you.”

Her last words hung in the air, and the room seemed to grow even quieter. Maddie dared to glance up at Charlie. His face remained calm, though his eyes darkened with something she couldn’t quite read.

“Because of me?” he asked softly, his voice steady .

Maddie’s chest tightened, and she took a deep breath, knowing she had no choice but to confess the truth now. She had come here to confront her feelings, to address what had been eating at her, and there was no turning back.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you in a unholy way” she admitted, her voice cracking with emotion. “Ever since you came to the parish, it’s been… difficult. I know it’s wrong, I know you’re my priest, but I can’t help it. It’s like you’re always on my mind, and it’s affecting everything—my prayers, my faith, my peace.”

Charlie’s expression didn’t change, but his hands clenched slightly around the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening. He remained silent, giving her the space to continue.

“I thought maybe talking to you tonight would help me figure out what to do,” Maddie continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “But being here… it’s just making it harder. I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.”

Her confession was out now, laid bare between them. She could hear her own heartbeat in the silence that followed, could feel the tension radiating through her body, as if the air between them had thickened with unsaid words.

Charlie’s eyes flickered with something—sympathy, perhaps, but also an understanding that ran deeper than she expected. He exhaled slowly, as if gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“Maddie,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “I understand how difficult this is for you. And I need you to know that what you’re feeling isn’t unnatural. These thoughts, these feelings… they happen. To both of us.”

Maddie’s breath hitched. Both of us? Did that mean…?

Charlie leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. “I mean that maybe it’s better to… release some of the tension. These thoughts, these feelings—you don’t have to hold onto them so tightly.”

Her breath hitched, and she felt a cold wave of shock ripple through her. “Release the tension?”

Charlie nodded slowly, his voice low and calm, but his words held a gravity she hadn’t expected. “I know you’ve been trying to resist it, Maddie, but sometimes resisting only makes the desire stronger. It’s human nature. Maybe… maybe it would help to let yourself feel it. To stop fighting against it.”

Maddie’s face flushed hot, her heart racing as the implications of his words sank in. She felt a lump form in her throat, and her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

“You mean…” she started, but her voice faltered, unable to finish the sentence.

Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. “What I mean is… it’s okay to acknowledge your desire. There’s no shame in it. It’s natural to have these feelings, especially when there’s such strong tension between us.”

Maddie’s eyes widened, her stomach tightening with a mix of shock and something else—something dangerous that she had been trying to push down since the moment she walked through his door.

“Have you ever…?” Charlie hesitated, but the question hung heavily in the air. “Have you ever touched yourself while thinking about me?”

Maddie’s breath caught in her throat. The question was like a punch to the gut, but it was also the very thing she had been dreading and hoping he wouldn’t ask. The truth was that she had—more than once, in the privacy of her bedroom, late at night when the thoughts she couldn’t suppress became too overwhelming to ignore. The guilt had followed her like a shadow, but the need had been stronger, overpowering.

She dropped her gaze to the table, her hands trembling as she gripped the edge of her napkin tightly. She couldn’t meet his eyes, not after that question.

“I…” She started to speak but hesitated, the shame and desire warring within her. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to say the word aloud. “I have.”

The admission felt like a weight lifting from her chest and, at the same time, a heavy anchor pulling her deeper into the dangerous waters they were treading. She had crossed a line, and now she was standing at the edge of something she couldn’t undo.

Charlie exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as if he had expected the answer but needed to hear it from her. His gaze was intense, but there was no judgment in his eyes, only a strange understanding that made her feel both relieved and more vulnerable than ever.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Charlie said quietly, his voice softer now, almost soothing. “You’re human, Maddie. We both are. And these feelings, these urges… they’re part of that. Trying to deny them only makes them stronger.”

Maddie’s head spun, the room suddenly feeling too small, too intimate. She had come here seeking clarity, hoping to calm the turmoil inside her, but this—this was only making the storm stronger. She had confessed her desires to him, and now he wasn’t telling her to resist them. He wasn’t telling her to fight back. He was telling her to let go.

“But…” she began, her voice shaking. “You’re a priest. This… this isn’t right.”

Charlie sighed, his gaze softening. “I know. Believe me, I know. But right and wrong aren’t always black and white. There’s no sin in acknowledging desire, Maddie. There’s no sin in being honest with ourselves.”

Her breath caught as he began to run his hands up her thighs. He kisses up her neck and says, "Tell me you want this, tell me you want me." She pauses to consider whether doing this was the best course of action.She then recalls Charlie claiming it wasn't a sin, so why would he lie about that? Eagerly nodding, she says, "Yes, please, I want you."

Her eyes roll back to her head as he moves to her private area and begins gently massaging her covered clit. He whispers in her ear, making her thighs burn, "I remember those times when you wore those short skirts. It's like you wanted me to bend you over in front of everyone and punish you."

Once more, he begins to kiss up her neck, but this time he sucks part of it. Leaving a dark spot, she groans loudly at the strange sensation. He smirks.

His hand begins to go toward her breasts, giving her skin shivers. He unbuttoned her blouse and said, "Every time I saw you in church, your blouse always unbuttoned around me, it's like you wanted it to happen." She says nervously, "I did it on purpose to get your attention."

His eyes darkened and he looked up at her. She yelps as she felt him clutch her throat. He exclaims, "You're such a slut for me," and presses his lips to hers. Even though she has a million things on her mind, her heartbeat is happening ten times quicker than she is. His thumb resting on the side of her jaw, as he pulled her hair back behind her ear with his other hand.

A fast kiss was exchanged between the two. As their tongues swirled together, he inserted his tongue into her mouth. Maddie felt as though her fantasies were becoming true. His movements sped up till he came to stop and pulled away. Maddie lets out a gasp. "Lay on the bed," he insists.

She approaches his bed nervously and crawls to the middle of it. She spins around to face him. He looks her over. Her stomach churns as she looks at her from top to bottom.

He moves toward the bed and crawls on all fours to her. He looks at her between his eyebrows as he begins to kiss at her legs and continues all the way up to her thighs.

"Hey. I won't do anything that you don't want me to.” He whispers, "Tell me if you're not comfortable” She considers it for a brief moment. concluding that she wants for him to continue. She tells him, "Don't stop," he licks his lips and smirks.

Eagerly he tugs at her skirt. As he tries to slides it down, he realizes there's a zipper on the side. While unzipping her skirt and pushing it until it reaches the bottom of her legs, he maintains eye contact with her.

He presses his nose down into her thighs, planting little kisses on her closeted clit. He groans as she pulls on his hair with a deep moan. He gives her an intense look as he gradually begins removing her underwear. She glances away from him as butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach.

He comments, "You're so gorgeous.. in every way," as he surveys her figure. To prevent her from leaving, he grabs her legs and pins them to the bed. What he provides her, she has to accept. He makes her back arch as he licks her slit.

As if she were the last thing he would ever eat, he puts his head down and begins to devour her. She groans aloud as he gives her a passionate kiss on the clit. He groans louder as she tugs at his hair more forcefully than before.

He approaches her hole and begins carefully putting his finger inside of her. She puts her head down on the cushion, shuts her eyes, and her jaw lowers. He begins to eat her out while fingering her. Sucking on her sensitive clit, he pushes in and out with his finger.

Her tummy begins to feel strange, and her back arches. He smirks as her pussy tightens around his finger. "It's alright, sweetheart.” He comforts her, let yourself go," as she comes undone with a loud groan.

She catches her breath as he emerges from her privates, covered in her juices. He pulls her to him by grabbing a strand of her hair and gives her a kiss. Allowing her to taste herself.

“Your mines now”

Hello I would like to request some smut for dark max . For example she is trying to leave him but he does not let her also some breeding kink .

Forever tied to him || M.V

Dark max Verstappen x reader

Warnings— dark max, smut, breeding, forced pregnancy, impact play , toxic relationship, max is paranoid, dom/sub, unprotected sex

Summary: max is very paranoid that your gonna leave him, but much to his horror he’s not being paranoid cause you do try to leave him and he can’t have that, so he traps you.

Max worse fear is you leaving him, but his worse, worse fear is him being right that you were going to leave him.

That’s why he has you here now, laying naked face down on the bed with your ass tinted red and painted with Max’s handprint.

He’s gonna make sure you never leave him or have thoughts of leaving him ever again.

He’s glad he got out of his jeans cause his boxers are straining down from his bulge wanting to break out, he can’t imagine how uncomfortable it would feel with his jeans still on.

His member only grows more hearing you whimper as his hard collides with your ass harshly again, leaving it a sting that you wish didn’t make you wet.

“ oh look at this gushing needy little pussy” he chuckles deeply as one of his hands swipe over the area that wants to be touched instead of your ass. You squirm as his finger grazes your little bud as max pulls his hand back and looks at his hand glistening with your arouse, “ well look at that, I wonder…” he trails off before he firmly slaps your pussy making you shriek suprisingly at the pleasure surching through your body.

“ oh you like that, little filthy slut?” He mockingly cooes as he does it again watching with amusement as you jump and moan. He does it a couple more times before the need to feel you becomes to much.

He strips from his boxers and gets in between your legs before pulling you so your back is firmly pressed against his chest. Your legs shake from the stimulation you just had that almost made you came but feeling Max’s large member against your socking pussy made you clench.

“ I’m gonna make you regret at all the negative thoughts you have had about our relationship” he growls in your ear as his hand grips your neck to pin you against him.

Before you could blink he slams into you, groaning as you got to time to get use to it as he repeatedly thrusts into you deeply that you could feel it in your womb.

“ gonna f-fill you with my babies so you can-can fuck, never leave” he grunts, if the pleasure wasn’t making you dizzy you would of tried to pull away, not that he would let you.

“ ohhh max! Please, please” you mindlessly beg as your release creeps up, max smirks breathlessly as his nears as well. He sinks his mouth on your neck, marking the skin messily making you moan louder.

He groans as you clench on him, “ imma cum, cum in you and fill you til the brim”.

He bottoms out and cums deep in you as you pant, “ oh fuck” he growls animalistically.

He buries his head in your neck kissing it softly as he regains his senses, you whimper not having cum yet. He drops you softly and turns you around, your glassy eyes met his now soft blue eyes, “ oh schatz, you don’t deserve to cum but I can’t leave my princess suffering” he pouts.

He softly rubs your puffy red pussy making you whine as he does it softly but firm, you feel your orgasm building up again as the need to cum grows stronger.

“ you gonna cum? Yeah? Cum for me baby” he cooes as he rubs faster making you release with a whiny moan, chest rising uneven.

As you close your eyes, focusing on calming down from your high he eyes your stomach with hope. Hoping that you get pregnant and knows it’s high that you will as he has been switching your pregnancy pills with sugar fake pills.

~~~~~

“ daddy can’t wait to meet you, so can’t your mommy” Max whispers lovingly against your round stomach as you gulp nervously.

Max obsessed with your round stomach and full tits almost as obsessed with you he is, he got all that he wanted. You, and you pregnant with his child but now seeing how breath taking you look pregnant, he can’t help but want to get you pregnant with his child as soon as his first born is born.

🎃 kinktober - day six: age kink com esteban kukurizcka.

— aviso: age kink, sexo sem proteção, creampie, fluffy.

— word count: 4k.

— nota: inspirado em call me by your name. AMO VC KUKU.

1984, Menorca - Espanha.

você nunca tinha visto cidade mais bonita que Menorca. pertencente às ilhas Baleares, era notória por suas praias paradisíacas e por suas paisagens pitorescas. era de tirar o fôlego na parte da manhã, quando o sol iluminava cada pedra das ruínas, refletia incandescente no mar de águas límpidas e aquecia a pele em um beijo morno. sobretudo, na parte da noite, quando a brisa era fresca e revigorante, fazendo os vestidos de verão inflarem como os de Marilyn Monroe, e as luzes eram brilhantes e hipnotizantes.

você morava em Portugal há bons anos e estudava literatura na Universidade de Lisboa. quando surgiu a oportunidade de escrever a monografia baseada nas obras um famoso escritor espanhol, não hesitou em fazê-lo. tinha sido seu professor de semântica que lhe apresentara a ideia, e tinha sido ele quem tinha entrado em contato com o tal escritor para que a sua monografia pudesse ser a mais completa possível, incluindo entrevistas com o próprio autor.

o problema era que Alfredo Kukuriczka, o escritor, era um homem de idade. tinha dificuldade para ouvir o que lhe era perguntado através de ligações e as cartas demoravam muito para irem e virem. aquilo significaria perder tempo, o que você não estava apta a fazer.

então, o escritor tomou a iniciativa de convidá-la para visitá-lo em Menorca. você estava de férias, ele estava livre e a comunicação seria mais fácil daquela maneira. ele pagaria pela sua passagem e ofereceria estadia em sua casa e você poderia passear pela cidade o quanto quisesse. era o plano perfeito.

e, por um tempo, tinha sido. a casa dele era uma maravilhosa construção cheia de janelas amplas, um jardim robusto, rodeada por um pomar de frutas graciosas. tinha uma piscina de água natural e a mobília era antiga, como se tivesse saltado de um filme de época. possuía espreguiçadeiras e um acesso remoto à praia.

a mulher dele, Isabel, era um anjo. cozinhava paella e polvo como ninguém. sempre enchia o seu prato no café da manhã e lia o seu trabalho com uma grande adoração. você a ensinou como fazer pastel de nata e ela lhe ensinou a fazer papas. frequentemente, era comum que ela pegasse os seus vestidos e blusas no varal para costurar um furinho ou outro no tecido.

Alfredo era genial. apesar da idade avançada, seus pensamentos eram como os de um jovem adulto cheio de energia. divagava por horas em qualquer assunto e lhe ensinava coisas que você jamais vira na faculdade. pediu para que você escrevesse para ele. falava por horas como via o talento em você e como você seria uma escritora de sucesso, mesmo que ainda não tivesse nada pronto. via como sua mente maquinava e se impressionava com o seu traquejo. não via aquilo há muito tempo.

foi em uma tarde chuvosa que um táxi parou no pátio de entrada. você estava no seu quarto, redigindo o trabalho em uma máquina de escrever antiga que o seu mentor tinha lhe emprestado. as gotas de chuva gordas batiam contra a janela, fazendo um barulho gostoso de ouvir. no entanto, o ronco do motor se sobressaiu, atraindo sua atenção. não era comum visitas.

quando o viu, jurou sentir um arrepio correr por toda a espinha. era alto, tinha cabelos claros e um nariz bonito. equilibrou duas malas nas mãos enquanto a esposa do seu mentor apareceu, o abraçando carinhosamente. ele tentava se mover para que ela não se molhasse, mas ela parecia não se importar.

você ficou os minutos seguintes no quarto, se perguntando quem era aquele homem e se ele ficaria com vocês no restante das férias. por um momento, teve pânico de que as suas tardes nas espreguiçadeiras tivessem fim com a chegada dele. ou então, que ele fosse outro orientado do autor e roubasse seu tempo de trabalho.

Isabel lhe chamou no quarto meia hora depois da chegada do desconhecido. quando você abriu a porta, pôde sentir o cheirinho de café coado aromatizando toda a casa. te convidou para tomar o café da tarde e você, que nunca recusava, assentiu timidamente.

o homem estava sentado em uma das cadeiras da mesa da cozinha, os cabelos molhados. tinha trocado a camiseta, optando por uma que não estivesse molhada. tinha uma toalha nas pernas, que secavam o restante do corpo. ria deliciosamente com Alfredo, bebericando a xícara de café.

a porta dupla da cozinha estava aberta, trazendo o cheirinho de chuva e terra molhada para dentro. os passarinhos cantavam fervorosamente enquanto o sol iluminava as gotas de chuva aqui e ali. o tom dourado lavava a cozinha e você jurou nunca ter visto um homem tão bonito.

"aí está ela!" Alfredo sorriu ao te ver entrar na cozinha. "Esteban, essa é a minha pupila. está escrevendo sua monografia sobre minhas obras e passando um tempo conosco."

"foi ela que me ensinou a fazer esses pastéis de nata!" Isabel colocou as mãos sobre os seus ombros, acariciando. sobre a mesa, o pratinho dele estava cheio dos docinhos portugueses.

"este é nosso filho, Estebán. estava em Londres e veio passar o restante das férias conosco."

"é um prazer." você se inclinou para a mesa para apertar a mão dele. "também é escritor?"

" não. meu pai bem que queria, mas não dei esse orgulho a ele." Estebán comentou com um sorrisinho de canto. "mas dou aula de literatura espanhola em Birmingham."

"em Birmingham? uau." você não evitou ficar surpresa, arrancando um sorrisinho orgulhoso do homem. "desde quando?"

"fazem alguns bons vinte anos."

"de repente, me sinto velho." Alfredo comentou, fazendo você e Estebán sorrir.

depois da chegada de Estebán, tudo havia ficado melhor. quando você se sentava para discutir o seu trabalho com Alfredo, ele sempre sentava junto com vocês dois. por ser formado em literatura espanhola, havia estudado a literatura do próprio pai e podia contribuir com a visão acadêmica que, sozinha, você jamais alcançaria.

quando você queria ir à cidade, Estebán sempre se oferecia para levá-la, te poupando do passeio de bicicleta no sol escaldante. tinha te apresentado a melhor sorveteria da cidade, além da melhor livraria onde vocês passavam horas lendo e tomando café. um dia, decidiu levar você e os pais dele para um jantar num restaurante aconchegante com uma deliciosa comida caseira. depois de deixar Alfredo e Isabel em casa, te convidou para ir até um bar na beira da estrada que ele sempre ia quando era adolescente e vivia em Menorca.

"e como foi crescer aqui?" você perguntou, bebericando a cerveja que havia pedido. pessoalmente, era uma menina que preferia aperol spritz, mas duvidada que o bar serviria aquilo.

"foi bom. tem muitos turistas, então eu conheci muitas pessoas enquanto morava aqui." ele brincou com o copo de uísque que bebia. "inclusive minha ex-mulher."

"você já foi casado?"

"por onze anos." ele sorriu, um pouco triste. "as coisas começaram a dar errado quando ela descobriu que eu era estéril e nós não poderíamos ter filhos biológicos. tentei convencê-la de adotar, mas... ela não se interessou."

"vocês se divorciaram recentemente?" não conseguiu evitar. estava tonta, um pouco letárgica. acariciou o braço dele para mostrar apoio.

"há um ano." ele encarou a sua mão delicada sobre a pele dele, cheia de anéis, com as unhas pintadas de preto. sorriu, grato pelo carinho. "mas eu não quero te encher com essas bobagens."

"claro... só estou um pouco chocada que você já se casou e divorciou. achei que você tinha uns trinta." você recolheu as suas mãos de volta ao seu copo de cerveja, mudando de assunto.

"tenho quarenta e dois." ele riu, dando um fim no copo de uísque. "mas, obrigado pelo elogio."

quarenta e dois. soava bonito na boca. a língua tocava o céu da boca e o "s" era puxado ao final. ele já tinha dito que trabalhava como professor há vinte anos, mas você não conseguia acreditar que ele tinha passado dos trinta. quando sorria, parecia ter, no máximo, vinte e oito. você tinha se atraído por ele com tanta facilidade que era assustador.

tinha começado com as caronas e a ajuda acadêmica. depois, foi a presença. começou a sentar-se na mesinha na área da piscina enquanto você tomava sol, lendo um clássico qualquer enquanto te pedia opiniões sobre os livros. discutiram por dias o temperamento de Heathcliff e a fragilidade de Cathy enquanto tomavam soda italiana preparada por Isabel. Estebán a levou para conhecer as partes desertas da praia que rodeava a casa e te ensinou a mergulhar para observar os corais. vocês assistiam filmes antigos até tarde na televisão da sala da casa. faziam compras juntos para a casa nas feirinhas de Menorca.

era impossível não se apaixonar. ele estava sempre tão bonito. usava camisetas de botões, shorts acima do joelho e óculos de sol sempre que iria sair. andava com os cabelos bagunçados e te convidava para fumar tarde da noite no jardim de trás da casa. sempre levava uma garrafa de orujo para as sessões de escrita e vocês tomavam uma dose sempre que acabavam um tópico.

foi em uma noite quente que, depois de beberem muitas doses de orujo, vocês decidiram sentar à beira da piscina. seu trabalho estava nas conclusões finais e você deixaria Menorca em breve. estava triste, embora satisfeita. em breve estaria formada e poderia fazer o que quiser com a sua vida. por outro lado, talvez nunca mais voltasse a ver Alfredo, Isabel ou Estebán.

"você pode sempre visitar Menorca. meu pai já te considera uma filha." Estebán dizia. estava tão bêbado quanto você, com as bochechas vermelhas e os cabelos bagunçados, mas não admitia com facilidade. "e, claro, tem de conhecer Birmingham. eu serei o seu guia."

"seus pais adorariam Portugal. você devia convencê-los a ir. e claro, ir junto." seus pés balançavam na água límpida.

"podemos nos organizar quanto a isso." ele a mirou, os olhinhos quase fechados brilhando na escuridão. quando sentiu a mão de Estebán na parte de baixo das costas, gelou. "mas, antes, vamos nos concentrar em ficar sóbrios."

ele a empurrou com tudo para dentro da piscina. você evitou gritar para que não acordasse Isabel e Alfredo, mas o fuzilou com o olhar ao voltar a superfície. ele já estava na piscina, ao seu lado, retirando todo o seu poder de puxá-lo para dentro.

"você parece uma criança para um homem da sua idade." você comentou, emburrada, arrancando uma gargalhada de Estebán.

"obrigado, é o meu charme."

nadaram por minutos à fio na escuridão do jardim, banhados pela luz prata do luar. brincaram, riram, espirraram água um no outro como crianças. conversaram assuntos sérios de novo. pintaram as palavras de melancolia ao confessarem que sentiriam saudades de Menorca quando fossem embora. se encararam por bons segundos, se aproximando demais um do outro.

Estéban te olhou como se fosse a primeira vez. como se esquecesse que você tinha vinte e três e ele quarenta e dois. como se descobrisse o quão bonita você era. admirou o seu vestido florido agarrar-se ao seu corpo e adornar todas as suas curvas, do busto bonito até a cintura submergida. quis pegar o seu rosto e beijá-la, onde ninguém podia ver, mas sentia-se extremamente errado em pensar em fazer aquilo. dava aula para centenas de meninas da sua idade na Universidade e sabia que, no fundo, eram apenas crianças brincando de ser adultas.

"devíamos ir dormir antes que você pegue um resfriado." foi tudo o que ele disse, acariciando o seu ombro antes de sair da piscina e oferecer ajuda para que você saísse também.

na sua última semana de estadia, o clima era de despedida. Alfredo te levou mais uma vez na cidade para lhe presentear com diversos livros da sua livraria favorita (que era a mesma de Estebán). Isabel tinha cozinhado todas as suas comidas favoritas e você tinha pintado as unhas dela de preto, como ela mesmo havia pedido. Estebán tinha comprado uma garrafa de vinho especial para o seu último jantar em Menorca.

depois da noite na piscina, ele havia se distanciado um pouquinho. você jurou ver um relance da atração dele por você naquele dia, mas tão rápido como havia aparecido, se foi. e nos outros dias, só se encontrava com você quando Isabel ou Alfredo estavam por perto.

é claro que ele tinha visto o brilho nos seus olhos. a correspondência, o desejo, a súbita alegria quando ele te olhou de outra maneira. ele percebia os olhares quando estavam juntos, a sua gentileza, seu interesse em ouvir as histórias que ele tinha para tocar. sentia o quão sensibilizada você ficava quando se encostavam sem intenções. via a confusão nos seus olhos para decidir se deveria se aproximar ou se afastar.

o muro que ele havia construído na última semana para separá-los pareceu ruir quando você adentrou a sala de jantar em shorts jeans mom e com uma camiseta de botões. estava tão linda. percebeu como havia ficado mais bronzeada nos últimos dias somente à luz do ambiente. tinha parado de ir à área da piscina para lhe fazer companhia.

os labradores da casa estavam deitados preguiçosamente no chão, mas se ergueram ao vê-la entrar. você acariciou ambos, Bernard e Beatrice, antes de se sentar à mesa. percebeu os olhos de Estebán fixos em você e sustentou o olhar até que ele fosse obrigado a desviar.

o jantar tinha sido agradável. comeram salmão, beberam o vinho caro que Estebán havia comprado e degustaram a maravilhosa torta de limão siciliano que Isabel havia feito. quando o sol se pôs e o vento soprou o cheiro de chuva, não demorou muito para que as gotas caíssem. o jantar terminou ao som de Édith Piaf na vitrola e você e Estebán admiraram enquanto Alfredo e Isabel dançavam juntos pela sala de jantar.

você resolveu dar início à arrumação, retirando os pratos e talheres em meio as reclamações de Isabel. "é o mínimo que eu posso fazer para agradecer a estadia", você argumentou. Estebán te ajudou a retirar a mesa e a limpar os pratos, cantarolando a melodia da música que tocava no cômodo do lado.

"eu queria agradecer pela sua visita. meus pais estão mais felizes do que nunca." ele disse, secando os pratos enquanto você lavava. "acho que a sua visita trouxe calor para essa casa novamente. obrigado."

"foi um prazer ficar aqui. eu amei as últimas semanas, não tenho como agradecer seu pai e sua mãe." você secou as mãos nos shorts, um pouco tímida. "e a você. você me ajudou e me recebeu nesses últimos dias. sou muito grata por isso, Estebán."

ele assentiu, sorrindo um pouco sem jeito com a sua confissão. estava com as bochechas avermelhadas como no dia em que nadaram juntos, bêbados de oruja.

"sobre aquela noite na piscina..." ele começou, mas você sinalizou para que ele parasse.

"não precisa falar sobre isso. eu entendi." ser rejeitada já era ruim o suficiente. não queria ter que ouvir ele se explicar.

"eu gosto de você. acho você inteligente, sagaz, linda, atraente... e mais um milhão de qualidades que eu poderia dizer por horas. mas, você é nova demais para mim." ele sorriu, um pouco triste. "quando você nasceu, eu já estava na faculdade, noivo. eu dou aula para meninas da sua idade todos os dias, eu não posso fazer isso com você."

"então foi por causa da minha idade?" Estebán assentiu. "isso é uma bobagem, idade é só um número, Estebán. nós conversamos todos os dias durante essas semanas, você viu como somos tão iguais. eu gostei de passar o tempo com você e você gostou de passar o tempo comigo. então, qual o problema? eu sou maior de idade."

"seria errado. seria como beijar uma irmã mais nova."

"você me vê como uma irmã mais nova?" você ergueu uma das sobrancelhas, impaciente.

"não... eu queria, mas não consigo."

"eu não vou implorar para você ficar comigo, Estebán." você terminou de guardar a louça. "não vou ser a sua justificativa caso você se arrependa."

silenciosamente, você deixou a cozinha e alegou cansaço para que pudesse se retirar. abraçou Isabel e Alfredo e se despediu dos labradores com beijinhos antes de subir as escadas e ir para o seu quarto.

ainda tinha uma mala inteira para arrumar. odiava ser tão procrastinadora, mas era inevitável. era como se a sua mente implorasse para que você ficasse em Menorca para sempre. que esquecesse a graduação e vivesse na ilha dia após dia, escrevendo e tomando sol.

a chuva não havia parado. pelo contrário, parecia aumentar a cada segundo. por isso, às três da manhã, quando você terminava de fechar a mala e guardá-la ao pé da penteadeira, foi difícil ouvir as batidas na porta. levou duas ou três investidas para que você escutasse e fosse atendê-la.

"pensei que estivesse dormindo." era Estebán. vestia uma camiseta velha e um shorts largo como pijama. "mas, lembrei que você dorme tarde, assim como eu."

"você quer alguma coisa?"

sem mais gentilezas, Estebán a puxou pela cintura e selou os seus lábios aos dele. tinham gosto de ojuro e cigarro, o que provavelmente tinha sido utilizado para que ele ganhasse coragem para ir até você. a língua era terna, cuidadosa, embora a força com que ele segurava sua cintura fosse absurda.

seus dedos se enterraram nos cabelos dele, coisa que você gostaria de ter feito há muito tempo. se beijaram apaixonadamente por bons segundos, matando toda a vontade que sentiram nos últimos dias. estavam a caminho da cama quando ele tropeçou e levou os dois ao chão.

uma risada fraca escapou dos seus lábios enquanto ele xingava baixinho. você subiu em cima dele, deixando um selar carinhoso na testa dele.

"você se machucou?" Estebán perguntou, preocupado.

"não, está tudo bem." você começou a desabotoar a camisa de botões. por baixo, não utilizava nada mais. deixou os seios desnudos, revelando os mamilos rijos à luz amarela do quarto. "você se machucou?"

Estebán apenas negou com a cabeça, admirando o seu corpo. depois de sua esposa, não havia ficado com mais ninguém. não sentia o interesse, nem o desejo. você lavou aquele pensamento da cabeça dele com tanta facilidade que ele se sentia quase culpado.

você puxou a camiseta dele para cima, revelando a pele bronzeadinha pelos últimos dias. com certa impaciência, ambos chutaram os shorts para fora do corpo, além das peças íntimas.

passaram alguns segundos se observando, respirando pesado devido a umidade em que o quarto se encontrava. Estebán era lindo. tinha as bochechas avermelhadas e os cabelos bagunçados. o seu pau era grande, com a glande rosada, pingando o pré-gozo.

não se demoraram em preliminares. Estebán a tocou na sua intimidade, deslizando os dedos para dentro de si enquanto você o masturbava lentamente. beijaram-se mais uma vez, as línguas deslizando em harmonia, saboreando a boca um do outro. quando os gemidos abafados começaram a escapar, você soube que os dois estavam altamente sensíveis e necessitados.

encaixou o membro dele com facilidade na sua entrada. não precisava de muito para que ele a deixasse molhada daquele jeito. quando deslizou o pau dele para dentro, um gemido baixinho verberou pelo quarto. Estebán agarrou a sua cintura, gemendo com você.

o quadril se movimentou, você rebolou no colo dele e sentiu a cabecinha atingir o seu ponto sensível dentro do seu canal apertado. as unhas se alojaram no peito desnudo de Kukuriczka, arranhando com uma necessidade assustadora.

“porra… você é divina, chiquita." o homem gemeu, baixinho. as mãos encontraram os seus seios, os apertando com força para que guiasse a velocidade dos seus movimentos. "você não sabe quantas noites sonhei com você em cima de mim desse jeito."

"e eu correspondo às suas expectativas?" suas mãos viajaram até os fios de cabelo claro, os puxando para trás. inclinou o seu corpo para frente, colando seus seios no peitoral clarinho.

"é muito melhor do que as minhas expectativas." o polegar acariciou as suas bochechas antes que ele segurasse o seu quadril, a deixando parada para que ele pudesse se movimentar dentro de você. os movimentos de vai e vem eram lentos e fortes, fazendo o seu corpo saltar a cada estocada. Estebán observava os seus olhos brilhando e a sua boca em formato de 'O', deliciado pela visão.

você sentiu os sentimentos da última semana fluírem pelo seu corpo violentamente. lembrou-se de todas às vezes que ele sorriu para você depois de uma piada, como segurou as suas mãos quando vocês mergulharam pela primeira vez e quando ele leu os seus trabalhos pessoais, elogiando cada um deles profusamente. sentiu-se completa ao ser possuída por ele, viciada nos olhos pequenos e escuros que a observavam com tanto interesse.

seus gemidos eram baixos, escondidos pelo constante gotejar da chuva. estavam abraçados àquela altura, escutando os corações palpitarem a todo vapor, enquanto Estebán se dedicava aos movimentos que, naquele momento, eram rápidos e descompassados.

"eu acho que estou apaixonado por você." ele confessou entre gemidos, segurando o seu rosto para que você o encarasse. a vontade de chorar quase a tomou por completo. doeria saber que voltaria à Portugal e teria que esquecê-lo.

"eu também estou apaixonada por você, Estebán. profundamente." o selar que veio em seguida foi calmo, destoando de todo o resto do ato. quando ele se agarrou aos seus cabelos e os movimentos tornaram-se mais errôneos, você soube que ele estava próximo. a visão dos olhos dele revirando foi o suficiente para trazer você ao ápice em harmonia ao dele.

se encararam por bons minutos enquanto a respiração se regularizava. você tremia, tomada por uma gama de emoções que jamais sentira antes.

"fique em Menorca." ele pediu, acariciando seus cabelos.

"eu não posso." você sorriu, tomada pela vontade de chorar, mais uma vez.

"eu sei. mas, não custava pedir, certo?" seus dedos se entrelaçaram e ele deixou um selar sobre as juntas dos seus dedos. "volte para Menorca."

"isso eu pretendo fazer. com você aqui, de preferência."

"não se preocupe. eu esperarei ansiosamente."

[...]

a apresentação da sua monografia tinha sido um sucesso. uma nota dez e um convite para publicação em uma revista científica eram mais que suficientes por todo o trabalho duro que havia feito.

tinha escrito para Alfredo e Isabel, enviando o seu convite de formatura, além da sua aprovação. tinha, também, enviado o convite para Estebán, embora não tivesse esperança de que nenhum deles comparecesse.

você e Estebán tinham trocado poucas cartas desde a sua volta à Portugal. contavam sobre as suas vidas monótonas e divagavam sobre a saudade que sentiam um do outro, mas nada trazia de volta a sensação que tinha vivido em Menorca. sentia falta do cheiro dele, dos olhos pequenos e do sorriso bonito. queria beijá-lo de novo e beber com ele até o sol nascer. queria fazer amor como haviam feito no último dia, por incansáveis horas, no chão, na cama, no chuveiro.

a cerimônia de formatura havia sido cansativa, embora emotiva. ganhou o seu diploma, abraçou seus pais e o irmão mais novo e se despediu das amigas que iriam embora para sempre. estava usando um dos vestidos que comprara na Espanha e sentia saudades dos Kukuriczka mais do que devia.

quando a multidão se dispersou do local da colação e você tirou um tempo para tirar foto com os familiares, foi quando o viu. de terno preto e gravata azul escura. estava de braços dados com a mãe e o pai ao lado. uma gotinha salgada de lágrima escorreu pela sua bochecha.

"ai está, nossa escritora." Alfredo sorriu, a puxando para um abraço. "não achou que eu fosse perder a formação de uma nova escritora, achou?"

"ah, que maravilha! foi tudo tão lindo. nós amamos ler o seu trabalho." Isabel a encheu de beijos no rosto.

Estebán a puxou para um abraço apertado e as lágrimas vieram sem pudor. o cheirinho dele continuava o mesmo. você queria mergulhar naquele homem e nunca sair de dentro dele.

"vou te levar de volta para Menorca." ele colou a testa dele a sua, deixando um selar logo em seguida. "ao contrário de você, eu vou implorar. e caso se sinta arrependida, pode me usar como justificativa."

I wish i was that girl :'(

Can you do Vance x really clumsy reader? Like constantly tripping on air in the grabbers basement, covered in bruises and scratches because she forgot to take off her necklace and managing trousers get hurt taking off a jumper level clumsy

CLUMSY CREATURE!

Pairing:Romantic

♣️♠️ Honestly he wonders how the fuck you survived your entire life without him!, You are literally a danger to yourself!.

♠️♣️ He's already naturally protective, but now you're very clumsy and he's even more protective!

♣️♠️ He keeps a lot of attention if he notices that you are about to trip, he will grab you and hold you by the waist preventing you from falling, he will often call you an idiot and tell you be careful while walking.

♣️♠️ "shit!, pay more attention while you walk!, idiot!","how can you be so clumsy?!, fuck!, if I don't take care of you, you'll end up killing yourself by accident!".

♠️♣️ Sometimes he laughs when you accidentally get into an accident, but only when the accident is minor and you don't get hurt.

♣️♠️ He often considers carrying you around, just so you don't trip and end up hurting yourself.

♠️♣️ He regularly checks to make sure you haven't forgotten to take off your necklace and managing trousers, or helps you take off your sweater again to make sure you don't end up hurting yourself.

♠️♣️ He thinks you're an idiot, but he loves you, so he'll take care of you and make sure you don't get hurt too much.

✓ WHAT IF NICHOLAS CHAVEZ WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND?

— Sempre vai fazer questão de andar de mãos dadas com você, sempre. É como se para ele fosse uma certeza de que você estava perto e estava bem

— Ama dar selinhos em você. Uma vez deitados na cama, ele ama abraçar o seu corpo, acariciar o seu rosto e te encher de selinhos e beijinhos por todo o rosto, às vezes fazendo cócegas com a barba por fazer

— Adora te abraçar por trás e ver como o corpo dele cobre o seu pela diferença de tamanho, dependendo da situação, quando ele te abraça por trás você já pode imaginar o que ele quer

— Não tem masculinidade frágil. Vai te deixar maquiar ele quando estiver entediada, adora as noites de skincare e quando você separa um tempo para fazer hidratação no cabelo dele, se sente até mais leve

— Vai sempre preferir te tocar do que ser tocado. Não que ele não goste, ele apenas sente mais tesão com isso, de ver suas expressões, seu corpo se arqueando e se arrepiando, tudo, tudo o excita

— Tempo de qualidade e toque físico vão ser as coisas pelas quais ele mais preza, sempre vai querer estar te tocando de alguma forma, mesmo que seja andar com os mindinhos dados pela rua. E odeia ficar muito tempo longe de você, não que ele seja carente, mas ele simplesmente só se sente genuinamente feliz quando você está por perto

— Vai amar tomar banho junto com você, seja depois de transar ou não e seja para fazer sexo debaixo do chuveiro — ou na banheira — ou não. Simplesmente gosta de cuidar de você, ajudar a lavar seu cabelo e vice versa

— Gosta de deixar marcas pelo seu corpo. Chupões, mordidas, qualquer coisa, mas nunca em um lugar muito visível, sabe que você não gosta

— É ciumento, muito. Não em um nível hard, mas não nega que fica irritado e emburrado o rolê inteiro se ver alguém claramente tentando algo com você

— Vai amar ter você como parceira na academia, mesmo que não seja diariamente e sim raramente. Vai amar te ajudar, vai te deixar mais relaxada quando sentir vergonha de fazer algo e claro, vai ficar com a cara fechada assim que notar que alguns caras estão olhando para você com segundas intenções

— Vai sempre evitar brigas, sempre vai procurar conversar e manter tudo na maior paz e calma possível. Claro que, uma vez ou outra, vocês vão discutir feio, mas ele sempre vem pedir desculpas — até quando está certo

— É doido para engravidar você, não sabe exatamente o porquê, mas adora a idéia de gozar dentro — algo que você nunca deixa — e meses depois te ver com a barriguinha maior guardando um bebê que seria uma mistura sua e dele

— Seria o mais romântico possível, fazendo até cartinhas quando você disse que achava isso fofo

— Ia amar te fazer rir, sempre fazendo palhaçada para tirar um sorriso seu

— O que mais iria te atrair nele é o senso de humor e os olhos

— Irá amar tirar fotos suas, guardar elas em uma pasta especial no celular, na carteira, em porta retratos, ama registrar os momentos entre vocês

— Durante o sexo, sempre vai gostar de olhar nos seus olhos, ter a certeza de que você está gostando e vai amar ver as suas expressões enquanto mete fundo em você, te sentindo apertar o pau dele mais e mais

—Ama ser a conchinha menor e não tem vergonha de falar isso, mas nunca se nega a ser a maior

Cooper gets Erik's facial expressions so accurately it's kind of wild

the grid: wedding shenanigans

Day 14 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Riccardo, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

Oscar Piastri: driving off into the sunset (literally) 

The entire day was so special, it was a small service with just family and friends where you’d flown everyone out to their beach house. It was beautiful, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and you were getting married. You looked stunning in your dress, and everyone cried as you came down the aisle, but no one more than Oscar. He looked at you with all the love and affection in the world and as you finally reached the top of the aisle, pressed a small kiss to your cheek whispering an ‘i love you’ much to the dismay of your officiant. 

The day went on with lunch, some pictures, and finally the dancing, and as the sun set, you grabbed your suitcases and grabbed the keys to his pickup, driving off into the sunset for your honeymoon in the Outback, southern Australia, and then onto New Zealand. 

He glanced over at you as he drove, the setting sun giving you a special glow as you looked at the ring on your finger. He slowly pulled over to the side of the road, wanting to gaze up at the stars that were just beginning to show. You two sat in the back of the pickup with a blanket over the top of you. You cuddled into his side and smiled. 

“How does it feel, Mrs. Piastri?” he whispered, staring up at the stars. 

You beamed. “It feels fucking amazing to be your wife,” you pressed a kiss to the arm he had wrapped around your shoulders. “How does it feel for you?”

He groaned, a bright smile on his face. “Like everything I’ve ever wanted has come true,” he almost cringed at himself, knowing how corny he sounds. 

But you just nodded and smiled, perfectly contempt. 

You two really were made for each other. Oscar stared up at the sky as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, before he started driving again after lying you down in the passenger seat, he thanked his lucky stars for giving him you. 

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Lando Norris: sneaking off in the middle of the party

You felt the adrenaline rush through you as he led you down yet another long corridor. He was giggling the whole way, as were you, his hand held tightly around yours. The day had been wonderful, you’d gotten married in Sibton Park Estate, a beautiful country house with all the charm of a castle. You felt like a princess as you walked down the aisle, smiling brightly at Lando, who shed a tear or two, but mostly smiled and laughed out of nervousness. He had to stop his vows twice because he started laughing, and once because he started crying. Your vows made him bawl, having to give him a few minutes break before continuing. But god, had it been a tiring day. All day you were on your feet, away from your husband talking to guest after guest, seeing him on the dance floor for your first dance, then immediately being pulled away. It was jarring, even Max commented on it, saying. “You two are usually so all over each other, today I’ve barely seen you two interact outside of genuinely saying your vows!”

Safe to say you missed each other. 

Somehow, he pushed a door open that brought you to a drawing room that overlooked the entire outdoor party and you smiled as you watched your friends and family let loose. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a soft kiss to your neck. 

“I can’t believe you’re my wife,” he grinned like a schoolboy. “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”

You chuckled. “I love you so much,” you sighed. “Today was perfect.”

He nodded. “So perfect. Best day of my life.”

“Not your first win?” 

He pulled his ‘sassy face’, as you called it. “Fuck no. This is the best day of my life, hands down.”

You looked at him sceptically. “I wouldn’t be offended-” “My word, I got to marry the most caring, lovely, kind, smart, incredible, stunning, gorgeous, loyal, gentle, hilarious, most wonderful woman in the world and call her my wife. She’s wearing my ring on her finger, she’s kissing my lips, and she’s sleeping in my bed. You are the most important thing in my life, and I will die on that hill, alright?”

You chuckled. “Alright,” you turned around and kissed him, softer than you did when you’d been pronounced as married. 

“I fucking adore you,” he whispered. 

Perfect moment on a perfect day. 

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Lewis Hamilton: anxiety before the ceremony 

You paced back and forth in your dressing room, internally freaking out. You knew you loved Lewis, more than anything you loved Lewis. Though today was just proving… terrifying. Everyone’s eyes on you, everyone talking to you, everyone trying to be around you. Hellish experience, and it was only 1pm. 

There was a knock at the door. “Baby?” It was Lewis’s voice, and everything felt ok again for a split second, then he started to try and open the door. You flung yourself against it with a thud and he chuckled. “Are we really believing in the superstitions?”

“Yes!” you stressed. “Why are you here?” “Because someone told me my soon-to-be wife is freaking out a little bit.”

You could hear the smile on his lips. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m freaking out too,” he whispered. "It's ok."

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank fuck,” you chuckled feeling the tension in your shoulders lessen. He poked his hand through the cracked door which you took and squeezed.

“Look baby, we’ve got this. Today is scary and nerve wracking, but it’s alright. I’ll be beside you all day, ok?”

You nodded. “Ok.” 

Maybe you could do this. Lewis would be there, standing at the end of that aisle with his regular goofy smile and big heart. Lewis would be standing beside you all day. Lewis loved you. 

“Ok,” you breathed out again. 

“I’ll see you on the altar then?” he smiled. 

“I’ll be the one wearing white,” you smiled. 

All that anxiety was replaced by excitement. 

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George Russell: quiet morning after the wedding 

You laid in bed beside him, utterly spent from the day. It started at 9am and went until about 3am, then those 2 extra hours of ‘newly-wedded activities’  made you sleep in until about 12pm. You woke up with George’s arms around you, the sunlight coming in from the gorgeous day outside. The sun was shining in Greece, and you were extremely excited to have George to yourself for 3 whole weeks of good food, good wine, good sex, and him being your husband. 

“Morning,” he groaned, burying his head further into his pillow. “I think Benjy got alcohol poisoning last night.”

“Morning sunshine,” you teased. “Also, I don’t think your brother drank that much last night, but I’ll shoot him a text anyway.”

“We should probably get up,” he huffed, you chuckled. 

“We could,” you nodded, climbing on top of him and pulling his head away from the pillow. “Or, we could just stay here all day and only resurface for water and food?”

He smirked. “Insatiable much?”

“Sorry, I just have a really sexy husband,” you smirked, flashing your ring. He groaned and pulled you in for yet another kiss.

You didn’t leave the bed for a good while. 

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Alex Albon: nothing goes right

You had planned the most beautiful wedding, you’d spent months refining everything, making sure it would be perfect, mostly because you knew it had to be, or else you’d be judged. Your parents would judge you, your family would judge you, the world would judge you. 

But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t control the weather. You had planned the perfect beach wedding, flew everyone out, spent the last 3 days making sure everyone was comfortable, and when you woke up, you woke up to pissing rain and your caterers cancelling. Being the over-thinker you are, you already had another catering place on speed dial, and you sorted out any other problem that came your way. You moved the weeking to an indoor venue, you dealt with all of your guests' complaints, you listened to the moanings and bitchings of your judgemental mother, all while getting ready for your special day. 

It pissed rain as Alex stood at the end of the aisle, soaking wet in the humid Thai rain, but smiling all the same. That’s when you realised that was all that mattered. You and Alex. 

"You look beautiful," he whispered when you finally reached the end of the aisle.

You smiled. "Beautiful drenched?"

"Beautiful always."

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Daniel Riccardo: his vows  You stood at the top of the altar, the months and months of planning came down to this moment. Daniel, his bright smile, standing there in front of you. Shit, he was beautiful. 

You’d already said your vows, he smiled his way through them while you cried, and now it was his turn. 

He looked down at the little book in his hands and took a long shaky breath. “I love you,” he smiled. “More than anything in this entire world, I love you. I love how deeply and truly you care about things, I love your humour, I love your smile, I love your ability to somehow rail me in,” the crowd laughed at that as you wiped tears from your eyes. “I love the way you always wave at kids passing by, I love the way you support and encourage the people around you, I love the way your nose crinkles when you laugh,” he looked up to see you laughing, and somehow, his grin got wider. “Like you’re doing now. I love coming home to you, I love waking up with you beside me, I love my life, because you’re in it. You’ve stayed with me through some of my darkest times, and loved me the same as you do through my brightest. From our first date to our dying day, I’ve loved you, and I’ll continue to love you. I never thought I’d believe in Divine intervention, but something tells me that you were meant to find me in this lifetime, and all the ones before it, and after. You make me better, you challenge me in the best ways, you make me laugh and cry, you make me calm and comfortable. You make me fucking happy. I never knew I’d find someone as incredible and wonderful as you, but trust me when I say I’ll never let you go. You’re my person, baby, and you’re all I need.” 

Did he have to be so perfect? 

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Charles LeClerc: the engagement  Charles sat in the restaurant, his mind far away from you in front of him. He had to somehow make you want to go down to the beach, somehow make you -

“Charles I know you’re breaking up with me tonight so just get it over with, alright?” You sighed. It had been months of him being distant and awkward. Months of him being absent even when he was right in front of you, months of him being secretive and guarded. You were done.

It sucked because you loved him, but he didn’t love you anymore, at least, that’s what you thought. 

He looked at you horrified. He snapped out of his shock and stared at you. “What?”

“Please just get it over with Charles, I get it you don’t-“

“No! No! You don’t get ‘it’, please just hear me out?” He was clearly causing a scene, but he didn’t seem to care. If it was between not losing you and not making a scene, he was choosing to make a scene every single time. 

“Charles!” You scolded. “Keep your voice down!” 

He nodded. “Just… wait until after dinner, alright? Please?” 

You scoffed. “You seriously care that little about my time? Charles, stop stringing me along! It’s been a year and a half of wasted time now.”

“Wasted?” He questioned. 

“You don’t love me anymore, it’s fine! I get it. Just… let me leave with a piece of my dignity still intact, alright?”

“Please my love, just wait until after dinner,” he asked, checking his watch. 

“Fuck you Charles,” you sighed, getting up to leave.

It was now or never. 

“Marry me!” He exclaimed as the restaurant went quiet. You turned back to face him with a shocked expression. He was down on one knee with the most beautiful ring in a little red box in his hands. 

“Charles…?”

“Please let me speak. I know I have been distant lately, but I just knew I would end up spoiling the surprise. You know how bad I am at lying, especially to you. I’m sorry, my love, please don’t walk out on us like this. I love you. More than anything, I love you. I want to be with you forever.”

You nodded silently, tears flowing as you stood there, shocked. You thought this was a break-up dinner, but really, it was the start of the rest of your lives. 

Did you just do a reverse Elle Woods? 

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Max Verstappen: family drama at the wedding 

Of course, knowing Jos, you knew there would be drama at the wedding. It was inevitable. Your father hated Jos and your family hated him too. They couldn’t understand why Max’s father could be such a monster to such a sweet man. To be honest, you didn’t understand either. Max was the most caring and gentle man you’d ever known, and you honestly didn’t understand how he’d become the man he was with the absolute asshole of a father he had. 

“I’m sorry,” Max whispered in your ear as you both changed for the ceremony. Jos had started a fight with your dad about walking you down the aisle that  had set the whole ceremony back by about 40 minutes. Max was so embarrassed. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You just smiled, ever the understanding saint, in his eyes. “Max, do you think I give a shit about how we get married?”

He nodded. 

“I don’t. It could’ve been in a factory, a pig stye, a fucking metal concert, I don’t care. Tonight, when we go to bed and wake up tomorrow, we will wake up as husband and wife. That’s what I care about. I care that I’m your wife, and you’re my husband. I care about you.” He teared up. “You’re sure?”

“About you?” You asked and he nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Max would always have you, you'd always have him. That was the important thing.

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