Because It's Max Verstappen's Birthday, Here Is A Little Appreciation Post For Him Memes And All Other

Because it's Max Verstappen's Birthday, here is a little appreciation post for him memes and all other I found on Pinterest

the lion and the golden retriever

a/n: same AU as this snippet

lance stroll x driver!reader

Lance stroll x driver!reader

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Wild child of the paddock

If you had a dollar for every time an article mentioned you as that, you wouldn’t need to race in F1 anymore. It really didn’t bother you, though; you knew that being a woman in F1 alone would bring tons of scrutiny, so you might as well have fun with it.

Skimpy outfits out, excessive partying, attitude in interviews, you name it. You were young and you were enjoying life. It’s not like it affected your racing, either. You were halfway into your first season for RB and fifth in the WDC standings. Essentially, you were the female version of Lando Norris, who had quickly became your closest friend on the grid. Plenty of people online thought you were dating, and he certainly wished you would give him a chance, but you didn’t see him that way. You didn’t want to date someone just like you.

“If I let you have a turn will you go out with me?” Lando yelled at you over the sound of the club. You were both in the DJ booth, his arm slung around you as he manned the table.

“I’m out with you right now,” you yelled back, grinning as he rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. You threw your head back, moving to the beat of the music, letting the number of drinks you had control your body. “We do need to leave soon, padel, tomorrow morning, remember?”

You pouted, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “do we really have to go?”

“We promised Lance and Max remember,” he reminded you and you nodded carelessly, looking around.

“You mean Lance, who is right there?” You asked, pointing to your fellow driver talking to Esteban at the bar. Lando grabbed your hand and dragged you along to reach them.

“What’s up?” Lando asked, slapping his hand against the two guys. You pulled Esteban into a tight hug and did the same for Lance, who stiffened. If you thought about it, he was kind of your complete opposite, which meant that the two of you really hadn’t interacted much. You eyed him up and down once you pulled back, and it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

“Since when were you hot?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up and Esteban laughed loudly while Lance's cheeks flushed deep red, and he cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"Jesus, Y/N," Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe time to cut you off."

"I'm perfectly fine," you insisted, still eyeing Lance with newfound interest. The usually reserved Canadian was wearing a fitted black button-down that accentuated his shoulders in a way his racing suit never did. "Seriously, have you been hiding under those Aston Martin caps this whole time?"

Esteban was practically doubled over with laughter now. "This is gold," he wheezed. "Lance, man, say something."

Lance finally met your gaze, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," he offered, voice barely audible over the pounding music. You grinned widely.

You leaned in closer, the alcohol making you bold. "Are you any good at padel, Stroll?"

"I'm decent," he replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Okay then you’re on my team,” you declared and he let out a chuckle.

Lando pouted, pulling you into his body, “You promised we’d be on the same team.”

“You’ll survive babe,” you told him. “Plus we are both going to be so hungover in the morning it will even out the teams.”

You were correct in predicting what the following day would be like: you and Lando were miserable. A big pair of sunglasses covered your eyes, but you still managed to look hot in a short black tennis dress. Lando had thrown up outside of the courts which did not go unnoticed by Max, who had his arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you guys serious?” He asked sternly. Lance said nothing, looking over at the two of you, his eyes mainly lingering on you.

“We’re fine Maxey,” you chirped, causing both you and Lando to wince. “Ready as ever.”

"You two look like death," Max scoffed, tossing Lance a padel racket. "I'm with Lando. Lance, you can babysit the disaster over there."

Lance caught the racket with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced your way. "Fine by me."

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent padel player, even hungover."

"We'll see about that," Lance murmured, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with last night's tequila. You followed him to your side of the court, admiring the way his athletic shorts hugged his thighs. How had you never noticed Lance before?

The four of you made your way onto the court, the morning sun beating down mercilessly. As your head pounded rhythmically, you adjusted your sunglasses, grateful for the protection.

"First to seven?" Max suggested, already bouncing a ball up and down in front of him.

“Fine by me,” Lance called out and you got into a stance that made Lance snort.

To no one’s surprise, it turned into a match between Lance and Max; you and Lando were useless. Halfway through, Lando wandered off to the side to sit down and you followed, laying down with your head into his lap. The other two kept playing, honestly glad that you guys gave up.

“Lance is kind of hot, right?” You asked Lando and he smirked down at you, his hands still massaging your head.

“Why? Going to corrupt him?” He teased and you gave him the finger.

“There’s just something so hot about him to me,” you admitted. “I need him.”

“You’re insane,” Lando said.

“You love me,” you said back and he smiled.

“Unfortunately.”

Half an hour later they finished up and trotted over to where you had drifted off.

“We’re done and going to lunch, which you two are paying for,” Max said, pulling you up.

“Unfair Maxey,” you muttered, and he shot you a look that shut you up.

“There’s a good place a couple of blocks away,” Lance offered and you pouted towards him.

“I don’t want to walk, I’m tired,” you complained.

“Not that far,” he said amused.

“Fine, you can carry me then,” you suggested and he chuckled looking away. He didn’t see you mauever behind him and startled when he felt your hands on the back of his shoulders. He started to stay something but you were off the ground, jumping on this back and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Instead of pushing you off, his hands found the bottom of your thighs and your skin tingled.

"Onward!" you commanded, resting your chin on Lance's shoulder. He shook his head but adjusted his grip on your thighs, securing you against his back.

"You're something else," he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice as he started walking.

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're enabling her, Stroll."

"I'm just being a gentleman," Lance replied, and you could feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat from the game.

Lando jogged to catch up, giving you a knowing look. "Comfortable up there?"

"Very," you purred, making Lance's ears turn pink. You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Your shoulders are even more impressive up close."

“Thanks. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied, and you giggled at his obliviousness to your flirting. You slid off his back once you guys reached the cafe, already sad at the lack of contact.

Per usual, you carried most of the conversation, with Max and Lando. Lance shifted back into his reserved versions of himself, watching quietly and occasionally chiming in.

"Earth to Lance," you said, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at you while you told a story about your last race.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water.

"You're so quiet," you observed, leaning forward on your elbows. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lance shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking."

"About?" you pressed, ignoring Lando's knowing smirk beside you.

"Nothing important," Lance replied, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Max cleared his throat. "So, Lance, how's the car feeling after the upgrades?"

You pouted as the conversation shifted to technical talk. Boring. Lando shot you a smirk and you kicked him under the table, causing him to yell out.

On your first day in Zandvoort, you made an unusual move to your routine. You stopped by the Aston Martin garage on the way to your own. Lance and Fernando were deep in conversation when you approached, both looking at you in confusion as you got closer.

“There’s my favorite mistress,” you greeted, smiling at Lance. Both men furrowed their eyebrows, which was adorable, and Fernando cleared his throat.

“Lance?” He asked, motioning to his teammate.

“Yes, Nando, haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Lando with Lance,” you told him, and he smirked.

“Ah yes, I saw the pictures,” Fernando said while Lance still looked confused.

“What pictures?” He asked. You pulled out your phone to show him. Someone had seen you on Lance’s back after the tortuous padel session, and it definitely looked romantic. You were looking at each other, smiling, his grip on your legs very visible.

“Hmm,” Lance said. “You aren’t really dating Lando right?”

Fernando barked out a laugh and your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Kind of assumed.”

“Oh my god, no,” you rushed out, flustered. “We’re just friends.”

"Oh," Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

Fernando glanced between the two of you with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I need to check something with the engineers," he said, backing away with a knowing smile.

Once Fernando was gone, you leaned against the Aston Martin garage wall, studying Lance more carefully. "So... you really thought Lando and I were a thing this whole time?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you were beginning to find endearing. "You're always together. He's always got his arm around you. I just assumed."

"He's like my brother," you clarified, watching Lance's reaction closely. "An annoying, clingy brother who happens to be my best friend."

“Hmm,” he said awkwardly. “Well I have to get ready so…see you later I guess.”

He left you in silence as you were trying to process what had just happened. Was he really playing hard to get? That’s fine! You were good at that game.

The next two days you showed up at the Aston Martin area multiple times. One time claiming they just had better coffee, another time insisting that you left your hat there, even before qualifying, mentioning that you wanted to ask Fernando something about the track.

As you headed back to your garage, Lance watched you with his face scrunched up, thinking.

“She’s been coming here a lot this week,” he commented to Fernando who snorted.

“Yeah, no shit,” the older man replied.

“It’s weird,” Lance said and Fernando looked at him with shock on his face.

“You’re kidding me right?” He asked and Lance looked at him in confusion. “She’s into you mate.”

Lance scoffed, “No she’s not.”

Fernando rolled his eyes dramatically. "For someone so good at racing, you're terrible at reading signals."

"What signals?" Lance asked, genuinely confused.

"The girl comes to our garage five times in two days, stares at you like you're the last bottle of water in the desert, and is always gravitating so that she is as close to you as possible," Fernando counted off on his fingers. "She's interested, my friend."

Lance's face flushed. "She's like that with everyone. You've seen her with Lando, with Max..."

"Not the same," Fernando said firmly. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know when someone is interested."

Lance leaned against the workbench, processing this information. "Even if that were true—which I'm not saying it is—she's not really my type."

"Your type?" Fernando laughed. "And what exactly is your type? Quiet and shy? So then you can go on dates that are full of silence. Someone like her might be good for you.”

Lance didn’t say anything further, just pondered what his teammate had said. Honestly, he had never really thought about you that way, partially because he was so sure you didn’t look at him like that. But it made a little sense; you did seem to chill out a little bit when he was around and he found himself talking more around you. Maybe it could be a good thing.

You and Lance started to see more of each other. Never alone, he wasn’t going to make a move until he was sure about it and you were being a pussy.

“I wish he’d just ask me out,” you muttered, irritated as you pulled your clothes out of your suitcase. Lando lounged on your hotel bed, scrolling through his phone while he listened to you complain.

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” He asked and you scoffed.

“He’s the guy!” You exclaimed.

“Okay, Ms. 1950s,” he teased and you threw a sock at him. “How much longer do you have? Don’t you have a stewards meeting?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethed at him and he just smirked. You had gotten into a minor altercation during qualifying today with George that unfortunately, featured a lot of expletives. George being the suck-up that he was, complained about it to the FIA so now you had to meet with the stewards to discuss a potential punishment.

Why were you so sure a punishment was coming? Well, you didn’t really hold back from the press afterward.

“What happened between you and George after that last lap?”

"What happened is that George Russell needs to learn how to use his fucking mirrors before cutting across the racing line," you'd snapped, not caring about the cameras. "If he wants to act like he owns the track, maybe he should try qualifying higher than P7."

Now you were definitely going to pay for that comment. You grabbed your team jacket and phone, checking the time.

"I gotta go face the music," you sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Don't call anyone else a dickhead this time," Lando called as you left the room.

The stewards' meeting was exactly as tedious as you expected. After thirty minutes of stern faces and thinly veiled disappointment, you were slapped with a five-place grid penalty for the race tomorrow.

Austin was one of your home races, so starting P15 was not ideal, and things just never seemed to get better. You were frustrated being stuck in the middle of the pack and not being able to easily overtake because of the traffic, and you ended up in a mere P11, which was not good enough for you.

You were dejected to say the least and your team had never really seen you like this before. The usual spark you had in interviews wasn’t there, the media taking notice along with some of your fellow drivers.

“Come out with us tonight, it’ll make you feel better,” Lando pleaded as you walked towards the car he had driven to the track.

“I don’t think so Lan,” you sighed. “I just want to be alone.”

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed; he had never seen you this sad and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, what would he do even to have you make fun of him, the silence was killer.

"Fine, I'll leave you alone," Lando conceded, looking genuinely concerned. "But text me if you change your mind."

You nodded absently, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media—a mistake. The comments were brutal. Wild child finally getting put in her place. Maybe she should focus on racing instead of partying. Too busy flirting to drive properly.

Lando went his separate way when you made it back to the hotel and you took a long hot shower before ordering something off of Doordash. Dressed down in baggy sweats and a tank top, you headed down to the lobby to pick up your food. The delivery guy was already there holding two bags; someone else clearly had the same idea as you.

"Thanks," Lance said, taking one of the bags from the delivery person just as you approached.

Your eyes met, and for once, you didn't have a witty or flirty remark ready. You simply nodded at him and reached for your own order.

"Bad day, huh?" Lance said softly, lingering even after collecting his food.

"The worst," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you... want some company?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his offer. The usual you would have made some flirtatious comment, but tonight you just felt raw. "I'm not exactly great company right now."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice not to be alone."

You studied him for a moment, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not changing the channel of the movie I’m watching.”

“That makes me a little scared,” he chuckled, following you into the elevators.

“You should be,” you teased lightly, already starting to feel a little better. “What’d you get?”

“Just a salad from some place down the block,” he said and you tsked.

“So lame,” you said. “I got Taco Bell.”

“That’s going to kill you one day,” he chastised and you laughed.

“I think the cars we drive will first,” you joked and the smile he gave you had your insides turning to jelly. A comfortable silence took over and you were aware of how quickly he had managed to turn your mood around.

Once you were back in your room you picked up the thrown pillows so that Lance could lean against some on the bed. You both settled in with your food while you turned the movie back on.

After five minutes, Lance’s face was scrunched up. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s called My Fault London,” you informed him. “Absolute cinema.”

“But they just made out and they’re stepsiblings?” He questioned and you giggled.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything for another minute until the scene of the main girl street racing in the parking garage came on.

He snorted, “this is so unrealistic.”

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “Don’t think you could beat me in a street race like that?”

“Look how tight those pillars are, there is no way anyone could race in there,” he complained. “But if they could, I would beat you.”

“How many times have you beaten me this season again?” You asked, pretending to ponder. He rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of one of your burritos.

“Your car is better,” he muttered and you laughed.

"For now," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "Next year's a whole new game."

As the ridiculous movie continued, Lance smiled, settling more comfortably against the pillows. You found yourself watching him more than the screen, his jaw clenched when he tried not to laugh at the absurd racing scenes, how he unconsciously licked his lips after taking a bite of your food.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Am not," you lied, quickly looking back at the screen.

"You know," Lance started, setting his food aside, "Fernando thinks you've been flirting with me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "And what do you think?"

Lance finally turned to face you, his dark eyes studying yours. "I think Fernando's usually right about these things."

"Smart man," you murmured, flickering your eyes down to his lips. His eyes darkened and he leaned closer, reaching out his hand to cup your jaw, caressing his thumb against your cheek.

“I like this side of you,” he said softly, and you tilted your head.

“Do you not like the other side, then? " you asked, suddenly insecure. You knew that you could be a lot, and for some reason, you so badly wanted him to be okay with that.

He smiled, “I like all of you y/n; I’m just glad you let me see this.”

Your heart melted and he finally brought his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the way your heart hammered against your ribs. You leaned into him, your hand finding his shoulder as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you were both slightly breathless.

The movie continued playing in the background, completely forgotten as you shifted closer to him. "So, does this mean you've been thinking about me too?"

Lance laughed softly. "Hard not to. You've been practically haunting the Aston Martin garage."

"I was being subtle!" you protested, making him laugh harder.

"About as subtle as Max's complaints on team radio," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I get nervous before races,” you admitted. “I’m sure that would surprise a lot of people since I mask it with being overly energetic. But being around you that first day calmed me down, so I kept coming back.”

“Hmm so you only came back because I’m a calming presence,” he prodded.

You huffed, “And you’re nice to look at.”

Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I can accept that."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lighter than you had all day. "So what now?"

"Now?" Lance shifted, wrapping an arm around you. "Now we finish this ridiculous movie, and maybe tomorrow I take you on a proper date."

"A proper date," you repeated, smiling against his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the screen. Fifteen texts from Lando, all variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "CALL ME."

Beside you, Lance was still asleep, his face peaceful in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone down, snuggling back up to him, and drifting back to sleep.

236 notes View Post

blackswanmary

5 months ago

the grid: No Nut November!

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Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Arthur LeClerc.

thank you to the person that requested this!!!

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Oscar Piastri: wouldn’t do it.

Even if every driver on the grid was offering 1,000€ each as a prize, he was not giving up fucking you for an entire month.

Even though he looks like a sweetie pie he would absolutely be a freak in the sheets and he was not about to give up the only way he actually gets his frustration out (aka fucking you).

Everyone kind of boos him for it but then half way through the month he gets to be smug while they’re all miserable and complaining, because he can fuck his girlfriend whenever he wants.

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Lando Norris: would try, but definitely fail.

He wouldn’t care about the prize, he’d just have such a ‘how hard can it be?’ attitude.

Newsflash: extremely.

You would not make it easy for him either; wearing the sluttiest clothes, basically giving him fuck me eyes all the time, enjoying it when you see him get hot and bothered.

He snaps on his birthday, and fucks you for hours straight. You can barely walk the next day.

He decides to own up and pay his part of the bet with no shame, he has a hot girlfriend and he likes fucking her, sue him!

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Lewis Hamilton: wouldn’t even try

He’s uninterested in the things most of the grid do in their spare time, and he knows they’re uninterested in him too. They don't need to know about his sex life, but what people can guess is that it is very much alive.

I mean… you two had a baby literally 8 months after your wedding, to the day.

The other 3 kids don't exactly help his case…

He’d say yes, just so he could be added to the group chat and he would tell you who is winning and losing.

He’d lose on the first day with no shame. Everyone knows he's just here for the public shaming of others.

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George Russell: would win

Not saying he’s not a freak in the sheets, but he would set up the entire thing (group chat, the money pool, etc.) and he cannot be seen lacking.

Even if it wasn’t his idea, he still needed to win.

You do make the entire month absolute torture though.

Matching sets, showing as much skin as possible, everything.

Even walking around the apartment naked.

But somehow, he doesn’t budge.

At the end of the month he does fuck you for ages, and you literally cant get out of bed, let alone follow him to a race. He tells the media you’re sick and all of the drivers have the dirtiest laughs as he explains. Despite every question, they keep their mouths shut.

George did announce that he won at the end, much to your chagrin.

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Alex Albon: he’d last a while

He would honestly be pretty good.

He kind of breaks the rules, he constantly gives you oral and jerking himself off, but it wasn’t specifically stated in the rules (apart from the name… but whatever)

He makes it like halfway through the month until a particularly bad race result.

He fucks you all night.

When you both get to the paddock in the morning, George pays him a visit to collect the money like the smug bastard he is.

He heard you two last night.

He was 4 doors down.

Oops.

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Franco Colapinto: he’s the one who accidentally tells the press.

We all know Franco is awful at keeping his mouth shut, and in an interview he somehow lets it slip that he needed to find George to give him money.

They ask him what for.

He says ‘the bet’ and explains that they’re doing NNN this year and that he lost.

It was worth it though, you two hadn’t seen each other in months (you were busy in uni, he was busy at races) and he just had to have you.

He made it like a quarter of the way into the month.

He didn't really care.

The drivers honestly just found it funny that he told the media.

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Logan Sargeant: would make it most of the way, but just fall short by like 4 days.

He had done so well, ignoring all of your sexual advances for the majority of the month…

Then he got drunk.

Drunk Logan and drunk you? Yeah, you’re fucking.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you, and he paid the price.

He paid up sheepishly the next day, George looked at him with the smuggest smile ever.

Logan didn’t even care. He fucked you twice as much as before.

He has to make up for lost time, right?

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Daniel Riccardo: he would lose immediately.

This man is a 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀

He would kind of do the same thing as Lewis, pay to just watch the rest of them loose.

He does last a little bit longer though (in their eyes).

He doesn’t pay up until the second week even though he’s been fucking you the entire time.

He has absolutely no shame about it either.

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Liam Lawson: he would almost win.

He's such a cutie. I think he’d somehow abstain for a while.

He’d get to around the 26th, and then give up.

The month was torture though.

You literally would beg him every night, and he would just have to say no.

You were impressed at how long he lasted.

But then he gave in after he scored points in mexico...

Yuki ratted him out to George, he was very embarrassed.

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Charles LeClerc: he would lose immediately.

Charles is an idiot.

He would lose the first day by accident, and then try to pretend that it doesn't count until George actually comes knocking on his drivers room door looking for the money.

He heard you, of course.

Charles reluctantly watches the rest of the month play out, bitter that his own forgetfulness took him out so early.

He vows to win next year.

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Carlos Sainz: wouldn’t do it.

He’s not giving up fucking you for a month. No way.

He also wouldn’t be interested in the sex lives of others enough to even pay into it like Lewis.

His sex life is his own, and as much as he loves healthy competition, this is a race he’s happy to lose.

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Max Verstappen: would be a huge bitch all month.

Dude is like a moody teenager when he’s not getting it.

Daniel persuades him to do it and he makes it a few days in.

Literally turns into the biggest moody bitch ever.

By the 8th day everyone is begging you to just fuck him so he’ll stop being such a cunt to them.

You do.

He pays up and spends the rest of the month fucking you.

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Paul Aron: he would almost win.

He would last pretty long. Like maybe more than half the month

Despite his playboy facade, he’s actually more into cuddles and shit like that.

But after a bad race…

Yeah, he pays up with zero shame.

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Arthur LeClerc: he would lose, in two ways.

Y’know how quickly Charles lost, yeah he’d be worse.

He wouldn’t forget, he’d just think that he can get away with fucking you all month but of course, that doesn’t happen.

George comes knocking after Charles tells him he can hear you two.

You are deeply embarrassed that your boyfriend's brother heard you two having sex, and you impose a ban for the rest of the month.

You say it’ll help you both be more aware of when and where you’re doing it, and how to not get caught by his brother again.

He curses out his brother the next time he sees him.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

3K notes View Post

blackswanmary

6 months ago

Driving him crazy

Word count: 1k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x assistant!reader

Summary: When Toto Wolff’s assistant navigates the fast-paced world of Mercedes F1, playful banter from drivers and engineers uncovers a growing bond between them, as Toto acts like a father figure to shy young driver Kimi Antonelli and struggles to hide his own deeper feelings.

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It had been a busy day at Mercedes' factory, with engineers bustling about, drivers popping in for updates, and, of course, Toto Wolff overseeing it all with his usual intensity. You, his assistant, had gotten used to the fast-paced environment. Working alongside Toto was challenging but exciting — not to mention, you had grown quite fond of him. There was something about the way he carried himself, his sharp intelligence and wit, that never ceased to captivate you. And Toto, well, he’d never admit it outright, but there was definitely something he enjoyed about keeping you close.

This particular day, things took a lighthearted turn. You were standing next to Toto in the briefing room, typing furiously on your laptop, trying to keep up with the conversation when Kimi Antonelli, Lewis Hamilton, and George Russell sauntered in after their latest sim sessions.

Lewis was the first to make a remark, flashing a mischievous smile. “Hey, Y/n, how do you even keep up with this guy? He’s a machine.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s not easy, I can tell you that. He has me running all over the place.”

Toto, standing tall beside you, glanced down with that signature half-smirk. “She manages just fine. In fact, she probably knows where I’m supposed to be more than I do,” he teased.

George piped up, raising an eyebrow. “Honestly, mate, we’ve all been wondering… do you ever give her a break? Because if I were her, I’d have to call HR by now.”

The room erupted into laughter, with Lewis doubling over dramatically. Even you had to admit that working for Toto wasn’t for the faint of heart.

Kimi Antonelli, the young and shy prodigy, stood awkwardly in the corner, clearly amused but too timid to jump into the banter. Toto, always the father figure to Kimi, gestured for him to join the conversation. “Kimi, don’t stand there like a wallflower. Tell them I’m not so bad, hm?”

Kimi blushed a bit, looking at the ground. “Uh, well… I mean, he’s okay,” Kimi mumbled, scratching the back of his head. “He just… works a lot. A lot.”

“Exactly!” Lewis chimed in. “It’s borderline criminal.”

“Okay, enough of that,” Toto cut in, though his smile didn’t fade. “Y/n handles things perfectly fine. Besides, if anyone gives her too much trouble, I’ll know about it.”

The way Toto said it had the drivers rolling their eyes, though George and Lewis exchanged knowing glances, clearly onto the growing connection between you and Toto. But before they could tease further, the engineers started to pile into the room, signaling the start of the technical debrief.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but notice how Kimi kept glancing nervously at Toto, as if trying to gauge his reactions. You’d known for some time that Toto had taken Kimi under his wing, treating him almost like a son. The older man’s protective nature was endearing, especially when it came to the younger drivers.

Once the debrief ended, the teasing started back up again.

“So, Toto,” George began, leaning casually against the wall, “when are you going to let Y/n manage the team for real? She’s practically doing it already.”

Toto gave George a sidelong look but didn’t deny it. “She’s good, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh?”

You shot George a playful glare. “Please don’t put any ideas in his head. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

Lewis chuckled. “Come on, Y/n, it’d be an upgrade. I mean, working with us drivers instead of constantly babysitting him?” He pointed toward Toto, feigning innocence.

Toto crossed his arms, looking down at Lewis with a mock serious expression. “You lot are barely manageable as it is.”

Just as the room filled with laughter again, Kimi, who had been quiet for most of the time, softly chimed in. “I, uh… I think Y/n’s the only one who can keep up with him. None of us could handle it.”

Everyone paused, looking at Kimi in surprise. The shy teenager wasn’t usually one for chiming in, but when he did, it was always genuine.

Toto smiled at Kimi warmly. “See? That’s why you’re my favorite,” he teased, giving the young driver a pat on the shoulder. “Now, if only the rest of these clowns would learn to follow your example.”

Kimi’s face turned bright red, but he smiled nonetheless, clearly pleased with the attention.

“Careful,” George said, smirking, “we might have some competition here, Y/n. You’ll be replaced as Toto’s number one.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh, I’m sure Kimi could do a better job. He’s quieter, less trouble.”

“Not a chance,” Toto interjected, looking down at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “No one replaces you.”

The teasing died down for a moment, and you felt your heart skip a beat. The banter was fun, but every once in a while, Toto would say something that made it hard to ignore the undercurrent between the two of you.

Lewis, ever the one to pick up on things, wasn’t about to let it slide. “Ohhh, what’s this? Toto’s playing favorites.”

“Always has,” George added, his grin widening.

Toto rolled his eyes, though his tone remained playful. “Alright, enough of this. Don’t you lot have cars to drive or data to review?”

“Just trying to keep it interesting,” Lewis said, throwing his arm over George’s shoulder as they began to exit. “Besides, I think we’re all interested to see where this goes.”

Once the drivers and engineers cleared out, you and Toto were left in the now-quiet room. He glanced at you, his expression softening from the banter-filled façade he wore around the team.

“Ignore them,” he murmured. “They like to cause trouble.”

You smiled, leaning slightly toward him. “Maybe, but they’re not wrong. You do act like Kimi’s dad sometimes.”

Toto let out a low laugh. “Someone has to look out for the kid. He’s too shy to speak up most of the time.”

“And what about me?” you asked, teasingly. “Are you looking out for me too?”

Toto’s eyes glinted with a warmth that made your stomach flutter. “Always,” he said quietly, his tone more serious now. “Always.”

351 notes View Post

blackswanmary

2 months ago

Another f1 text au! This one was actually quite fun, it's f1 drivers reacting to you using memes of them in your chats.

BY THE WAY NO SLANDER TO PEOPLE WHO COMMENT FREAKY STUFF ON THE DRIVERS POSTS LIKE YOU DO WHAT YOU WANT NOT MY PROBLEM YOU DO YOU 😭

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Another F1 Text Au! This One Was Actually Quite Fun, It's F1 Drivers Reacting To You Using Memes Of Them

1K notes View Post

blackswanmary

4 months ago

Oi diva sou eu denovo,andei pensando em um Enzo todo submisso a mulher,com aquela cara de coitado,daqueles que choram por medo de perder a mulher,eu amo um homem com cara de coitado.

𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐀, aqui está! Desculpa a demora, tô tendo ideias muito mirabolantes e complicadas de se passar para a escrita 😭 mas acredito que consegui passar essa vibe Enzo homem pobre carente da coitadolandia que prefere morrer do que perder a mulher dele em vida, que faria de tudo por ela e deixa ela ser o mulherão que ela é.

^᪲notas da autora: homem bobo carente pela esposa em quantidade exorbitante!, homem romântico e escritor de cartinha para a lobinha dele!, 40's!, guerra com tempo encurtado!, enzo militar!, muito choro e alegria!, citação de sangue e feridas!, sexo!, sexo desprotegido (já sabem meu aviso, né lsdnetes?)!

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃ você pede e a vampgi escreve.

𝐎 𝐀𝐍𝐎 era 1944 e o mundo se desmoronava em ruínas. Os lares haviam sido rachados com as dores e sangramentos da Segunda Guerra Mundial. Os homens lutavam no campo de batalha, distantes de seus lares, das esposas e filhos, enquanto as mulheres tentavam manter a esperança viva nas pequenas cartas que, vez ou outra, chegavam com notícias de seus amados. Muitos soldados se mostravam inabaláveis diante do horror, mas a maioria não conseguia esconder as lágrimas quando encarava a iminência da morte.

Naquela tarde, na minúscula base médica no front latino -americano, lotada e onde o cheiro do sangue misturava-se ao odor forte de medicamentos e à fumaça que parecia impregnar cada canto; Soldados estadunidenses, brasileiros e de outros países da América passavam de um lado para o outro entre a vida e a morte. Enzo Vogrincic estava quase sem forças. Seu corpo estava encostado em uma parede manchada de mãos ensanguentadas, provavelmente de algum outro soldado ou médico que falhou em manter a vida. A camisa do uniforme verde camufla dele estava toda ensanguentada de batalhas passadas, mas seu ombro esquerdo estava com uma mancha de um sangue vivo e molhado.

Ele respirava ofegante, mas sua dor física era insignificante comparada ao medo que o corroía por dentro. Seus olhos de uma cor entre um tom de castanho médio e o mel estavam marejados, vermelhos e vidrados no além. A mandíbula travada denunciava o ranger dos dentes e escancarava a dificuldade de não soluçar tanto. Ele chorava.

De repente, um soldado chamando Fernando, muita das vezes sério, mas bom e compreensivo, se aproximou numa tentativa de acalmar os ânimos feridos em latência de seu amigo. Ele conhecia Enzo de antes da guerra, em encontros familiares, na casa de ambos onde suas respectivas esposas riram e conversaram bastante. Sabia da força de vontade e resistência do uruguaio, mas também sabia que a guerra cobrava um preço até dos mais bravos cavaleiros.

"Aguente firme, meu companheiro. Já já você vai ser atendido". Fernando disse quase gentil. Preocupado, sabia que Enzo era um dos melhores homens deles em campo.

"Não é a bala...". Enzo murmurou baixinho, a voz cortando enquanto afundava a cabeça nas mãos calejadas. "Porra, não é só isso, Fernando".

Fernando o olhou meio de lado, sem entender muito do que se tratava. "Então... o que é?".

"E se eu morrer, e se eu me for sem sequer poder dizer novamente o quanto eu a amo? Minha florcita, Fernando... ela é tudo para mim".

Um outro soldado, que deitado em um catre de madeira caindo aos pedaços, de perna ferida e gemidos profundos de dor, balbucionou em lamentação algo sobre ter força e coragem, sobre não deixar os seus demônios tomarem conta de tudo. Enzo riu em meio a tantas lágrimas.

Ele enxugou o rosto na manga comprida que cobria seu antebraço, mas logo outras mais velozes caíram. "Vocês não entendem. Minha esposa... ela". Parou, com um fungada baixinha, se sentindo completamente despedaçado. "Ela é a coisa mais linda que existe. Os olhinhos dela... tão escuros, como jabuticabas". A voz entrecortou uma vez e ele se lembrou de você. Da sua imagem, da sua risada. Ele se lembrou de como você sempre o esperava. Do sabor de seus bolos, do seu tempero tão gostoso. "E o cabelo dela... enrolado, sabe? Sempre com aqueles bobs, tão formosa, tão... minha. E se eu nunca mais viver isso?".

A frase era cheia de chamego, de dengo, da realidade do quanto Enzo era completamente devoto por você. Agarrado a sua beleza e sua alma como uma âncora. E o silêncio que se seguiu foi uma reação disso. Todos ali tinham algo ou alguém para qual voltar depois do céu nublado, mas Enzo não se importava em transparecer esse processo com mais tristeza.

Logo os médicos chegaram. Revestidos com linhas, pinças e um único propósito: salvar o maior número de vidas. Um deles levou Enzo para uma sala menor. Tinha um catre pequeno no canto, pior do que o do soldado que recitou sobre força, e sentado, observou a área médica.

Em uma mesinha próxima, uma bacia com água fervente e álcool era usada para esterelizar os utensílios. Ali também tinham um frasco éter, bandagens e mais. O médico estava concentrado, abrindo alguns botões do uniforme de Enzo até poder tirar a manga e expor a ferida. Foi com um pedaço de gaze umidecido em algo que evitou maior infecção no ombro afetado do soldado.

Ele percebeu os olhos marejados de Vogrincic, mas não comentou. Todos ali tinham as suas vezes de cair em prantos. E a escassez de matérias mais eficazes, levou o velho no jaleco a usar o resquício de éter para dar uma anestesia geral em Enzo, visto que o estado emocional poderia comprometer a situação e piorar ainda mais a dor.

Enquanto se encarregava de tirar a bala, o senhorzinho, de cabelos brancos e muito vivido, encontrou algo que o fez repensar suas escolhas de vida. No bolso do uniforme de Enzo, uma carta intacta, não lida por ninguém a não ser a mente de seu próprio escritor. O envelope externo tinha um prólogo da mensagem.

"De um homem comum, para seu grande amor.

Eternamente seu marido,

Enzo V".

Ele pensou que talvez a pessoa destinada para ler aquele papel, nunca fosse receber essa carta. Mas provavelmente pôde sentir o amor de Enzo Vogrincic durante grande parte de sua vida. E sim, você sentiu. Ele sorriu, e guardou a carta novamente no mesmo bolsinho.

__________

Quase três anos de guerra depois, ele voltava. Após tanto sangue e bombardeios, o mundo tinha conseguido subir minimamente até a paz. A guerra finalmente acabou e os céus estavam limpos. Os soldados estavam animados, alguns tinham um dedo a menos, um olho ferido. Outros sequer puderam voltar vivos. Mas Enzo tinha pelo o que agradecer, depois de todo aquele tempo de agonia estava voltando para os braços de sua florcita.

Olhando para o horizonte belo atrás da janela, ele sorriu para a vida. "Me espere, pode ser na estação, ou até em nossa casinha... só me espere, minha amada. Eu voltarei hoje". E então, o trem embarcou em viagem.

Em uma manhã límpida, o sol brilhava mais, como se até ele parecesse saber da chegada da paz naquele lugar. A cidade de Montevidéu estava em um alvoroço. Mulheres de toda a cidade, sendo elas, filhas, mães, esposas, vestidas com a elegância da época e com sorrisos mais que afetuosos se reuniam na estação ferroviária do centro da cidade. Você sequer tinha conseguido dormir naquela noite, o coração quase explodindo de tanta saudade.

Colocou seu melhor vestido, um na altura dos joelhos, de um tecido de poá, muito gostoso e leve. O favorito de Enzo. Ele dizia que a florcita dele ficava mais formosa com aquele vestido. Acompanhado de um cinto fininho, é claro.

Já na estação, se podia ver muitas mulheres despedaçadas, que provavelmente já sabiam da morte de seus homens, e só esperavam o uniforme deles como uma triste e fervorosa lembrança do que eles tinham feito para um mundo melhor. Sem respostas e apenas uma esperança guardada no peito, se sentou em um banco.

"Volte para mim, meu marido. Volte que eu te tomo em meus braços". Rezava para si.

De longe era possível ouvir os cantos felizes dos soldados, as vozes roucas que ressoavam ao som de alguma música de Frank Sinatra. Mas foi no barulho da locomotiva, que então, anunciou a parada. O trem finalmente chegava em Montevidéu e de lá de dentro, a festa parecia grande.

Os soldados estavam dançando de um lado para o outro, em fim, em paz. De repente, um ajudante do motorista começou a entrar em cada um dos vagões e em todos, suas palavras calmas eram as mesmas. "Peguem suas coisas rapazes, e voltem para a felicidade". Enzo tomou aquelas palavras como suas, as repetiu para os amigos próximos, as lágrimas voltando as olhos bonitos enquanto suas mãos tremiam na alça das malas.

Sem seguir ordens ou serem finos e educados, todos eles desceram, se esbarrando e até malas caindo. E de repente não havia sequer espaço na estação. Os homens corriam e seguravam suas mulheres nos braços, beijavam suas filhas com saudades e sentiam o carinho de suas mães. Enquanto outras passavam pela dor da perda. A mala na mão de Enzo vacilou dos dedos trêmulos quando te viu e as suas pernas também. Você usava o vestido de poá favorito dele, você se lembrou. Tinha prometido que usaria exatamente aquele na volta dele.

Estava linda. Estava estonteante, como uma princesinha e as lágrimas desceram forte pelas bochechas dele. Quando estava um pouco mais perto de ti, se deixou cair. Em uns tropeços de ansiedade e o peso das bagagens trazidas, ele se deixou deslizar até os seus pés.

Com joelhos no chão, ele segurava em seu vestido, as mãos fortes até demais que pareciam só matar a saudade quando cravadas em seu corpo. "Florcita... minha amada e formosa florcita". O rosto vermelho do homem se enterrou nas suas mãos delicadas quando você resolveu se ajoelhar perante dele, ele amou sentir o seu toque outra vez, sentiu falta dele. Seus lábios se arrastaram por sua pele, ele beijou ali como se tivesse encontrado um bom minério. Com um biquinho nos lábios marcados pela demora desse reencontro, os olhos ardentes, ele sussurrou. "Eu voltei... para nós. E-eu disse que voltaria".

Rindo para os ventos da cidade, você não demorou em rodar as mãos pelo rosto de Enzo, para beijar aqueles cabelos cheios dele. Para o levantar.

Já estando de pé, o uruguaio te abraçava, te tocava com o pensamento mais leve de todos. Sabendo que ele poderia não estar mais ali, mas estava. Você deslizou um dedo pelos lábios de seu marido e logo deixou um beijo meio tímido e marejados de lágrimas ali. Manchando a boca dele, que te olhava como um bebê. "Sim! Sim, você voltou, meu querido". Exclamou.

Ganhando mais ânimo, Enzo te ergueu no ar mesmo aos beijos, e a girou contra ele em um momento quase íntimo para uma demostração pública, mas ele nem sequer se importou. Um pouco tontos, perderam o equilíbrio ali e acabaram no chão, mas aquela pequena dor não afetou nenhum dos dois. E ao invés disso, a risada de vocês se misturou com choro e contra seus lábios, em meio a um beijo do século, ele respondeu.

"Eu sou e serei eternamente seu, florcita".

Mesmo estando no chão, o soldado não resistiu em ficar assim por mais um pouco, abraçados, ele te colocou para se sentar no colo dele e acariciou seu belo rostinho. "Somente seu". Tinha um tom brincante, porém choroso em sua voz. Ele com um semblante de menino perdido, admirava-te, os seus olhos de jabuticaba madura iluminando a vida dele.

Quando estavam finalmente em casa, sem uniformes ou amarras, não demorou para cair em dengo. Em um estado de completa exaustão, o homem apenas sorriu enquanto a seguia para cada quanto da casa de vocês. Quando você descia para a cozinha, ele descia, quando ia ao banheiro ou para o quintal, ele ia igual. Naquele momento em questão, você preparava a massa do bolo favorito dele, de trigo com brigadeiro de maracujá.

Agarrado por detrás de ti, as mãos fortes de Enzo na sua cintura enquanto o rosto se entregava ao bom cheiro do perfume que marcava o seu pescoço. "Você vai fazer bolo?". Ele perguntou, olhando de mansinho para a panela.

"Vou sim, meu bem". Ele te apertou ainda mais contra ele e tudo que respondeu antes de seguir o interessante aroma de seu pescoço foi um... "Eu gosto do seu bolo".

"Todos os dias, há treze anos, você diz essa mesma frase".

"Eu sei". Beijou seu ombro delicadamente e encostando a bochecha ali, ele te olhava enquanto o bolo era preparado. Você era tão linda, a mulher mais formosa e a flor mais cheirosa de Montevidéu. A música abafada pelo rádio que precisava de consertos o animava, e ele balançava o corpo junto ao seu em meio a risadas.

Mais tarde, naquele mesmo dia ainda, Enzo adormeceu completamente no chão mesmo da sala de estar, só com a brisa do ventilador e uma calça de tecido macio, e enquanto você dobrava as roupas que estavam separadas para ir a máquina de lavar, encontrou algo que você não esperava.

A carta. Com um cuidado para não rasgá-la, desdobrou o papel para ler, mas tudo que encontrou foram as mais belas e românticas das palavras do mundo. Transcritas naquele pedaço de papel amarelo, em uma letra rebuscada e culta, a carta dizia:

"Minha doce esposa,

Sei que essas palavras podem nunca chegar até você, mas preciso escrevê-las. Preciso, pelo menos, tentar. Eu estou sentado num lugar onde a dor e o desespero tomam conta de todos. Meu ombro está ferido, mas a maior ferida está no meu peito. É o medo de não poder voltar para você.

Porque você é tudo que eu tenho de mais precioso. Sempre foi. Quando fecho os olhos, vejo seus olhinhos de jabuticaba brilhando, vejo os cachinhos que você enrola nos bobs com tanto cuidado... E meu coração dói por saber que posso nunca mais tocar seu rosto.

Eu rezo para que Deus me permita voltar, para que eu possa segurar as tuas mãos de novo. Mas, se isso não acontecer, saiba que te amei com cada parte de mim. Você é a razão de eu estar aqui hoje, lutando. De eu ser quem sou.

Eu queria poder te abraçar agora, sentir seu cheiro, ouvir sua risada... Você é surreal, minha florcita, etérea demais. Minha mulherzinha. Se eu não voltar, por favor, prometa que será feliz. Viva por nós dois.

Com todo o amor que cabe em meu peito,

Enzo V".

E então, você chorou. Por ler o medo de Enzo de te perder, pelo sentimento tão latente que ele ainda tinha por você. Sempre teria. Porque soldado ou não, Enzo Vogrincic, não poderia em nenhuma circunstância, ser definido de outra maneira a não ser, completamente seu.

A carta foi guardada na gaveta da cômoda, entre as suas vestes, segura e que você um dia, diria abertamente a ele que havia sido tocada por suas palavras.

Bônus.

Quando finalmente então, Enzo acordou, a casinha estava em um silêncio confortável. A sala de estar era iluminada apenas por um pequeno abajur, seu corpo estava coberto por um macio lençol que você havia deixado sobre ele ainda quando era cedo. Ele sentia sua cabeça pesada, ainda um pouco grogue graças ao sono e com alguns segundos de recobrar o equilíbrio, se ergueu. O uruguaio te chamou uma vez, "Florcita". Te chamou outra. E você nada.

Com um bico do tamanho do mundo nos lábios, andou de um lado para o outro nos cômodos da casa, foi ao banheiro da área de baixo, na cozinha, no quintal. Logo, só restava um lugar, o quarto de vocês.

"Florcita? Minha formosa florcita?". Disse ao entrar, batendo na porta baixinho para avisar da sua presença. E você não estava na cama. Pensando um pouquinho onde estaria, ele se surpreendeu com o barulho do chuveiro caindo no azulejo do banheiro. Sorriu.

Vogrincic sentiu o seu pobre coração quase parar. Tirando a calça do seu pijama e a cueca junto, o homem caminhou nu até o banheiro com passos de cachorrinho, leves e que não fossem bem ouvidos por você.

Assim que entrou, derreteu completamente com a visão de você. Com o shampoo no cabelo, os olhinhos fechados. A mente dele não conseguia processar direito quando olhava para você. Seu corpo era muito, para um homem tão pouco como ele. Ele caminhou e entrou no box, tomando o seu corpo nos braços dele.

"Enzo!". Você gritou surpresa, apertando ainda mais os seus olhos.

Ele beijou seu pescoçinho, deslizando devagar a língua ali e deixando uma marquinha vermelinha, te trazendo cada vez mais contra ele. "Oi", sussurrou todo carente. "Preciso de você... deixa eu te comer, florcita". Pediu. Ele lhe ajudou a tirar o shampoo e suspirou quando você abriu um olho.

Sua cabeça encostou no peito dele, quando o uruguaio a prendeu contra a parede. Aquele seu olhar, aquela maldita transição entre a sua doçura usual e o tesão deixava ele completamente aos seus pés. Podia fazer tudo que você o pedisse. Ele ficou assim agarradinho por alguns minutos, mas não demorou para sentir o pau dele roçando a parte interna de sua coxa.

"Deixa, florcita... eu preciso sentir você me apertando... por favor".

Acenando suavemente, você percebeu como os olhos dele te admiravam por completo, as sobrancelhas franzida quase como se implorasse para foder você depois de dois anos e nove meses longe por conta daquela miserável guerra. Você talvez, não soubesse como fazia feliz a esse uruguaio, você ser a mulher dele. Como ele poderia morrer, mas não viver sem você.

Enzo te pegou no colo com uma facilidade indescritível, sem dar a mínima para o banho, desligou o chuveiro. Ele te guiou até a cama, a deitando com aquele carinho que foi sempre parte dos momentos quentes de vocês. A expressão amoada, de pobre coitado, denunciava o amor que residia naquele homem louco por você.

Ele se sentou na cama, as pernas grossonas bem abertas para que você pudesse encaixar a sua bucetinha no pau dele com a extrema perfeição. "Vem, senta em mim, mi florcita".

Com uma risadinha, que levou o arzinho da sua respiração para o rosto dele pela proximidade, você engatinhou para se sentar no colo do seu marido, uma perninha de cada lado antes de segurar o membro dele daquele jeitinho que o fazia agarrar mais forte seu quadril, e gemer baixinho e rouco no seu ouvido. Sem fazer muito alarde, você o encaixou no seu buraquinho carente, e sentou nele para que ele sentisse seu apertinho. O que você fazia com ele, a forma como você se movia sobre ele, como acelerava e desacelerava e encaixava o pau dele todinho dentro de você o deixava alucinando. Você era a dona daquele homem.

"M-mi amor... assim- eu te amo". Ele gemia, se encostando na cabeceira da cama, como quem sabe a esposa que tem, apenas relaxando enquanto você montava em Enzo com o conhecimento de quem tem um homem na palma da sua mão.

Seus gemidos faziam ele gemer mais, e suas mãos no peito dele faziam as dele apertar ainda mais seu quadril. Você acelerava, cada cavalgada que carregava menos fôlego, porém mais velocidade.

E no fim da noite, depois de quase três anos de angústia tenebrosa, Enzo Vogrincic se sentia realizado por estar de volta. Dormindo bem agarradinhos, o pau do homem ainda dentro de você, ele sabia que tinha o ouro da vida.

Você adormeceu de conchinha com ele e ainda de olhos abertos, mas quase caindo em sono, ele deixou um beijo na sua bochecha. "Até amanhã, esposa. Irei sonhar com você".

^᪲𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄 — Prontinho, revisado e depois de muitas lágrimas. Espero que esteja ao seu gosto, @lilablanc.

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blackswanmary

1 month ago

the heffleys are still coming to terms with the fact that you, rodrick’s cool girlfriend, are a real part of his life. greg, for one, can’t wrap his head around it—how did his brother manage to land someone like you? he even has a tiny crush on you, which he tries (and fails) to hide. during playdates, he and rowley keep sneaking wide-eyed glances at you, pretending to be fully focused on video games whenever you catch them staring.

susan, on the other hand, is thrilled to have you around. as a mom of three boys, she’s practically adopted you as her honorary daughter, showering you with warmth and enthusiasm every time you’re over. she’ll share every childhood story she can think of about rodrick—some endearing, most embarrassing—while he sits there mortified. she’ll even drag out the family photo albums when you’re around, cooing over old pictures of baby rodrick in onesies covered with embarrassing slogans.

then there’s mr. heffley, who’s suspiciously nice to you. he goes out of his way to make sure that sure the house is spotless when you come over, almost like he’s worried you’ll wise up to what a disaster rodrick can be and leave. every time rodrick says something dumb, mr. heffley’s shoulders tense, and he sneaks glances at you, hoping you don’t suddenly see you’re too good for his son.

and manny… well, you do your best to steer clear of that kid whenever you can.

it’s a typical dinner at the heffleys’. you’re seated next to rodrick, his hand resting on your knee under the table as he gives you a lopsided grin between bites. across from you, greg keeps sneaking glances at your chest. little perv.

once everyone’s settled with their plates, susan clears her throat, leaning forward with a bright, overly cheerful smile. “y/n,” she starts, clasping her hands like she’s about to impart some life-changing advice, “it’s just wonderful that you and rodrick are so… close.” she gives an small, knowing nod, and rodrick stiffens next to you.

“it’s very important,” she continues, picking up a carrot stick and an onion ring, “for young people in a… special relationship to be, you know…” she pauses, clearly hunting for the most embarrassing words possible, before adding, “prepared for close situations.” she looks at you and then at rodrick, before doing a little… mime with the carrot and onion ring. greg yelps, “MOM!” and pretends to gag, slapping both hands over his face like he’s been scarred for life. mr. heffley chokes on his mashed potatoes, reaching for his water with wide eyes.

“just remember,” she says, completely oblivious to the horror around her, “things can get… spicy, but a smart girl like you knows to have… protection.” she gives another exaggerated nod, waving her “lesson” props before setting them down, satisfied. rodrick’s hand tightens on your knee, and he mutters, “oh my god, kill me now,” through gritted teeth, trying to keep his cool despite the absolute humiliation.

mr. heffley takes a deep breath, giving you a look that says he really hopes you won’t dump rodrick over this—but he’d totally understand if you did.

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