The Love Witch (2016) ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

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¡Buen día!

im so sad for carlos yall. i think he should change teams bc no fuxking way is he satying in ferrari.

God is a woman | MS47

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1k ― Warnings: +18; not proofread; suggestive content and mentions of sex; Minors DNI! ― Summary: Making out in bed never felt this deep and heart-stopping, but dating Mick and having him love you is a full experience of being a goddess. Your hips were his altar, and he would swear to everyone that God is a woman because you're it to him. ― A/n: I hope you guys enjoy it! Let me know your thoughts by reblogging and/or leaving me an ask (anons are on) *mwah* 🤍

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The candles were lit by the bedside table and the furniture by the closed window casting a warm glow in the whole room. It was early in the evening, but Mick and Yn were already in bed. In fact, they haven’t left it since the early hours of the day, just soaking up each other’s company and enjoying a lazy and free day. She was wearing one of his shirts and panties, while Mick settled for sweatpants that were hanging low on his hips, showing Yn the perfect amount of skin and trimmed hair that trailed into his boxers, but she was engrossed in one of her poetry books, while Mick tried to gather his thoughts after waking up from a nap. His fingers were tracing shapes on one of her thighs that were on top of his, he would squeeze and massage, and then with the tip of his fingers write his own poems. 

“It’s so interesting how Rupi Kaur portrays the feminine as divine, the creator, the goddess…” Yn observes out loud catching Mick’s attention. 

“That’s because it is.” His short answer makes her close the book, searching for his face.

“Huh?” 

Mick shakes his head and takes the opportunity to hover over her figure, eager for some of her love and light. Yn smiles, forgetting about whatever question she had on the tip of her tongue, the only thing her mouth wants now is him. 

When he dips his face and kills the space between them Yn whimpers widening her legs to shape it around his narrow waist, and lacing her arms around his broad shoulders. Mick coos when Yn drags her hips up to grind against his crotch. He trails wet kisses around her collarbone and neck while whispering praises and Yn enjoys it all with her eyes closed. She feels his fingers on her waist, he grips and squeezes, and then his fingers are tracing shapes on her tummy, and just a few seconds after they’re holding her ass softly, bringing her close to him. 

Yn moans.

Mick mumbles something in German.

Yn moans louder.

He smiles against her skin before chasing her lips again and kissing the air out of her lungs.

“Even your skin tastes good,” Mick whispers in a jovial tone before dragging his tongue on her neck, and Yn giggles hugging him close and looking for his neck to hide her face onto.

“Micky…”

“And your lips, they have the perfect shape, Schatzi,” the point of his index finger and middle finger trace around the shape of her lips, and Yn bites it lightly. 

He feels his heart skip a beat when she mouths an “I love you” to which he answers by pressing their foreheads together and staring into her eyes. The room is silent, but Yn can almost hear all the words his blue orbs are screaming. 

When his back hit the mattress and her body is on top there’s a glow on his smirk, and they enjoy the hazy and the push and pull of the frantic kisses exchanged. The blonde is the one who pauses for a second, taking a deep pull of air into his lungs, and carefully watching his girlfriend on top of him. Mick’s fingers trace the outline of Yn’s nipples, her belly, collarbone, shoulders, jaw, and chin, before finally answering the question she threw at him minutes ago. 

“The feminine. You’re living proof that God is probably a woman.” He grips her waist and Yn moans with the contact. “I’m your follower, your hips are my altar,” he whispers into her ear before biting and nipping her earlobe. 

And then he dips to say something else Yn can’t catch because it’s certainly German and it’s whispered against her skin in such a low tone she can only concentrate on the vibrations between her breasts.

“You always make me feel so good,” it’s a confession, but it's nothing new to Yn. It’s his prayer to her. “I can’t get enough of you, Yn. I could never. Ich werde dich ewig lieben.”

“Micky,” Yn can only meow his name too entranced by his touches and words. 

“Does that feel good, Schatzi?” Mick asks and Yn nods, “Use your words.” It’s his soft demand to which she obliges. 

“It feels perfect, please- just- kiss me, touch me, Mick.” 

“You know I’ll do whatever you want me to.” 

The German keeps muttering praisings to her while kissing his way up to her lips. One of his hands is inside her shirt, caressing and playing with her boobs and nipples. He’s eager to nip and kiss it the way he’s doing with the exposed skin of her collarbone and neck, that’s why his smile gets bigger when Yn makes a move to take off the piece of clothing and throws it somewhere in the room. She lies fully on top of him and he sighs in contentment with her warmth against him.

“You’re so pretty, honey.” He kisses the side of her head and almost melts when he feels Yn’s smile against his skin, he wants to engrave it there, to always feel it, to always know that she’s happy and taken care of. “Your body takes me so well all the time,” and this time she hides her face in the crook of his neck, though her body seems unaware of how shy Yn is feeling because her lower half ruts against Mick’s hardening cock. “You’re a goddess.” He takes her hands and kisses each finger, opening her palm and dragging it softly against his cheeks. “I love you so so much.” 

And then Yn is smiling against his skin again. Feeling warm and fuzzy. Feeling loved, adored, worshipped, chosen. Knowing that indeed whatever she wanted the man under her would give. Sun, stars, the world, Mick would try for her.

“There’s a spot for you in my heart, only for you.” She nips on his white skin and kisses her way back to his lips, but before their lips touch their eyes met, talking, confessing what no idiom can translate: how transcending loving each other can be. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: I didn't quite like this piece, but I hope the anon that sent the request and you guys enjoyed it at least a bit <3 Don’t forget to water a plant and water this account too (you water this account by reblogging and leaving me a message if you’re comfortable, it means a lot to me, and makes my imagination bloom just like a flower would) *forehead kiss*

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the love witch (2016) ♡

im in love with a dying man..

The Godfather (1972)

Hallelujah

Is there truly a religion?

I always question myself about my religion.

What do I believe in? At first I thought I was catholic but in reality my relatives practiced the orthodox religion and pushed me to do the same. Then my grandpa believed in the muslim theories and my father too. My mother claimed to be an orthodox. As time passed by, she realised something very strange; all religions believe in one thing: God. And it is true.

My family’s culture in fact is pagan. My hometown’s population was and still is based in paganism. We are patriotic and we believe in our town. We believe that there’s a God but we don’t practice religions. Perhaps, we never had a religion. Conquests influenced our population and culture, imposing a new emphasis of social differences and new words on our language. Our language was and still is un religious. It’s hard to believe I know, but that’s how it is. In our language the only thing we had was “God”.

That’s why I don’t have a faith. Or perhaps, my only faith is my consciousness.

Was it all a way to fool people’s mind from finding out the truth of Earth’s origins and history?

Or was it all true?

I just know that I don’t believe in any religion. I believe in God and myself.

Do I respect other religions and faiths or beliefs? Of course I do. Who am I to neglect their existence? I shall respect but not only, I ought to study them because their historical behaviors amaze our provenience. We are human beings that without religions’ existence we wouldn’t know what we are.

Is there more to know about our existence? Of course there is.

Do they want us to know about them? Of course not. You’d be a fool to believe otherwise.

And why, when I listen to Jeff Buckley’s song, I feel deeply touched? I am uncertain.

Is art somehow connected to religion?

Or is God connected to art?

It’s completely complicated. How can a mere person come and claim to know how to respond to these questions? Are you that much of a fool to think that we are allowed to ask of this thematics?

Nonetheless, I will continue praying at difficult times.

Handle with care

Fedeltà

Now what truly makes me curious is what’s behind those beautiful brown eyes…

It is really hard for me to understand his intentions. Sometimes he’s cold and crude with me but there are also times when he is calm, soft and he even initiates affection towards me. Because of this, exactly I am dubious of his actions.

As in, do you love me or do you not love me?

I don’t want to continue living like this anymore; loving you while I’m trying to understand what’s worth doing and what not. I’m in a conflicting position with insecurities that I never had before but finally you had the urge to make me have them. It’s outrageous to think that I love you but at the same time I hate you. And I’m not particularly talking about that kind of hate that engulfs your very being and claims your soul, plaguing it with negative faith. No, I’m talking about that moment where one’s behaviour is so beautifully wrong, making you infatuated to it in a way that brings you to respectfully hate that person. But make no mistake, dear readers, hating that person doesn’t mean that I’m not burning with a raging fire within my heart and mind, roasting those little rational thoughts that have been remaining in my tiny skull, instead I am suffering in misery while stopping this hate towards this person, because it’s paradoxically sweet of him to have that demeanour with me.

I’m the one to blame. Because I never ceased to live without him in my routine. As in I dived into his lifestyles and matched my own rhythms to his, sacrificing my freedom and empowerment. Isn’t this such a cruel world?

Perfect cruel rational world. That seeks to confine us into narrow roles and expectations, and we defy those limitations. At least that’s what a normal person seeks to proceeding.

Instead, I am doing the opposite. Aren’t I ashamed of my own actions and ambitions? I seek to have a love life and I search for it in every single corner of the streets I walk through. But, I’m absolutely not embarrassed of my intentions, I am exhausted of all the limitations imposed upon me by an outdated script of delusional MEN of an old fashioned world. Now, I come from a quite antique century too, but I never seek to follow these outdated “laws”…

But he is the man of his times, the one that lives in danger and commands his inferiors, putting them to submission and protecting his dear ones.

I am one of his dear ones. His first priority. He has proven it to me. Several times. And I’m not talking about something that happened some years ago… No, I’m talking about two days ago;

We were seated in the back seats of our car, the driver could not particularly listen to our conversation, but we were having a small quarrel about something that had no means to whatsoever… But he was getting angry, not at me but he had been bothered by several affairs that day and he had no patience whatsoever to deal with tiny little stupid issues that I created in the moment just because I wanted a bit of his attention…

He raised his voice at me. He had never done it before.

And at that moment, I turned my head and looked out of the window. He stopped his sentence. And stopped talking.

When we arrived home, I waited for him to open my door and I got out the car. With my head raised, I was headed to the door. He followed behind me. Stayed behind me. Never dared to say something to me.

Once inside our room, I closed the door and only said one word “Out”.

The next morning I woke up, did my usual routine and headed to my kitchen to have breakfast. I saw that he had already prepared breakfast for me. And then, he had went to meet his men.

After that I had gone out for a stroll in my garden.

I had thought I had been all alone. But there was a presence behind me. That person put their hand to my mouth and blocked my arms, locking them behind my back. I didn’t fight.

My husband came. Out of nowhere. He was there. And he shot that other man in the middle of his forehead.

Unbothered, I turned around and got back to clean my hands in the bathroom. He comes behind me too. He cleans his hands after me and he dries them.

I feel his hard and big arms gripping my waist and hugging me to himself. And I melted in his sculpted body. I turned my head to his head and softly pecked him to his lips…

You see? How could I ever hate him? He is my sweet, perfect, dangerous Salvatore.

My only boss and my husband.