#amigo winning

[beefyss]

oh i know how to kill em

[comfortstars]

making gifts for friends is so fun

[yuudamari]

Gay peope revealed to be gay in 13 sentinels i stopped playing bc im like 100% sure one of them will die in the next 2 hrs of gameplay

[doctorcoolata]

vegetta asked SOFIA about foolish! and also called him more than a friend

[romqnticstylez]

nvm being sick was a blessing in disguise im not going LETS GO

[stoptheworldwithyou]

A felicidade não depende das condições externas, mas de condições internas.

Não é o que você tem, quem você é, onde está ou o que está fazendo que o torna feliz ou infeliz. É o que você pensa sobre tudo.

- Como fazer amigos e influenciar pessoas

[diogxnxs]

THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING. He was such a big fan of Donald Duck he said his whole name in shock.

"DONALD DUCK!?"

Imagine just minding your business pretending to not be poor in your home country and you’re a huge fan of that big time American actor Chris Evans and then you run into a guy who kinda looks like Chris Evans but maybe rich Americans just be lookin like Chris Evans sometimes idk so you decide to scam greet him and as you’re exchanging business cards it turns out to be tHE CHRIS EVANS IN THE FLESH.

That was José Carioca meeting Donald Duck

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙obsessed with u | LN4 ˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: lando norris x ln4 admin/photographer!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au, new relationship

warnings: none just a lot of fluff!!

summary: in which a podium means you and your boyfriend hard launch a little bit early <3

a/n: omg i feel like this fanfic revived me and im back fr 🙏 hope it's ok OMG i rly tried to make a good plot but i fear i got no inspo atm anyway i fancy lando soooo badly atm it's rly shocking how bad i want him anyway ENJOY!!!! hope it dont suck ballzzz ahhhhhhhh

request!!!: lando x reader smau where reader is the admin of the Instagram account lnfour. You absolutely have the liberty of what you wanna do with it

fc: various blonde girls from pinterest

my masterlist

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourusername, carlossainz55, and 381,117 others

user1 stop soft launching and tell us who she issss

user2 need details

user3 👀 mr lando norris plz spill

carlossainz55 cute

liked by landonorris

yourusername posted a story

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and 18,204 others

yourbff ugh lil cuties

liked by yourusername

user4 so cute

friend1 aww look at you guys

liked by yourusername

lnfour 📍 melbourne, australia

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 183,927 others

lnfour ready for the weekend 🦘

tagged: landonorris

view all 4,013 comments

user5 any sign of the gf then? 👀

user6 i love y/n's photographyyy

user7 same she's got the female gaze downnnn

user8 he's so hot

liked by lnfour

user9 admin leak who his gf is to us plz xxx

user10 i have a good feeling about this weekend's race 🙏

lnfour us too!!! 🕯️

interview ->

twitter ->

instagram ->

lnfour

liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 201,723 others

lnfour anyone else hoping for a big reveal this weekend then?

view all 6,812 comments

carlossainz55 yes, me

lnfour 😂

user16 HELLOOO???

user17 urm wait guys hear me out

user18 let me guess you think he's dating y/n

user17 👀

user19 who is y/n omg im losttttt

user20 literally lnfour admin and photographer lol

landonorris 🤷‍♀️

liked by lnfour

user21 STRESSSS

user22 heart palpitations

yourusername posted a story

liked by landonorris, yourbff, and 31,022 others

landonorris damn who's that sexy man

yourusername 🙄

user23 HMMMM

user24 lando & y/n dating???

user25 that your man?

yourbff stop coz they're connecting the dots y/n

yourusername what dots?!!!

yourusername

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 96,283 others

yourusername it's race day mi amigos

view all 3,727 comments

user26 mi amigos... muchos debris... they're meant to be perhaps

user27 some of you are reaching doesn't y/n have a bf already?

user28 she's been soft launching but nothing is confirmed so it could be anyone 👀

landonorris keep me in your thoughts and prayers

yourusername 😂 always!

user29 they're in love

user30 dramatic much

user31 wouldn't it be weird for lando to date someone he works with 😭

oscarpiastri let's goooooo

yourusername 💪

landonorris posted a story

liked by lnfour, yourbff, and 281,114 others

lnfour 💪💪💪💪💪💪 you got this

liked by landonorris

user32 URM HELLOOOO

user33 hi y/n

user34 hmmmmmmmm

user35 this is a big enough reveal to me .. 😇

lnfour posted a story

liked by landonorris, mclaren, and 22,927 others

user36 🤞🤞🤞🤞

user37 we're gonna win babyyyyyyy

liked by lnfour

mclaren posted a story

liked by lnfour, oscarpiastri, and 586,711 others

lnfour 🧡🧡🧡

user38 AHHHHHHHHHHH

user39 our boyyy

user40 big reveal when?

yourusername so proud

liked by mclaren

user41 p1 next time

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername posted a story

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, and 63,018 others

carlossainz55 so cute of him

yourusername CONGRATULATIONS CARLOS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

user42 are you going to celebrate together

user43 AWWWW HE'S SO CUTE

charles_leclerc a handsome boy

yourusername 😊😊😊😊

oscarpiastri you'll come out celebrating with us?

yourusername wouldn't miss it for the world

alexandrasaintmleux posted a story

liked by landonorris, lilyzneimer, and 14,928 others

user44 she's such a wag without even being a wag

user45 love her

user46 oh to be in this friend group 😭

user47 she's so mother

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and 282,016 others

user48 IS THAT Y/N AND LANDO

user49 lando and y/n omg??

user50 OMG?????

landonorris delete

yourusername delete

*this story has been deleted*

twitter ->

instagram ->

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourbff, carlossainz55, and 305,137 others

yourusername not hiding it anymore then?

landonorris guess not 👀

yourbff AHHHHHH ily guys

liked by landonorris

user56 scream

user57 BIG REVEAL?!

lnfour

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, and 118,045 others

lnfour this weekend hit different

tagged: landonorris, carlossainz55

view all 2,018 comments

user58 YEA I BET IT DID

user59 just missing charles!!!!

user60 i love lando and carlos' friendship sm

user61 interesting

user62 not her acting like nothing is going on 😝

user63 WE KNOW

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 221,673 others

yourusername hits different cause it's u

view all 4,381 comments

user64 peep oscar

lilyzneimer pretty couple 🫶

liked by landonorris, yourusername

user65 omgggg mclaren wag bffs

alexandrasaintmleux ily y/n

yourusername ilysm❤️🧡

yourbff GORGEOUS COUPLE

liked by yourusername, landonorris

user66 omg im so excited

user67 best big reveal ever

landonorris wow. look at u

yourusername donttttt. you'll make me blush 😭

user68 i love them omg

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourusername, yourbff, and 599,738 others

user69 AHHH TERRITORIAL LANDO YES PLSSS

user70 god she's hot

yourusername NOOO I SAID STOP I'LL BLUSH😭😭😭😭😭

landonorris you think i dont want that???!

yourusername obsessed with u omg

landonorris obsessed with u a lot more trust

THE END 🧡

[chronically-ghosted]

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –  Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.  OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits. 

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang. 

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle. 

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on. 

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights. 

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will. 

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor. 

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him. 

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down. 

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window. 

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.” 

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world. 

All in the time in the world – for what? 

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell. 

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?” 

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.” 

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men. 

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again. 

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet. 

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable. 

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare. 

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again. 

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.” 

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword. 

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm. 

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.” 

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.” 

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.” 

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.” 

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too. 

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight. 

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with. 

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand. 

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.” 

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm. 

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . .  say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?” 

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.” 

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way? 

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.” 

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart. 

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.” 

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar. 

Fuck it. 

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.” 

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth. 

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel. 

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?” 

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last. 

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape. 

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you. 

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob. 

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.” 

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under. 

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.” 

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his. 

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar. 

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe. 

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on." 

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him. 

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised. 

“Unless you don’t want –,” 

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places. 

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword. 

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress. 

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes �� memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed. 

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him. 

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh. 

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor. 

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.” 

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both. 

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips. 

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils. 

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm. 

“Oh, oh, Pero—,” 

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand. 

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.” 

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body. 

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing. 

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress. 

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace. 

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs. 

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear. 

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth. 

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough. 

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly. 

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving. 

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire. 

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets. 

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again. 

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care. 

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter. 

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.” 

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest. 

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.” 

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.” 

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.” 

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more. 

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss. 

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.” 

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.” 

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.” 

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.” 

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble. 

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs. 

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides. 

“Have you had your fun yet?” 

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.” 

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.” 

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips. 

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest. 

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks. 

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted. 

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it. 

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known. 

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart. 

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you. 

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

+

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

[moonlight-records]

Iconic Duo | LN4 (SM AU!)

pairing: lando norris x cosplayer!reader

summary: an f1 driver who does photography on the side and a cosplayer start dating

warning: the last "post" is suggestive sorry not sorry

fc: @/ani_makocosplay on insta & @/ani_mako on pintrest!

a/n: y'all seem to eat these fake smaus up and in honor of spooky season i present whatever this is!

yourusername posted

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend, and 304,593 others

yourusername its getting HOT in here🔥🔥🔥🔥

view all 1.2k comments

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yourusername 🤭

landonorris tagged yourusername in his post

liked by yourusername, arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 1.3m others

landonorris dinner date at 7, party at 8 🍾

view all 1.1m comments

user2947 MY FAVORITE COUPLE!!! 🧡🧡

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oscarpiastri nice shirt

landonorris thank you

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landonorris 😑 haha very funny

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yourusername posted

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, and 1k others

yourusername anybody need a wife that's secretly an assassin?

view all comments 928 comments

yourbestfriend ME ME ME ME ME

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yourusername posted

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc, and 1.6k others

yourusername face card? lethal

view all 1.1k comments

user403 FACE CARD LETHAL INDEED!!!

yourbestfriend GOD WOW MY BEST FRIEND IS SO FUCKING HOT🥵🥵🥵

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landonorris i've never wanted to be a podium so fucking badly--

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landonorris posted

liked by arthur_leclerc, yourusername, charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 1.8m others

landonorris september photo dump 😮‍💨

comments on this post has been limited

charles_leclerc and no crowns for us? 🤨

yourusername sorry, only royalty 💁‍♀️ charles_leclerc I AM DUBBED THE PRINCE OF MONACO yourusername and i am a queen, silence youngling ✋

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yourusername i ate them sadly, sorry 😔 oscarpiastri betrayal.

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landonorris you're* yourusername BOY IF YOU DON'T--

yourusername posted

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri, 1.2k others

yourusername ATLA 🔝 (stay tuned for next weeks cosplay 🤧)

view all 920 comments

user204 QUEEN QUEEN QUEEN

user30 day one of asking for a sokka cosplay--

yourusername 👀 user30 👀

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yourusername tagged landonorris in your post

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, and 2.5k others

yourusername "No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!" 🔪

comments have been disabled

[propertyofwicked]

TRANSFERRABLE

platonic!f1grid x reader SMAU

in which the 'injury to race success' curse is seemingly a transferrable skill....

✧ my inbox is open ✧

masterlist the playlist

mclaren have posted!

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 99,223 others

mclaren LANDOSCAR 1-2 LFGGGGG 🧡

view all 5,421 comments

user2 mclaren dominance era

landonorris LFG 🧡

⤷ user7 🔛🔝

oscarpiastri 🧡🧡

⤷ user1 that last overtake had me feelin some type of way mr piastri

⤷ landonorris don't feed his ego any more i beg

nicolepiastri glad i cancelled my pilates session!

user19 LANDO MULTI-WINS

alex_albon congrats guys! well deserved!

⤷ user4 is y/n holding a gun to your head as you type this alex?

⤷ alex_albon no comment.

williamsracing have posted!

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, and 87,972 others

williamsracing both boys in the points! YES SARGE (and albono)! smiles all round in the garage today

view all 5,421 comments

alex_albon "....and albono" - cheers admin.

⤷ williamsracing shush let me celebrate in the way i see fit

⤷ alex_albon sorry admin, i'll leave :(

⤷ logansargeant ...are you trying to guilt trip them rn?

⤷ alex_albon shut up i think it's working

⤷ williamsracing it's not ❤️

user5 logan in the points and an LN win on the same day - the power of manifestation

logansargeant thank you everyone!

⤷ williamsracing we knew you could do it sarge 🫡

user8 where is y/n in the comments bro :(

user10 hell hath frozen over

yourusername has posted!

liked by landonorris, logansargeant and 75,926 others

yourusername joined the no appendix club - this is going to ruin the tour

view all 5,421 comments

landonorris what tour?

⤷ yourusername the world tour!

logansargeant i warned you! i told you to see the doctor. and what did you say? "it's just a stomach ache".

⤷ yourusername in my defence, it WAS a stomach ache...just caused by my appendix slowly bursting

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⤷ yourusername when? when did i ask?

user12 everyone say thank you y/n!

⤷ user8 thank you!

⤷ user3 thank you!

⤷ logansargeant thank you!

⤷ landonorris thank you!

⤷ user6 when even the drivers credit their success to y/n and her appendix 💀

⤷ logansargeant i prefer to consider it a surprise tool i can use later

⤷ yourusername it? tool? that's it, im taking away your appendix privileges.

oscarpiastri formally requesting you remove your gall bladder for the next race pls and thank you

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⤷ oscarpiastri fake friend

⤷ oscarpiastri heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰

carlossainz55 welcome amigo!

⤷ yourusername does the pain of having your organs rearranged ever go away?

⤷ carlossainz55 eventually, you just have to be patient

⤷ landonorris i can help rearrange them back to normal if it doesn't

⤷ yourusername i- i don't know how to respond to this

⤷ landonorris is that a yes?

[lewisvinga]

empanadaaaas | carlos sainz x argentine! fem! reader

summary; who would’ve thought that carlos would find a new love after visiting argentina with his girlfriend

fc; rita mota

warnings; ?

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03

notes; requested !

masterlist !

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; 🤍] [caption 2; mi amor with me in my beloved argentina 🫶]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by carlossainz55, yoursister, and others !

yourusername:🇦🇷🤍

tagged; carlossainz55, yoursister

carlosainz55: 😍😍😍 liked by yourusername !

carlossainz55: vamos argentina ! 🇦🇷

yourusername: and that’s how you win papa l/n over 😁😁

username: not u taking a SPANIARD to latinoamerica ma’am…. STAND UP

yourusername: he’s a cute spaniard tho😞

username: told y’all carlos is for the latinas 💆‍♀️

username: ugh the wispy bangs r everything

username: i wanna be u

yoursister: tell ur bf to STOP EATING MY EMPANADAS

carlossainz55: ur mom made them for me🤔

yoursister: whatever mamá makes = mine

yourusername: i wish i could get him to stop but he refuses to eat anything else or else he’ll starve 😞😞

yoursister: y tu pobre hermana??? ella está muriéndose del hambre. 😒 [and your poor sister, she is dying of hunger]

carlossainz55: we went out for ice cream 2 hrs ago???

yoursister: where’s my empanada.

carlossainz55: in my stomach😋😋

username: those empanados look saur good i get carlos tbh

username: ARGENTINAAAAA🇦🇷🇦🇷

yourbestfriend: WOWZERSSS UR SO😍

yourusername: UR WOWZERSS😘

alexandrasaintmleux: so gorgeous 🥹 i’ve been wanting to go🤍

yourusername: next time bby, girls trip to argentinaaaa💕

username: this is so messi core

username: HELPPP

username: no1 gonna mention the last pic?? bc i’ve been thinking abt it for the past 30 mins 🚶‍♀️

username: carlos w the basic white dog in a latino household HELPPP😭

username: okay but y/n and y/s/n always eattt😫

username: now i’m craving empanadas 😔😔

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and others !

carlossainz55: te quiero argentina por y/n y empanadaaaas [i love you argentina for y/n and empanadas]

tagged; yourusername

yourusername: carlitooosssss, q guapooooo😻 [how handsome]

carlossainz55: y usted tan hermosa, nena 😍 [and you’re so beautiful]

yourusername: so grateful to show you argentina 🤍🇦🇷

carlossainz55: so grateful to know this beautiful country 🤍

yoursister: i’m sick of y’all already🤢

carlossainz55: tengo un amigo bien guapo , [i have a very handsome friend] and he’s your age 😁

yoursister: ou say lessss

yourusername: NOT lando. anyone but lando

landonorris: what’s wrong w me😢

yourusername: british and doesn’t like fish 😕

yoursister: he’s cute i can get past it 😛😛

landonorris: you like fish?? yoursister i can get past it too😁

username: NOT THE EMPANADA MENTION LMAOO😭

username: carlos rlly loves empanadas he’s jus like me fr

username: y/n is everything 😫

username: hes sooo bf

username: sexy spaniard i get u y/n i rlly do

yourusername: weak for that spaniard 😞 i’m making him argentine tho #trust

carlossainz55: mi gente latino ✊

charles_leclerc: i’m afraid to ask how many empanadas you ate

carlossainz55: you don’t want to know.

username: when will it be my turn to find a spanish bf and take him to argentina 🚶‍♀️🚶‍♀️

username: ARGENTINA MENTIONED🇦🇷🔥

username: they’re everything to me pls

username: caption is SO true

username: i wonder how madridista carlos feels knowing y/n and her family are messi fans

yourusername: good thing we’re madridistas too💯💯

carlossainz55: i did that😁

[adrienneleclerc]

Hello! Can you write something about Charles? I'm sorry but right now I can't stand Landon 😂

Hey! Sorry I haven’t been writing much for Charles, I have requests for Lewis Hamilton and Daniel Ricciardo that I am still working on.

2 Wins in Monza

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N is Charles’s personal chef and when he sees another driver flirting with her, he gets a little…crazy.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, it’ll probably be a little stupid, not gonna lie

A/N: inspired by Lola and Alexander’s relationship from Lola, Érase Una Vez, which is an amazing child’s telenovela, and a page from “A Liar’s Twisted Tongue”. In other news, CHARLES LECLERC WINS MONZA!!

Charles’s schedule has gotten busier this season and he decided to hire a personal chef during the summer break since he has been having trouble preparing meals for himself. They were currently in Monza and Y/N was preparing a quick snack for Charles after free practice when Franco Colapinto approached her.

“Hola, guapa.” Franco said and Y/N chuckled. (Hello, hottie)

“Ay niño, por favor, apenas tienes 21 años, no te pases de lanzando. Pero de verdad, como te está yendo?” Y/N asked. (Boy, please, You’re barley 21, don’t be so forward. But seriously, how’s it going?)

“Me está yendo bien por ser mi primera vez en meses en un carro de fórmula uno. Y como es Charles Leclerc como jefe?” Franco asked. (It’s going well considering it’s my first time in months in a F1 car. And how’s Charles as a boss?)

“Él está bien. Me paga bien, por qué preguntas?” Y/N asked. (He’s good. The pay is good, why are you asking)

“No, por nada, solo estoy haciendo conversación. Eras amigo del güero?” Franco asked. (No reason, just making conversation. We’re You friends with the blonde guy?)

“Logan? Solo le hablé un ratito, la verdad es que soy igual de nueva que tú. Vas a querer algo de comer? Te puedo hacer un sándwich.” Y/N said, Franco smiled. (I only talked to him for a little bit, the truth is I’m just as new as you are. Are you going to want something to eat? I Can make you a sandwich)

“Sí, me puedes hacer uno de jamón, lechuga, tomate, y cebolla?” Franco asked. (Yeah, Can you make me one with ham, lettuce, tomato, and onions?)

“Claro.” Y/N said and ruffled Franco’s hair. He fixed his hair. (Sure)

“Me ganas por un año, no te pases.” Franco said and Y/N smiled, shaking her head. (You’re only a year older than me, chill)

While most people would see this interaction as a brother/sister relationship, Charles saw this interaction as something more and approached them.

“Whats going on here?” Charles asked as Y/N was making Franco his sandwich.

“Oh I made you something to eat before your qualifying session, it’s in the microwave. Franco came over here to talk and I asked him if he wanted a sandwich.” Y/N said.

“Hey Charles.” Franco told Charles.

“Hey.” Charles said with a tight smile and looked at Y/N. “You’re staying until qualifying is done, right?” Charles asked.

“Bro, I came here with you and Carlos. I am not leaving without you and Carlos.” Y/N said, finishing the sandwich and toasting it on the panini press.

“Okay, just checking.” Charles said and he took the food Y/N made him out the microwave and grabbing a fork to eat it. He sat down a chair away from Franco.

“Hey Y/N, there’s a restaurant here I wanted to try, Can you come with me?” Franco asked. Y/N took the sándwich out of the panini press and served it on a plate to him.

“Why do you want me to come with? We barely know each other?” Y/N asked. Charles was just listening in, it’s hard not to considering this conversation was taking place right in front of him.

“You’re the closest to my age and the only other Latino here, please, I’ll pay.” Franco asked, taking a bit of his sandwich. “This is really good.”

“Yeah sure, I’ll go.” Y/N said.

“Cool, I’m gonna take this sandwich and eat it over there so I can review the car before qualifying, see you later.” Franco said, walking out, sandwich in hand.

“You’re not seriously going out with him, are you?” Charles asked.

“Dude, why do you care? It’s just dinner, he’s paying, and he’s younger than me so nothing would happen. Also, I’m not stupid enough to date a driver, even if he is in formula 2.” Y/N said, before making herself the same sandwich she made Franco but with avocado slices.

“So you wouldn’t date any driver at all?” Charles asked.

“Why are you asking? Dating one driver while working under another is unprofessional and really fucking stupid. Not to mention dating the same driver I’m working under, that’s like Winchester level stupid.” Y/N said, putting her sandwich in the panini press.

“Why would it be stupid?” Charles asked and Y/N just stared at him.

“Oh, right, you’re a man. Since I am a woman, I’ll be accused of working for you just for the off chance of possibly being your girlfriend or that I’m using you to get to other drivers, people will view me as an opportunist. Not to mention I will have to see them or you every race weekend or everyday because I really need this job.” Y/N takes her sandwich out of the panini press and looks for potato chips in the pantry.

“What if it works out?” Charles asked and Y/N paused for a second and places the chips on the counter.

“I’m not exactly as optimistic as I look, Lord Perceval.” Y/N said, eating her lunch.

“Oh ha ha, thanks for lunch.” Charles said, putting the plate in the sink and Y/N nodded. As charles was walking away, he found Pierre with Simba. “Hey mate, are you busy with Kika tonight?” Charles asked.

“No, why, did you want to do something?” Pierre asked.

“Yeah, why don’t we go out for dinner just the two of us, I’ll pay.” Charles said.

“Yeah sure, I think Kika wanted to do some shopping with Rebecca so I’m completely free.” Pierre said.

“Perfect, I’ll text you what time we’re going.” Charles said and he waves goodbye to Simba who was chewing on his shoe laces.

When Y/N left the hotel with Franco, a few minutes ago, Charles texted Pierre that they should go out now. Pierre said goodbye to Simba and left the hotel with Charles and Pierre was none the wiser to the fact that Charles was actually following Y/N. When they arrived at the restaurant, charles and Pierre were a couple people behind Y/N and Franco.

“Oh look, Y/N is here, should I ask if we could join?” Pierre asked Charles.

“No no, I wouldn’t want to bother her, let’s just wait.” Charles said and Pierre shrugged his shoulders.

Y/N and Franco got a table and Y/N looked around.

“Nunca ha estado en Italia, muchas gracias por invitarme.” Y/N told Franco (i never been to Italy, thank you for inviting me)

“Claro! Como los dos somos nuevos en Fórmula uno, por qué no juntarnos?” Franco asked rhetorically. (Of course! Since we’re both new in F1, why not hang out together?)

“Cierto. Debería hacer lo mismo com Kimi y Ollie la próxima temporada.” Y/N said, (true. I should do the same for kimi and Ollie next season)

Charles and Pierre were sat 3 tables away from Y/N and Franco and Charles was staring. Pierre followed Charles eyes and landed on Y/N, he stared at Charles.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on. Why are we here?” Pierre asked.

“Nothing is going on, can’t I have dinner with my best friend?” Charles asked.

“Of course we can have dinner together but you are clearly not here for me, you’re busy making googoo eyes at Y/N.” Pierre said.

“Am not.” Charles countered and Pierre stared at him. “I just don’t trust Franco.”

“He just got here! How could you possibly have a problem with him?” Pierre asked.

“He’s been flirting with Y/N since he’s got here and he clearly makes her feel uncomfortable.” Charles said,

“Did Y/N tell you that?” Pierre asked, clearly not believing a word Charles said.

“She doesn’t have to, I can see it in her eyes. And you know what they say, the eyes don’t lie.” Charles said.

“Yeah, sure,” Pierre said.

Y/N and Franco got their food and while they were talking, Y/N saw Charles with Pierre.

“No inventes. Oye Franco, soy yo o Charles está aquí con Pierre?” Y/N asked Franco (no way. Hey, is it me or is charles here with Pierre)

“No, yo también los veo. Llamaste a Charles o que?” Franco asked. (I see them too. You called him or what?)

“Claro que no. Termino mi pasta y voy a chequear que hace Charles aquí.” Y/N said (Of course not! I’ll finish my pasta and I’ll check what he’s doing here)

Charles and Pierre received their food and they were drinking wine when they heard footsteps,

“Possiamo prendere dell’altro parmigiano?” Charles asked, without looking. (Can we get more Parmesan cheese?)

“You know I don’t speak Italian, pendejo.” Y/N said and Charles looked at her with shock.

“Oh hey, what are you doing here?” Charles asked and Y/N looked at Pierre.

“Is he serious?” Y/N asked Pierre, pointing to Charles.

“Apparently. I’m gonna take my plate and sit with Franco, you two have a lot to talk about, he’s lonely, and I’m hungry.” Pierre said, taking his plate to Franco’s table and Y/N sat down in Pierre’s spot.

“So you followed me from the hotel to here? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were obsessed with me, Leclerc.” Y/N said, jokingly but to Charles, it wasn’t a joke.

“I don’t think you should speak to your boss in that way. Perhaps titles are in order?” Charles said seriously and Y/N changed her tone.

“Which one should I use? Lord Perceval or pathetic?” Y/N asked, leaning closer to him.

“You could have called me yours.” Charles said and Y/N backed away a little.

“Don’t joke with shit like that, Charles.” Y/N said.

“I’m not joking. Why do you think I was asking you these questions after the free practice?” Charles asked,

“So you like me? Hold up, is that why you hired me as your chef?” Y/N asked.

“Of course not! Who do you think I am?” Charles asked.

“I Don’t know you well, that’s why I’m asking.” Y/N said.

“So…do you think dating me will be Winchester level stupid?” Charles asked.

“Well i won’t know until we actually start dating.” Y/N said.

“How about I take you out next weekend.” Charles said.

“Sounds great.” Y/N said.

Y/N was watching the race from the hospitality, eating the guacamole she made with chips, when she saw Charles was leading the race in lap 42.

“Let’s go, Charles.” Y/N muttered and continued snacking. As the race was coming to the last lap, Charles was still in the lead so Y/N put the guacamole in the fridge, closed the bag of chips, and ran out with the Ferrari staff to celebrate Charles Monza win. When Charles’s car came to the P1 stop, he got out of the car and hugged everyone. When he got to Y/N, the hug lasted longer.

“I can’t believe you’re here to celebrate my win.” Charles said.

“I can’t believe I got to witness your win in person.” Y/N said.

“How about we go out tonight to celebrate my win.” Charles said

“That would be wonderful. We can go out with Carlos and Rebecca so we could celebrate Carlos’s birthday.” Y/N said.

“Okay, I’ll text Carlos.” Charles said

“Perfect.” Y/N said.

The End

Hope y’all liked it!

[amirasainz]

Carlos, waking up after the Met Gala Disaster After Lando's First Win (as the drivers call it):

LEWIS TOOK MY APPENDIX THAT'S WHY I WASN'T FEELING WELL HE VODOOED IT THAT'S WHY MY BABY SISTER-

and then someone knocks him out with a frying pan, rapunzel style!

Meanwhile Amira:... Do you hear something?

HAHAHAHA! I love this idea. I can see it so clearly in front of my eyes.

Rapunzel Style

Carlos woke up with a startled gasp. On top of him was Lando, smiling lightly. Oscar held his right arm, Max his left. Daniel and Pierre each had one of his foot in their arms. "Everything is ok, Carlos. You just went a bit cray-cray after seeing Lewis and Amira-" "No, NO! HE WANTS TO TAKE MY SISTER NOW! HE IS THE REASON WHY I LOST MY APPEDENTICS!" Carlos yelled, somehow managing to wrestle out of his friends hold. All of them were screaming at him to stop running when suddenly everything went pitch black.

There stood Charles Leclerc, proudly waving a pan in the air. "HAHA! Not on my watch, amigo." He turned to his friends, who were all shell shocked. "Breakfast?" Charles asked with an extremely sweet smile.

Meanwhile, under the same room

"Lew? Lewis? Did you hear that?" Amira asked fearfully. "I didn't hear anything, love. Let's get a bit more sleep" Lewis answered, holding her tighter against himself. Feeling reassured, Amira went back to sleep.