#sorry i still don't know how to use tumblr

[dilf-docs]

Le Pedí Al Mar Y Al Sol Que Te Trajera

pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: vacations are supposed to be fun! and with a hot older famous boyfriend? now we're really talking.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (yum), pwp, p. in v., fingering, pussy spanking (ooc i'm sorry i just want a man to do this to me), creampie, virgin!reader (sorry if this is kinda unrealistic for a first as i two i'm a virgin; in the curb we all fam), aftercare, spanglish ofc!!!

word count: 2,865 words

side note: so, i modified the request a bit bc idk pedro's friends like that (i just know omar apollo can tower over me wait what). check the og request here. reqs still open as we enter 2025! happy new year, dilf town citizens: pushed this drabble last minute as a lil' gift for you before the year ends! :) thank u sm for being part of it, my journey on tumblr is just getting started!!!!!!!!!!

Hace tiempo que quería yo sentir esto que siento.

They say dating a star and having to share him with everybody else is the hardest part, but to you, it's having both of your vacations occur simultaneously.

Finally, after months of shooting so many projects for the next year, your boyfriend is free.

Vacations are fun! They're supposed to be relaxing, especially after leading such a busy life as yours: juggling between work, studies and a relationship with world-renowned actor, Pedro Pascal. Yet, you can't help but feel nervous, fiddling with the loose strands of your skirt.

Pedro wants you to go alone, which means just the both of you: a little escape before Christmas Eve, as he and his friends have already planned their holiday together.

Doesn't matter how many times you tried to excuse yourself, he was determined to make you go with him. Besides, let's get real: it's not like you can say no to him. So now here he is, both of your passports in hand as you both are ready to board your plane to Mexico, where the rest of his friends will meet you a week later. Yes, more nerves to add on the schedule.

"If you don't quit that shaking of yours, I'll extend our vacation two more weeks" Pedro threatens once you're seated, but it's devoid of any malice. He's a bit far from you (he also insisted on the VIP flying part; you're just fine flying tourist, but can understand why he isn't), so you can't count on his touch to comfort you. "Didn't know you were afraid of planes"

You sigh, "I'm not"

"Ay, cariño. Are you afraid of me then?"

"No" you laugh nervously. You are, but not for the reasons he thinks.

It's the very first time the two of you will be fully alone. For obvious reasons, a whole week at the beach is much more intimate than just the dates you've been in. But here you are, already seeing the sand and water beneath you.

"Like what you see?" he jokes.

"Yeah" you look back at him, sincerity washing over the expression on your face. "I do"

If there is one thing you're sure of, is your love for Pedro. You'll just have to wait and see how this goes.

As of now, everything has gone well: sun, water, diving and lots of new photos and videos on your camera roll. You've gone swimming and danced on the bar of the hotel you're staying, some extra drinks on your system. You've also sunbathed under the same sun you've watched go down, in the most beautiful sunsets you've ever seen in your life.

But here comes the hardest part: the night. Sharing a bed isn't hard: it's something that's happened before, one time even staying in his house for two days, all because he insisted.

This time is different: the way his gaze lingers over your bare legs, the same way he's looked at them when the droplets of water slide down them. The way he licks his lips, like he's starving and the most deliciously tempting meal stands before him. Mantaining eye contact like it's some kind of dare, just as he's done since you've landed, using it to disarm you little by little.

You don't think you can't take it anymore.

You lay down on the bed, and he leaves the book he's reading on the night table next to him, all his attention directed towards you. Yeah, you're afraid, he can sense, but apparently not that afraid to wear a dainty nightwear that gives a delicious peek of your breasts.

"Something you want to say?" you ask, almost daringly so.

"Say no" voice low, barely a whisper that could come across a breeze of wind entering through the open window as it stirs the courtains. "Want, yes"

You gulp. "What do you want, then?"

Shouldn't taken the bait.

"You" comes quick, like it's the easiest answer there ever is.

The rest of his answer comes in the form of hungry lips capturing yours, devouring them in a clash of desire against your own, even struggling to breath due to the animalistic borderline savage way Pedro's eating you out, his tongue battling inside your mouth while trying to explore every corner just to taste all of you on his palate.

"Pedro" you moan his name out when he bites your lip with a bit too much force, metallic filling your taste buds. It's all so hot, and you're too turned on to think.

His roaming hands itch to touch every available spot of soft skin your body offers, tracing first through your collarbones, and then leaving the task for his lips to complete. There goes a trail of kisses that go down your neck, teeth nibbling the sensitive skin until it turns red. You whine against his hold, big hands keeping you under him, back pushed against the soft mattress and silk sheets.

You gasp for air, lost in the fire, when suddenly his forgotten hands touch you down there.

"Wait!" you shout, mentally slapping yourself.

"¿Qué pasó?" he exclaims, scared. "Did I hurt you?"

"N-no" you're quick to deny, voice wavering as you seat up on the bed. Your cheeks soon flush, as there's regret when you say. "I'm sorry"

"Sorry for what?" he tenderly cups your cheek. "Just tell me what happened"

"What happened is, I fucked up the vibe. I'm sorry, P. Didn't mean to stop you like that"

"¿No te estaba gustando, cariño?" he's questioning again.

"No" your answer is more firmly this time. His face morphs into a bit of hurt, and then you think your answer a bit more. "Ah, no. I mean, yes! I was liking it. I meant no as in no, it's not that why I stopped you"

"Then, why is it?" he grows a little impatient, but shows no such thing, rather focused on helping you out. "You know you can trust me, right?"

"I know" you smile sadly, insecurities washing over you like cold water.

"Then, tell me" he scoots closer, his perfume getting in your nostrils. Had he wore it again for this? God, what an evil little horny creature.

"I'm scared" you confess finally, the warmth of his receptiveness giving you a sense of security. His brown eyes soften, and you feel tears brim in the corner of your eyes.

"I know" he repeats your words, kissing you softheartedly, nothing compared to as before.

"No" you look directly at him, ready to take in every reaction his face will have. "I don't think you do"

"Amor, por favor-"

"I'm a virgin" you cut him off, panic rushing your answer.

"You are?" almost immediatly, giving no opportunity for silence to settle in.

You nod, slowly.

He sighs, sounding relieved. "And here I thought you didn't love me. Que te daba asco acostarte con un viejo como yo"

"No!" you deny hastily, then laugh. "Of course I love you, P. On the contrary, I was the one scared. Don't want to fuck it up on my first"

The energy changes again, as a flame sparks within your orbs. He looks surprised.

"Just because I said-" he cuts himself off. "Look, y/n, mi vida. I don't want to force you, yeah? I didn't know you hadn't- Listen, if you aren't ready, I'll understand"

"I am ready" clear and convinced, without a doubt.

His eyes circle between lust and love, "You want me to be your first, mmh baby?"

You nod, and he's back at the kissing and nibbling on your neck and collarbones.

"Please say it"

"I want you, Pedro. Quiero que seas mi primera vez"

Those sweet words of yours, an invitation not even the strongest man could deny.

"Let's start slow, yeah?" his fingers travel down to your panties under the nightwear, removing them and tossing them out of the bed, even with your pout. He kisses it off, wasting no time after to see your clit exposed. "Looking so sweet, angel. And needy" he gets closer, taking a better look at the wet mess that coats in between your thighs. He takes a whiff, intoxicated with the smell of your arousal dripping in waiting need. "Tell me if this is okay, yeah? I'll stop if it hurts"

Your breath hitches the moment his middle finger touches your puffy clit. Pedro runs his finger up and down, not adding much pressure to let you get used to it (kissing and eating each other out was all you had ever done). You whimper at the feeling as he repeats his action a few more times.

"Please, keep going" you plead, barely managing to not squirm at the overwhelming new sensations that shoot right through your cunt.

He begins to rub slow circles, making sure to add the right pressure onto your clit, then circling it, all while keeping eye contact, adoring the new expressions and sounds he's getting from you. You realize and shy away, embarrassed all of the sudden at the way he looks at you.

"Don't" he holds you by your chin with his free hand, "I want to know how you look when I please you"

You whimper, letting him do his own thing. He starts leaving sweet little kisses around your quivering pussy, enjoying the sight of your hole clenching at nothing.

"Think you can take more?" he asks, "want more?"

Two of his fingers dive straight in between your folds, coating them with your juices.

"Good girl" he praises when you only yelp, savouring the new feel of his digits inside of you. Then, he drags his fingers back to his mouth, tongue licking them clean. "Taste so sweet too"

"N-need more" you whine, desperate beneath him.

"Yeah?" This your first and you're already this greedy? I think I can get used to it" he laughs in adoration. "Let's try something better, yeah?"

Your body suddenly jolts, his big palm flat against your pussy. Pedro circles his whole palm across your cunt, middle finger pressing tightly onto it. You moan, back arching at the overstimulation.

He feels a little pervy, enjoying the way your tiny young body squirms beneath his caging body for of him. Nonetheless, he continues to rub you while you release more dirty sounds cascading out fo your filthy greedy lips. Your arousal keeps dripping like a broken pipeline, now smeared all over Pedro's palm, filling the room with slippery sounds.

"Mhm" you can't even speak, the exquisite combination of pain and pleasure reducing you to a moaning mess.

Pedro slaps your pussy twice, wet smacks bouncing off the walls.

"That's my girl" he then gently blows on your swollen bud, pressing a light kiss on it after. "Ready for it?"

It meaning his hard tent hidden under his underwear. You gulp, afraid you might not take it. He sees the hesitation in your eyes, but you're quick to dissmiss it.

"Are you sure you are ready?"

"Just do it" you demand, without knowing the consequences of your words, or the effect you have on him. Overall.

With needy fingers, you're fast to strip him out of it, admiring the size as much as you admire his now sculpted body. Jesus, you could build a cult out of it.

"Now" he cups your cheeks, fingers digging onto the skin, "I want you to look at me when I fuck you, yes? Don't dare to look away"

Pedro positions himself between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance. Then, he thrust inside you, filling you completely. You cry, trying to adjust to his size while your nails dig on his broad back, as he claims you, makes you his. Only his. Pedro'hi's hips snap forward with precision: every thrust is deliberate, each movement calculated to make your first as pleasurable as he can, despite the pain that's shown in your tears or the little drops of blood that fall onto the sheets.

"Shit" he pants, "tendremos que pagar por eso"

He grips your thighs, holding you steady as he pounds into you.

"Fuck, you feel so good" he moans, your tight untouched walls now stretching to adapt to his girth, "like you were made for me"

You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he firmly holds you. Your vision goes foggy, mind numb at the burning and pleasing sensations. Despite that and lack of experience, you meet his every thrust, your bodies moving as one.

Your core contracts around him with every motion. "You fuck me so good" you mewl, music to his ears.

"I know, baby" he chuckles, "sólo lo mejor para mi princesa"

Fingers dig into your skin as he guides you with precision, right as he wants you to be. You feel the intensity of his deep inside of you with every movement, his hot laboured breath against your ear.

"Doing it so good" his voice is low, almost a growl, sending shivers down your spine. "Just for me"

"Just for you" you mindlessly pant out, the sensation of having all of him inside you, nothing separating the skin from skin, igniting a fire that spreads through your core. Your breasts bounce with each motion, Pedro's eyes never leaving yours, dark orbs locked onto your gaze as you urge him to go faster, drawing in a sharp breath as your body adjusts to the new rhythm he's providing, rapidly obeying.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your bodies clashing onto one another, flesh against flesh echoing softly.

"Your body is perfect, so wet, so tight for me" His words send a wave of pleasure crashing over you, making you moan loudly, your head falling back, "me tienes loco"

Pedro's weight grounds you as he begins to thrust deeply, each movement deliberate and unrelenting.

"Tell me you want this, us" the words catch you off guard. "Will you take all of me?"

"Yes" without a thought or doubt, answering as you whine and clutch at his shoulders with his more urgent thrusts. "All of you, always"

You notice his hips snapping forward, more energy as he pounts into you. "Good girl" praising you again, voice thick in arousal and rough, "so good for me"

Despite being your first, you can feel what would be your orgasm building, closer and closer until there is no holding it back.

"Pedro!" you scream his name, body collapsing around him as you come, stars reaching your closed eyelids.

His movements become more intense and sloppier, breathing ragged as he chases his own release.

"Espérame. Stay there for me"

You cling to him, legs wrapping tighter as he continues to pound into you. "Ya casi" his thrusts become erratic as he nears his climax, "almost there, baby"

You feel his body tensing as he comes inside you with a deep groan, seed spilling into you without wasting a drop.

"That's right" whispers against your sweet neck roughly, voice breaking as he collapses over you, trying to level his breathing. "Eres mía, only mine"

You're whimpering, body exhausted from the whole session you had.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired" you sigh, "but I don't think I can walk"

"We'll get you a wheelchair someway" he jokes.

"You think is funny? Ruining my holidays?"

He leans down to press a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Come on, we'll get you cleaned up" you mumble out a tired no, but Pedro's picking you up with his strong arms, taking your body to the bathroom. You wrap your legs instinctively around his waist, face hidden in the crook of his neck.

"You know what? Your fans were right: you do have a slutty little waist" you mock.

"Right" he blushes, embarrased as he takes you inside the bathroom, then placing you on top of the toilet. "Open up, baby" he grabs some tissues, trying to clean up the mess you've made between your legs. "Así, justo así, bebé" he parts your hair to the side lovingly, fixing it for you before pressing a kiss on the crown of your head. "Done, my pretty baby, look at you"

You hum, eyes threatening to close.

"I see you're not an after-sex talker. Come on, I'll take you back to bed" he picks you up again, your head leaning against Pedro's V line as he caresses your head. "Hope you don't mind the smell"

"I love how you smell" you mumble out in a drunk like state.

"Okay then" he chuckles, "let's go back to bed" taking you out of the room, gently placing you the mattress. He then pulls a pair of fresh panties from your suitcase, dressing you in them. He coos at the sight of you, sleeping peacefully despite what you did before.

He finally lays next to you, lovingly lifting up your arm to put it around his waist. He pulls the sheets over your bodies to keep you both warm, in the chilly room thanks to the beach's air.

He feels you move, snuggling closer to his chest to seek warmth.

"I love you" whispered, not expecting you to answer or hear it.

When you snuggle closer, he's sure you do.

[beddybites]

About our tiny king, Babynai, does he have teeth while baby? Or does he start teething? Idk I'm sitting in bed it's almost 3am and I keep thinking abt Babynai amd stuff and this thought is stuck in my mind😭

Imagine Giyuu or Sanemi putting up with his crying at any time when he's teething, poor baby (and parents)😭 OR HIM WITH LIKE A CHEWING TOY OR WHATEVER TO HELP HIM TEETH! He's so cute I'm sobbing🥹

Also, I don't know if you still like the 21yo trio as babies, it's okay if not I'm just wondering if you will continue them (like draw them or anything) in the future? Me personally loved the ideo of those three being babies together, they are so chaotic and adorable🥹 But I love ALL of your art, not just the baby ones😭 Your art is so.. comforting and just good to look at. I can't even describe it with words but it just looks so pleasing and neat and gives a warm calming feeling to me. You have such a good artstyle, they all look so adorable and fluffy!💖 I love to just scroll on your page and just look at your drawing over and over. When I'm done with school the first thing I check when I get my phone is if you posted something (I've told this in another like, anonymous ask or i don't know what it's called on tumblr) but your art always gives me peace after a rough and depressing day in school (I'm sorry if I'm being too much, I really am😓) I just felt like I can't sleep without telling you again how much I admire your work and time you put into giving us so many arts, doodles animations and headcanons, I appreciate you so much, you made my whole 2024 better. I will forever be your fan and can't wait to show your art to my future kids after I made them watch kny!🔥

Have a nice day/night��🏻🫶🏻 (sorry again for writing this much, I hope it's not a bother)

hi anon!!! first of all this is so freaking swwet oh my god?????? ive been feeling rlly awful and pesstimisric about my work as a whole so opening tumblr and seeing this cheered me up a ton and im rlly so so so grateful for u taking the time to send me this msg let alone enjoy my art to begin with 🥹🥹 i hope ur doing absolutely amazingly!!

in response to tiny 21 trio: yes! i do plan on drawing them again eventually, im just taking a bit of a hiatus from that au for the time being!

in response to babynai: poor guy! definitely experiences teething all over again and the poor thing is in a lot of pain bcuz of it );

i also think he struggles because he still has his mouth scar in this au, so he generally has some mouth pain, which means he gets lots of love and support. mitsuri ABSOLUTELY spoils the heck out of him every time she gets to take care of him. sanemi and giyuu get him lots of teething toys. shinobu gives him check ups and such, ubayashiki family find him the best medicine and resources. gyomei lets the babynai teeth at his finger or shirt so it can calm him down. etc etc etc

all the hashira are very supportive and take care of him a lot!

at the same time obi ends up getting lots of reassurance from kaburamaru. those two have “fangs” together for a bit and it makes obi happy to be like his best buddy

[ropebuny]

when you roleplay like that, aren't you ever scared they will actually do those things (or do you want that maybe, some people do i guess?)? because when i've talked to guys, like in a more serious way and talking about meeting up irl, i always chicken out. how do you know they won't permanently injure you, or rape you, or even kill you if you do meet them? sadly i've heard a couple of stories of girls who have met with guys from tumblr and actually been raped, murdered and even chopped up. like yes, i've only read about two such cases but it still scares me. i can't help but get off to certain things, and i wish i could meet someone and have a safe play time irl.. but it gets too scary because all of those times i've heard women being raped for real or murdered after haunt me, i don't want that to be me. how do you know if you can trust them and meet up with them without them actually breaking your legs (for example) like you roleplay about? also i am sorry if i just seem dramatic or sensitive or something, i do know that some people actually want to meet someone and be permanently injured and traumatized after (like some people do enjoy that). so sorry if that's the case... you just talk about wanting to feel safe and such, so i just thought i'd ask... because most times when i even express the fear people only belittle me for being so whiny and scared 😭 i've also tried vanilla relationships, but like you've expressed i always feel like i need something more. sorry for the long ask and if i bother you, i don't even expect an answer tbh, but i just thought i'd try to ask for some advice still

I definitely get scared sometimes during roleplay or after it or when I start thinking about it just in general sometimes. unfortunately, you can never be too safe :( someone can seem like the best person to ever walk this earth, and they can still end up hurting you. some people are great at disguising their true self, or sometimes you’re just too blinded by love to notice all the red flags that keep popping up and you unfortunately walk directly into the monster’s lair.

if you feel that you can’t speak up / voice your concerns to your dom, especially during roleplay, you are NOT safe with this person. you should feel completely confident and secure in the fact that if you voice any disdain to what’s happening, they will stop immediately. but again, unfortunately some people do stop immediately but then when you meet up with them, they get “carried away” (they usually use something like this as an excuse, I remember after my high school boyfriend raped me he used that as an excuse as to why he did what he did) and can severely hurt you.

the other night, while me and dad were in the middle of some hard-ish roleplay, I said stoppp because I was embarrassed. and their voice softened immediately and they asked “was that too much ? did you not like that ?” which made my heart flutter and really helped calm my nerves down and reassured me that they genuinely care about me. and then yesterday, I was feeling super insecure and was overthinking a lot and dad spent literal hours on call with me calming me down and reassuring me. if you’re ever with someone and you don’t feel comfy enough to voice your concerns, especially during roleplay because you might worry that they’ll have a bad reaction, please think twice whether you’re with the right person. a good dom, especially when dealing with hard kinks and scenarios, should never make you feel uncomfortable to speak up. and again, unfortunately some people are great at disguising themselves, so you can never be too sure :( which is honestly heartbreaking

unfortunately, hard kink has a lot of real predators and evil people who disguise themselves as just being ‘hard doms’ when in reality they are abusers hiding behind kink, so they can get away with hurting and traumatising others

I unfortunately do not have a lot of good insightful advice to give you because like I said, no matter what.. people can be amazing liars and amazing at pretending to be someone they’re not :( I just really want to stress the point that if you EVER feel that your dom has disrespected you in such an irresponsible manner that it is irredeemable, for example ignoring your usage of the safeword and continuing anyway, never taking your concerns seriously (for example if you tell them that you don’t feel like being sexual currently, but they keep turning the conversation sexual), if they come off as selfish constantly (for example, only ever engaging in sexual conversations with you and never anything else. and when you don’t feel like being sexual, they stop talking to you, only coming back later when you’re in the mood again), never taking the time to calm you down and reassure you (even if it takes hours, they shouldn’t blow up at you for it !!!!!! you are engaging in something serious, something very taboo and sensitive, and you can soooo easily be triggered really bad or dissociate from reality, and they should never undermine your feelings or call you overreactive when it comes to this !!!!), constantly disrespecting your limits / boundaries (this is a tell tale sign that if they can’t respect smaller boundaries, they won’t respect bigger ones either).

another red flag is if they never want to talk about politics or where exactly they stand with certain issues, like feminism or abortion rights or how they feel about certain political parties, etc. you should always be very aware of your dom’s morals and political beliefs !!!!! if they are against abortion, red flag. if they genuinely support the patriarchy, red flag. if they are transphobic, do you really want to be with this person on such an intimate and vulnerable level, knowing how hateful they are to certain groups ??? like what are their motives for being so hateful, too ? REALLY get to know them on a personal level and get to know their morals and political / humanitarian values.

and make sure to never jump the gun !!!!!! always take your time !!!! and be skeptical of anyone who is trying to get to meet with you immediately. if they truly love and value you, they will wait for you !!!!!! they will wait to meet up until you feel completely secure and comfortable !!!!!! never let someone bribe you into meeting up, or guilt trip you into meeting up. they can have really really bad intentions.

if they never talk about how much they love you and praise you and build you up as a person, if they never talk about how they also want to go on cutesy dates and take cute naps with you and cuddle with you, etc. when you meet up… if it’s ONLY sexual talk, especially hard and triggering kinks……….. that’s a red flag that they only want one thing from you, and don’t actually value you as a person. that they don’t care for you outside of what you have to offer them in terms of kink, and how you can satisfy them and what all you’d let them do to you.

especially when they’re SUPER keen on doing a specific thing with you that you have already told them multiple times you aren’t interested in. while, yeah sure sometimes partners can open your mind to different ideas and kinks that previously you never would have been into, but if they’re like. obsessive ???? over getting you to do something that you do NOT want to do….. stay away from that person !!!! it reminds me of my high school ex who was extremely into anal and I kept telling him I wasn’t ready / interested, but every single time we had sex he’d beg and beg me to try. even when I said no, he didn’t give up and keep begging. after some time, he got fed up with it and just forced it upon me and raped me anally. I’ve always been iffy and sensitive about anal since. and I’d get sexual with doms on here and they’d bring up anal, and I would explain to them that it’s not something I feel comfortable with, yet. and so often they’d just ignore my disdain for it and keep going with it, because THEY liked it. they didn’t care that I didn’t. these types of people are bad and evil. going all corny dom like “ohhh idc if you like it, what matters is that I do” blahblah……. if your dom doesn’t check in on you, doesn’t ask for a safeword check up, doesn’t care to check whether or not you want to continue, doesn’t care about your triggers / limits / concerns….. they do not value you as a person. and you should stay far away from them.

before meeting up with anyone, truly truly truly make sure that you feel entirely confident and secure. tell your friends and family where you’re going, take extra precautions to be safe (ask them to share their id or even criminal record history, talk to their friends and get to know their friend circle more to know the kind of people they surround themselves with, etc). if something feels off, TRUST that gut feeling !!!!!! your body can sense danger, you need to listen to your body. make sure your friends like this person too, that they don’t have major concerns regarding them.

and you are definitely not being sensitive or dramatic at all, and the fact that others have called you that for bringing up this issue ???? which is a VERY serious problem, especially in the kink community. is absolutely insane to me, and quite heartless. it’s always so important to stress that these kinks are fantasy only, because unfortunately some doms on here do not treat them as such !!!!!! like so many doms hide behind having a patriarchy kink solely, but in reality they genuinely see women as inferior to men and solely as objects to be used and abused. it’s a very very serious issue in general but especially in this community because someone’s entire blog can be a love letter to femicide, misogyny, hating and abusing women, etc….. and no one bats an eye, because ‘oh it’s just a kink’ :( these evil people can soo easily blend into this group of doms, when they aren’t actually respecting what it takes for kink to be safe and consensual.

if you’re dom can’t even go a day without being sexual, or if they can’t even hold themselves back from being sexual even when you have expressed that you aren’t in the mood / aren’t feeling up for it, are depressed, want to be soft etc. get away from them. they only value the sexual aspect of you, but not you as a person. and this alludes to them possibly assaulting you in the future since they just can’t seem to Not be sexual all the time, even when you don’t want it.

if anyone else reading this has any other red flags that pop into their mind, or maybe some lesser known ones that they never see being talked about, please contribute to this discussion !!!!! it’d be greatly appreciated

[paikothecateater]

Okay, I don't normally reblog shit on my blog, but this is kinda important.

I wanna preface by saying that I, in no way, consider myself a spokesperson for the hetalia community. I haven't even been in the fandom very long. I just happen to post a lot of silly headcanons and try to engage with the community.

While this post my come across as needlessly aggressive to some, it's actually so important to pay attention to stuff like this.

Now, my posts very rarely mention nations like Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Ukraine, etcetera and whenever they do, I never add them to my tags.

This is because these nations are very often times misrepresented in hetalia and are portrayed in a borderline degrading way, take Ukraine for an example. These stereotypes are extremely harmful, not only to the people from these nations, but also people who aren't who take these stereotypes as fact.

I, at some point, experienced this. I didn't know much about Estonia at the time and I just used the hetalia version of the character to base my headcanons off of. I offended a ton of actual Estonians because of my own ignorance.

Hetalia isn't inherently bad. And having characters that represent these nations is also not inherently bad. It's important to follow some very specific rules when doing this. Unfortunately, these rules aren't common knowledge, but I want to do my best to make them known just so we can avoid tension and unfortunate interactions.

1) let's get this out of the way. You could leave the country's name out of the tags, but if your headcanon is blatantly distasteful and degrading to the nation and its people, you still messed up. I'm not talking about harmless little quirks like 'oh! So and so is a bit of a nerd' or 'so and so can be a little silly sometimes' I'm talking about downright disgusting stereotypes like 'oh! So and so is really poor and uneducated'

2) the Tumblr tagging system is flawed. Plain and simple. Even if you add APH or HWS or even 'Hetalia' before the country's name, it could still end up interfering with the actual country's tags which is not what you want. Even if your headcanon is respectful, you wouldn't want it to crowd the actual country's tags. People use those tags to get news from around their nation, connect with others from their country and bond over culture. It is not a place for hetalia.

3) if unfortunately a misunderstanding occurs, try to address these situations respectfully and decently. I'm going to be honest, as a community, we're already on thin ice with all the bullshit that has happened. Let's not make our reputation even worse. I'm not asking that you let people be jerks to you. Everyone is responsible for how they conduct themselves online and if you're in the right, but you're being a complete jackass about it, you will and should be called out on it. That goes for both sides by the way, but let's try to approach these situations with understanding. If you made a mistake, take accountability. It's really simple. No one is going to eat your face if you look them in the eye and say 'I messed up. I'm sorry. I'm going to do my best to rectify it' even if it's a small error like a tagging mistake. Mistakes happen. Oversights happen.

Again, I want to reiterate that I am not a spokesperson for this community. I just want to put out my own view on this situation. You're 100% free to disagree with me. It won't make me see you differently as a person. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. This is just my take based on my experience.

Thank you.

stop!!! fucking!!! tagging!!! hetalia!!! characters!!! with!!! the!! actual!!! country’s!!! name!!!

use!!! the!!! appropriate!!! hetalia!!! tags!!!

[mindtrcks]

mutually assured destruction | LN4

He fucks girls like look nothing like you, so he won't slip up and say the wrong name, or something equally mortifying.

WC: 8.7k

Notes: coworkers to enemies to lovers, fuckboy lando lite, smut, there must be hurt before there can be comfort!

The thing is, you don't really like him.

Lando has seen the pictures, press conferences where your mouth is pressed into a line, as far away from him on the couch as you could possibly get away with, as close to rolling your eyes at him as your press manager would let slide. Lando knows he’s not for everybody, loud and admittedly verging on obnoxious. Chat calls him a gremlin sometimes; once, on a team radio message, you called him nightmare Norris because he didn't get off the racing line in time for you to pass.

So he knows you don't really like him, just as well as he knows what your face looks like when the cameras catch you unaware, peaceful and alone in your garage, humming to music. He knows it as well as he knows how your white fireproofs make you look like some sort of angel, skin made to glow by the untarnished fabric. He knows you dislike him as well as he knows that, despite his best efforts, he really, really likes you.

He’s embarrassing with it, it’s true. People online tell him to stand up, whenever they zoom in to his face in those press conference photos. You, looking like you want to be anywhere else, and Lando, looking like he wants you. His need is so clear on his face he's sure you know about it; honestly, he's sure everybody knows about it. Once Twitter gets a hold of something, it's hard to keep it contained. It leaks into the comments on the official f1 Instagram; fans hold up signs with both his face and yours in the grandstands. You never say anything, so Lando tries to ignore it. Sometimes, though, he catches himself staring in a way he knows is far too obvious. You wear leggings in the paddock one day and Lando fully turns around to watch your ass as you walk away. He freezes and prays to God there's no cameras, but of course, there always are.

All of this to say: you don’t like Lando, for reasons maybe having to do with his personality and maybe having to do with how obviously he wants to kiss you. And so whenever Zak tells him that they're working on a contract with you for the upcoming season, Lando is honestly a bit flabbergasted.

“We still got some kinks to work out,” he clarifies, probably at the look on Lando’s face. “But it's looking good so far. You’ll still be the first driver, of course.”

“Oh,” Lando says, unable to really think of anything else. “Bet she's not happy about that.”

Zak grimaces. “No, she is not. But we’re thinking about getting rid of the performance clause. Her manager says that’ll tide her over.”

Lando’s eyebrows raise, on their own accord. There are very few drivers without performance clauses in their contract. It’s a fail-safe for most teams, something to use in case of emergency. Lando has one. They've never threatened to use it, but it's there.

His face must be doing some strange things, because Zak lifts his hands up in concession. “Look, I wanted to run it by you first. There’s options, if you don't think she’ll, uh, play nice. We just think she’ll be able to fight for big points, right up there with you.”

And yeah, obviously you will be able to fight for points. It seems like your car is always just right in front of him, shaving off time in qualifying that he can't catch up to, never leaving him space to pass on Sundays. That won't happen if you’re his teammate. You’ll have orders to let him through, seeing as you play nice, like Zak had said. Lando will finally be able to get some podiums, maybe a win.

Not to mention, if you’re his teammate, you’ll be contractually obligated to spend time with him. He and you will film videos for the YouTube channel together. You’ll be with him in fanzones and meetings and the motorhome. He’ll have more time to memorize the way your hair falls down your shoulders, the way you tuck it behind your ears and fiddle with loose strands. He’ll be able to see what you look like when your fireproofs are black, when you wear the same colors as him.

“She’s definitely a good choice,” he tells Zak. He tries to toe the line between willing and overly enthusiastic, hoping that he isn't edging too close to the latter. “If you’ve got to get rid of the performance clause, so be it.”

Zak pats him on the shoulder, and then pulls out his phone to send a text.

—

They announce you in the middle of the European triple header.

McLaren cross-posts a graphic of you walking through the paddock, wearing an unassuming gray t-shirt but smirking at the camera like you’ve got a secret, or like you’re a winner. It sits pretty in the Instagram feed, right next to a picture of Lando. He stares at it for a really long time, and then turns off his phone so he doesn't do something crazy, like save a screenshot to his camera roll.

You post a very professional statement on Twitter, about being excited for the future but hoping to finish this season strong. Lando likes the post from his official account, and then convinces himself that sending you a text would be a normal thing to do.

Looking forward to next year! he types, chewing on his cheek. Expecting big steps forward with the car

He waits about an hour before he gets a reply, an unassuming thanks that could've been one of the auto-replies at the top of the keyboard. He should leave it at that. Should close out of the conversation. At most, he could like the message. But the same part of his brain that makes him stare at your ass in the middle of the paddock makes him type out another reply, wincing even before he sends it.

And I’ll try not to be weird

Sorry

You reply right away this time.

i’m sure you’ll try :)

Lando closes his phone and lets out a shaky breath. He knew that you were aware of his schoolboy crush, but to have you acknowledge it like that, in a text that will be immortalized on his phone and in his iCloud drive forever…it makes him feel a little crazy. He needs to go on a run or something, needs to drive a car.

Instead, he settles for shamefully typing your name into TikTok, and watching everything that comes up. Even the fan cams, which all seem to include a clip of you lifting the bottom of your polo to wipe your mouth. Lando is big enough to admit it's not your face he looks at.

—

The season seems to drag on, now that he knows what’s to come after winter break. He middles around fourth place in almost every race. The team still celebrates. Lando still celebrates.

Best of all, girls still celebrate. Models with their own black cards let him spend money on them, and take them back to his hotel rooms. He fucks girls who look nothing like you, because then he won't slip up and say the wrong name, or something equally mortifying. A few of them like him well enough to stay around, put their numbers in his phone. Getting a blow job has never been easier.

There's one time, at some gala or another, celebrating how the season is coming to an end, where Lando drinks a bit too much champagne and accidently goes home with a different girl than he came in with. You spot him leaving and pull a face like you can't decide if you could get away with laughing at him or not. Instead, you make a crude motion involving your tongue and your cheek, and it's almost worse.

—

Lando goes home to Monaco over winter break. He streams, and facetimes with Max, and generally spends less time thinking about you. It's easier when you’re so far away; all he has to do is avoid Instagram and it's almost like you don’t even exist. If he can't see the photos of you, playing paddle with friends and going on bike rides with your trainer, then he can't be weird about them.

There is one time, when he sees a fan-captured photo of you on what seems to be a date, looking uninterested. Bored, even. He’s a little drunk and it's late at night and he thinks, stupidly, I could show her a better time than that. He pulls up his shirt and uploads a story of his abs under the guise of advertising the LN4 sweatpants he's wearing. And then stares at his notifications, waiting for a reply.

You don’t send one. Why would you?

He scrolls through the viewers looking for your name, and then feels weird and deletes it, hoping you never even see it. He needs to get better at avoiding Instagram, if he wants to pretend like he’s stopped thinking about you.

—

At the first team meeting of the 2024 season, you’re wearing a McLaren team kit.

Lando stares. He can't stop staring, actually. He thought it was bad before, but the sight of you, in his colors and on his team, walking around the MTC that has his branding everywhere, makes it so much worse. At least there's no cameras around, he thinks. His longing can't be captured and shared with the world in an Instagram carousel.

But you don’t need cameras to catch on. He’s sitting next to you at the long glass table, and every time Lando glances over, you eventually notice, catching his eye with an unimpressed frown. “Is this you trying?” you ask, under your breath. Just for him.

Lando’s too distracted by the slope of your jaw and the specks of green in your eyes to figure out what you’re talking about. He just looks at you, like always.

You glance to the head of the table, where somebody is presenting some slides about something that doesn't concern Lando. You must decide you can get away with talking to him, because you spin your chair, just a little, so your ankle is touching his. “To not be weird,” you clarify, after you’ve already distracted him beyond the point of no return with the ankle thing. If you ask him, it’s practically footsie, which everybody knows is a precursor to sex. “Lando,” you say, your face like you can't believe it. “Is this your attempt at not being weird?”

With it spelled out like that, he remembers his text from last season. How he promised to be on his best behavior. “Sorry,” he says, blanching. When he sent that, he didn't anticipate how good you would look in orange. Papaya.

You make this face, like you’re trying and failing at not judging him. Instead of replying, you just focus your attention back on the boring slideshow. Worse though, you pull your foot away from his.

—

The season starts off well enough.

You aren't close enough to him in qualifying for him to worry. And Zak had promised him that he's number one, whether you like it or not. You finish one place behind him in Australia and don't fight him for the podium. After you’ve changed out of your race suit, he finds you outside his garage, ready to kneel on the other side of his P3 sign and smile for the picture. It’s fiercely satisfying to finally, finally be able to beat you, in equal machinery and everything. The podium cements Lando’s place as first driver, and you just grin and take it.

In hindsight, Lando really should have known.

—

“Would you have let me pass, if I was faster?” you ask him, shoved into his side at a private booth in a club Carlos had invited him to. You’re wearing a dress, silver and sparkly and itchy where it presses against his arm. Lando’s not sure how he's survived this far without doing something stupid, like looking at your tits. Or worse, touching your tits. They're like—right there. You're so close to him, and you’re his teammate, and McLaren got 27 points today, because you played nice, like Zak said.

Lando shrugs. You’re pressed so tight to him that the movement pushes you away for a moment. “You’re not faster,” he answers, because he figures it's nicer than just telling you no. It’s his first podium of the season, he wouldn't have let anybody pass. Not even with team orders. You don't need to know that.

He can see the movement in your jaw, and your throat, as you swallow. It’s late enough, and he's drunk enough, that he doesn't even pretend not to be looking. “Right,” you say, and then pull yourself away from him, like there's suddenly more room in the booth than before. Like it doesn't mean you have to sit with one leg hanging to the side, hunched over the table to hold yourself up.

Lando feels the distance acutely. He had been hot, overheating, before. Now he feels fine. Still, he wouldn't mind the stuffiness if it meant you would drape yourself over him again, like you belong there. Like you’re one of the girls he takes out with the promise of taking them back to his hotel room, or the club bathroom, or an unoccupied corner. But, no. This is just like all the press conferences. You distancing yourself because you don’t like him. Lando somehow pissing you off just by existing.

He takes a swig of his drink and resolves to find somebody who will treat him like he was just standing on the podium in a Formula One race.

—

Between Suzuka and Shanghai, there's a lot of media things to film, for the YouTube channel. Pictionary, a tour of the MTC, Tiktok trends that take an hour of work all for a fifteen second video. He’s scheduled to work an eight hour day, but instead of killing himself about it, Lando is instead cornered by you in an empty hallway, with nobody around but himself to keep him in check.

“Do you want to go to lunch with me?” you ask him, like that question is something his heart can handle.

“Yes,” he answers, and it comes out too fast. Eager, but it’s not like you don’t already know. He supposes that the benefit of being so obvious is that it decreases his capacity to feel shame. “What, like, now?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him—a look he’s grown well used to by now—and clarify, “During the break. It’s barely 10 a.m.”

“Oh.”

It’s silent for a second, something that only ever seems to happen to Lando when it’s you. But then you rock back on your heels and say, “I just figured it would be better than sitting in your car for an hour and a half.”

Which, yeah. He had just planned to mindlessly scroll through his phone until the next shoot started. But there’s no way he’ll be sated doing that now that he knows he can be with you instead. In front of him, you look a little nervous. Like you think Lando’s going to reject your offer, after he’s already said yes like it’s the only word he knows. “I don’t need convincing, mate,” he says, and your shoulders drop a little, the pinch between your eyebrows lessening. “I’ll drive.”

It’s a little bit bruising to his ego, when you scoff and say, “I’ll drive,” but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

—

In the hours before the break, Lando feels the kind of anxiety a little kid on Christmas eve feels, counting down the seconds until morning. He can’t get out of the building fast enough. He’s leaving with you. How many times has he thought about that? Knowing you well enough to leave together, to have things to talk about. Even if, in all fairness, his fantasies usually include a more R-rated climax than merely taking you to lunch.

Also, it would be him taking you to lunch. Not the other way around. But he’ll get over it. You drive fast and call him your passenger princess, so he doesn’t really have much to complain about.

Over sandwiches, you talk about music and your friends from home and moving to Monaco. He learns more about you in that hour and a half than he knows about any of the girls in his phone. Except for his mum, of course. It feels oddly intimate. Like, somebody could mention country music, and he would be able to say something about how you hate country music, and then people would know. They’d know that Lando gets to hear you talk about things like that. That you’re his friend, or something close. That despite what the internet seems to think, you don’t hate him, even if he acts stupid every time he’s around you and probably deserves all the times you’ve rolled your eyes at him in press conferences. Even if you from a year ago probably wouldn’t be caught dead getting lunch with him, here you are.

Lando pays, like it’s a date. There’s a glint in your eyes when you thank him.

—

The season is going well. Like, really well. He’s getting closer and closer to a win, the team slowly becoming competitive. He stops getting called little Lando Norris. You stop calling him a nightmare on the radio.

That’s the best part, he thinks. He and you are friends now. His iMessage thread with you consists of more than just the texts he sent last season, after your announcement. The conversations he has with you are starkly different compared to the other girls. He imagines sending a you up? text and has, like, a visceral reaction. No, instead he sends you completely non-sexual texts, invitations to more lunches, complaints about shitty sessions, and once, a picture of two cats he sees on the street, both suspiciously papaya in color, to which you respond with a string of heart emojis and the puppy dog eye one. At night sometimes, you send him Tiktok compilations of his own worst moments, along with messages like you’re lucky there’s no IQ test to race or were you dropped as a child? and he takes it all in good fun because at least you’re talking to him.

You don’t roll your eyes at him in press conferences anymore. You smile at him while he talks, and now it’s your face that people online zoom in on. It’s you they tell to stand up. Lando wonders if you felt this powerful, every time he tripped over his words around you, or got caught staring. He wonders if he should ask you out.

He’s working up the courage, when you suddenly start trying to kill him on the track.

It starts in Monaco. He’s in P2, and you’re right behind him, riding his ass. He takes a corner too wide and you divebomb him, forcing him even wider, veering off the track lest he wants you to clip his right rear. Somehow, he manages to hold the position for a clean last leg of the race. In the cooldown room, you chew on the straw of your water bottle and don’t look at him.

He tries to keep his voice quiet for the cameras, but he can’t stop himself from asking, can’t wait ‘til the two of you are alone. “Did I, like, do something to you?” he whispers. He doesn’t think the cameras will be able to pick it up, and Charles is kind enough to at least pretend to be watching the race replays instead of listening. “What was that about?”

The pirelli hat covers your eyes, but does nothing to hide the way your mouth slants into a frown. “I just wanted to win a race, like everybody else here.”

“Okay,” he says, trying to ignore how out of character that is. You’re mad, he gets it. But even last season when you were proper rivals, you didn’t talk to him like everything was pre-scripted. He guesses you didn’t really talk to him at all; maybe this is normal. Still, though, “You didn’t have to practically take me out. I was faster.”

You look up from your lap at that, and he can finally see your face behind the cap. Your eyebrows are set in a hard line, and your jaw is clenched tight. “And I was racing,” you tell him, voice clipped.

—

He texts you from the club that night. Hey today was weird, let's just put it behind us.

He doesn’t get a reply, so he texts a girl he knows will answer.

—

Two weeks later, and he and you have been scrapping for the past three laps. Too many close calls, in his opinion. He’s the first driver; he waits for the message to come through that you’ve been ordered to stop fighting, but the team radio stays silent.

Lando ends up sending a message, though. “She has to give back the position,” he says, after you’ve gotten ahead of him while driving over the track limits.

“Yes, she has the orders.”

It should be cut and dry. You gained an advantage off track, and now you’ve got to give it back. At the very least, Lando shouldn’t have to fight for it. But he does anyway, and gets a puncture for his troubles. He misses when you played nice.

He doesn’t try to talk to you afterwards, this time. He’s been left on read for the past two weeks. And if anything, you’re the one who owes him an apology.

—

It just sucks because—even though you’ve stopped replying to his texts, and you don’t respect him on the track anymore, and you’re sooner to sit next to a complete stranger than him at the clubs now—you’re unfortunately still his teammate. You’re still everywhere that he is, filming with WIRED and fighting to stay awake in team meetings and training in the hotel gym. Only now, he can’t talk to you without it being a fight. Whenever he catches your eye, you always look uninterested. Upset, even. Like you can’t even tolerate being around him.

(Don’t ask him why he keeps catching your eye. He’d have to tell the truth. That even with all of this, he still can’t stop staring at you. It feels like old times again; he wants you, and you want nothing to do with him.)

—

It’s after he gets his first DNF of the season because of you that he finally cracks. “What the hell is your problem?” he asks you, in the middle of the McLaren motorhome. He thinks it’s empty, but it’s not like he stopped to check. He doesn’t have the patience.

“I don’t have a problem,” you grin. “I just won a race.”

In the stale fluorescent lighting, he can see how your smile doesn’t meet your eyes. You look just as tired, just as angry, as you’ve looked every time he’s seen you for the past month. It makes Lando feel kind of sick. “I don’t understand you,” he says. “We were friends! Weren’t we? Until you decided that you want to kill me.”

Your grin falls off. “Right, because you’re an expert at clean racing.”

“Well I’m not just gonna roll over and take it.”

Your jaw clenches. He doesn’t know what you want from him. Right now, or on the track, or at all. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be in the garage, taking a team photo. He should be there to support you. But you came to the motorhome, where you knew he was sulking after you ruined his race. What, did you just want to antagonize him?

“Great! We understand each other perfectly, then,” you say, and Lando wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you. Clearly you don’t understand him, if you think you can relate to him in any way. There’s been nothing for you to roll over and take. He’s never fought you. He’s never had to. And sure, he’ll admit that he’s never been keen on letting you by, but if he knew it was between that and a crash out, of course he’d let you pass.

“I just don’t know what changed to make you suddenly hate my guts. More than you used to, at least,” he says, trying to calm himself down a bit. They’re not even halfway through the season. He can’t fight with you right now if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the year dealing with the fall out.

In front of him, you stand with your arms crossed over your chest. The look in your eyes is firm, unyielding, but when you open your mouth to speak, you hesitate. “I thought you liked me,” you say, eventually.

It suddenly feels like all of the energy has been sucked out of the room, and Lando is unsure of how to reply. You swallow and close your eyes.

“I do,” he says, after a moment, because what? Yeah, he likes you. Everybody and their mothers know that he likes you. If it’s not written on his face at every moment, then it’s clear in the way he talks to you, the way he texts you. The way he spends time with you and tries not to badmouth you too badly, even when you do stupid shit like crash into him. People who don’t even know him know that he’s into you—how could you be unconvinced? “You have to be joking. Of course I like you. Haven’t you ever opened Twitter?”

When you open your eyes, it’s only to level a glare at him. He watches you smooth your hands out on the fabric of your race suit, and wonders if they had been clenched into fists before. “I’m not interested in joining your harem, Lando,” you say, succinct.

“What?” he blanches. He’s only half convinced he even knows what a harem is, and he deeply hopes it’s not what he thinks.

“Your many girlfriends, whatever. I don't wanna be one of them.”

Oh god, he thinks. Oh god, oh god. He can feel his hands start to get clammy, even as he asks, “What are you talking about?”

He knows. Of course he knows what you’re talking about, because even as he filmed it, as he answered yes to the guy’s stupid question—do you have many girlfriends?—he’d worried about what you would think if you saw it. At the time, he thought you would just judge him. He didn’t think you would take it seriously. He didn’t think it was even a thing to be taken seriously, not when you’d never expressed interest in him. Never even tried to stop him when he’d leave victory celebrations early with some girl who was clearly only after one thing

He watches you shift on your feet, crossing your arms tighter against yourself, like you’re the one with something to hide. “That dumb lie detector video you did.”

His mouth feels dry when he asks, “You watched it?”

“I saw it,” you correct, like that makes a difference.

If Lando were feeling more level-headed, he would probably be focused on apologizing, or explaining himself. “Do you watch my videos?” he asks instead. You inhale sharply, like you’ve been caught. You watch his videos, he thinks, almost delirious. He should’ve known, with some of the videos you’ve sent him. You don’t just happen upon those. He pictures you googling his name, or stalking fan TIktoks like he does. Saving edits to his favorites, like a psycho.

“It wasn't your video,” you say, flustered for the first time Lando has ever seen. “And that's not the point! I thought you liked me, but you were out—what, dating all these girls?”

“I’m not dating them—”

“—And just stringing me along? You just—you like to look at me, but you don’t actually like me. You don’t even like me as your teammate. Not unless I'm ‘rolling over and taking it.’ You’re always faster, so what’s the point of me even trying?”

Lando is having trouble processing all of this. He keeps thinking, all of this because you were jealous? Because you thought he had a harem of girlfriends he likes more than you? “You’re crazy.”

He knows, the moment the words come out of his mouth, that it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s wrong to say, period. He’d know it even if you didn’t flinch back like he hit you. Even if you didn’t cut your gaze away and grind your teeth.

The silence stretches on. Lando needs to apologize, but then you say, calm like a robot, “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well save it for the press.”

Lando watches you walk away, and for the first time in his life, feels at a loss for words.

—

Lando periodically checks your mum’s Instagram. He's not proud of it, but he figures what’s one more sprinkle on the him-being-obsessed-with-you cake? It’s not like it’s the most humiliating thing he’s done, not by a long shot. She posts a story—which he views from a burner account because he’s not that crazy—four hours after you walk out of the motorhome. It’s of you, sitting on a hotel bed and staring miserably at the camera. There’s a plastic spoon in your mouth and a pint of ice cream in your hand. The caption: A mom’s job never ends! Boy problems for my race winner. It’s accompanied by two emojis, a frowny face and a heart.

He looks from your face to the caption and back again. Your eyes are red-rimmed, like you’ve been crying. Your first win with McLaren, and because of him, you’re crying in a hotel room with your mum instead of celebrating.

He has to shut off his phone for a while, after that.

—

“Can I ask what the hell you did to your teammate?” George asks, the second Lando is within earshot.

It’s loud in the club. Lando’s pretty sure Charles has made his way behind the DJ booth. “I didn’t do anything,” he says, yelling a bit over the music.

George just squints his eyes. “Right. Where is she, then?”

Lando doesn’t want to think about you, crying in your hotel room with your mum and a carton of ice cream. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s probably all his fault. He takes a swig of the drink he’d been handed and asks, “Why would I know?” wincing when it comes out defensive, too defensive.

George lifts his hands in surrender, but Lando is too tired to fight, anyway. “You guys sort of come to these things together,” he explains.

Huh. Lando does come to these things with you, doesn’t he? He’s always just thought that it’s because it’s easy. You leave from the same hotel to get to the same club, where you talk to all the same people and do all the same things. Until he leaves with somebody else, he thinks, squeezing the plastic cup in his hand. He could have been going home with you, probably. If he had asked, would you have—

��Have you called her?” George asks.

Lando blinks. He hadn’t really thought of that, and from the look on George's face, he can tell. He digs his phone out of his pocket and finds your contact. It rings and rings, but you don’t answer. It’s a little humiliating for George to see, but he just hums and says, “Text her, then. Even if she doesn’t reply, she’ll see it.”

Lando winces. “She didn’t respond the last time I texted her. I don’t want to look—”

“Look what, Lando? Desperate? Like you’re into her?” George laughs, and it’s more humiliating than the fact that you didn’t answer when he called. “Mate, I think it’s a bit late for that.”

—

Lando finds the bathroom and types and deletes the following messages:

I’m sorry, can we talk?

I don’t have a harem

You’re not crazy

Please call me.

He presses his forehead against the wooden door and huffs out a breath. He wants a drink, but he settles on texting you, I want to apologize. Come to my hotel room later?

It sounds sleazy, he knows. Everything he could say would sound sleazy. But George was right, you do read the message. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he watches the three little dots appear and disappear again. He sits and stares for what must be at least five minutes, until finally he can read your message: ok.

He replies with his room number, and then high tails it back to the hotel, trying not to think about whether or not you discussed his message with your mum.

—

He paces back and forth in his hotel room for the better part of an hour before you finally knock.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you’re telling him, the moment he opens the door. You’re wearing what you’d been wearing in your mum’s Instagram story, a hoodie and sweatpants, your hair pulled up into a ponytail. “I shouldn’t have been taking my feelings out on you on track. I just wanted you, and I was pissed you didn’t want me. I didn’t—to me, it didn’t seem like I was being crazy, but—”

“You’re not crazy,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I shouldn't have said that. I mean, maybe you drive a little crazy sometimes—”

You stomp on his foot, and he winces to the side. There’s a clear path for you to come into the room now, but you remain firmly in the hallway. “I thought you were apologizing,” you say, crossing your arms

“You just told me—” he starts, but cuts himself off with a sigh. He does want to apologize, not to fight. “No, you’re right. I am sorry. I don’t—there’s no harem, first of all. I don’t have any girlfriends. I have hook-ups.”

In the hallway, your lips press into a line. “Is this going somewhere? I don’t want to hear about your hook-ups, thanks.”

He’s not very good at this, he realizes. He wipes his face and tries to start again. “Sorry, let me start over. I didn’t mean to string you along, or to make you think that I don’t want to be with you, or that I just like you for the way you look. I’ve wanted to be with you forever. If I thought you wanted that to, I would’ve stopped seeing all those girls—”

“—You haven’t stopped?” you interrupt, with wide eyes.

Lando gives up. “Can you just—tell me what you want me to say, maybe? I feel like I’m drowning here.”

You look away from him, studying the hallway intently. But Lando waits you out, until you sigh and say, all in one breath, “I just want you to say that you want to be with me and you’ll block all the girls in your harem and you’ll stop always going home with some rando even though I’m right there.”

“Oh,” Lando breathes. “You know I actually probably would’ve gotten there on my own.”

You stand and stare at him for a long moment, and then let out a frustrated exhale through your nose. “Are you going to say it, then? Or do you want me to go?”

You take a step back, like you’re really going to leave him to eat ice cream with your mum again. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, helpless to the surge of panic that rushes through him. “No, I’ll say it!” he assures, and it comes out loud and squeaky as the noise spills into the empty hallway. Well, empty save for you, standing frozen and expectant. Lando takes your other hand into his, his fingers over your wrists. “I want to be with you, and only you. I’ll block any other girl in my phone. You’re the only person I want to go home with. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise”

You look down at your hands in his, and then back up with the same look in your eyes that he saw when he first paid for your lunch. “Your delivery leaves something to be desired,” you tell him, but you’ve got a cheeky grin that tells Lando he didn’t actually do anything wrong. “But I’ll take it.”

“Do I get an apology for you being an asshole or how you’ve been trying to kill me?”

You roll your eyes. It’s a familiar sight, not unwelcome even now. “You have to say you’ll stop calling me slow first. Besides, don’t you think there’s other things to be doing with each other besides apologizing?”

Lando feels any capacity for rational thought seep out of his head, at that.

“Are you going to invite me in, or what?” you ask, pointed.

—

Lando does invite you in.

You come willingly, once he’s said the words, like you were waiting. You have been waiting, he realizes. This whole time, you’ve just been waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and ask you.

Well, Lando thinks both he and you have waited long enough. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, the question that’s been on his tongue since before you were even his teammate. Since he was being bullied on the internet for having a crush on you.

You make that face again, like you’re judging him. He’s starting to think that face doesn’t equate to judgment at all. “I literally thought you were never going to ask.”

It’s permission enough, for him. Permission to do the thing he’s wanted to do for so long now it feels vaguely ridiculous. He wonders how he can strap himself into a death machine every week and pull points for the team but can’t figure this out? Can’t figure out something a twelve year old probably would’ve dealt with by now. Whatever. Lando’s figuring it out now. He takes you by the back of the neck and pulls you in. It’s the first maneuver he’s been able to pull in a month without you putting up a fight.

Your lips are hot and desperate against his. He supposes that’s what he gets, when he’s let the girl of his dreams think he’s dating other women. But he’s certainly not complaining, not when your hands bunch up in his shirt and you gasp like he didn’t telegram his next move aloud to you.

He walks you back to the bed until the backs of your calves hit it, and then helps you fall with an encouraging hand on the dip of your back. He wants to touch you everywhere, but there's quite literally no available skin, so he settles for biting at your bottom lip, and pressing his hips tight against yours whenever you arch up into him. There’s no reason for it to feel so good, through layers and layers of clothing, but there’s also no reason for you to be letting him do this. Lando makes the executive decision not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Is this all you do when girls come to your hotel room?” you pull away from him to ask. A trail of spit connects his lips to yours, and it’s so grossly erotic that Lando wants to lick it up.

It takes him a moment to gather the brainpower to answer. “No,” he says, wiping his mouth. “They’re not usually wearing so many clothes, for one.”

You roll your eyes again, but still let him push your sweatshirt up and over your head with little fanfare. He expects to see your bra, hopes maybe you’ve forgone that, even. Instead, he finds a faded cotton t-shirt. “I wasn’t exactly at the club,” you tell him, a reaction to what must be the disappointment on his face. He cheers up when you yank the shirt off yourself, discarding it haphazardly on the floor.

“I wasn't either,” he tells your newly exposed tits. Well, exposed apart from your bra, but it’s black and it looks soft and holds them rather nicely, so he won’t complain if you decide not to take it off. He has to swallow before he can speak again. “I got there, and then called you, like, immediately.”

You smile, call him a, “Simp,” even as you start working at the buttons of his shirt.

He takes a moment to help you, before getting the mind to defend himself. “You’ve been driving me off track for a month because you were jealous.”

“No, I was doing that out of respect for my fellow women,” you say, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and then, moving your hands to the zipper of his jeans. Your knuckles press against his dick, where it’s trapped behind the denim. Lando, just a man, groans. “I was trying to free your sister wives of their sexual obligations.”

“They were not—” Lando groans again, this time for reasons unrelated to your hands’ proximity to his dick. He helps you pull off his jeans and then says, with more confidence than he truly feels, “I think you need to be doing something with your mouth besides talking.”

You grin. “Finally, a good idea.”

—

If somebody had told Lando, a year ago, a month ago—hell, a few hours ago—that you would go down on your knees for him, that you would open your mouth nice and wide and let him fuck it like it—like you—belongs to him, he probably would’ve have an aneurysm. And then found an unoccupied bathroom to wank in.

Now, though, he just squeezes his hands tighter in your hair, tosses his head back when you whine. Your hand is shoved down your own sweatpants, and Lando can’t look at that unless he wants to blow his load early. The fact that you’re doing this is enough to have him dangerously close to the edge, even if it wasn't good. He doesn't have to worry about that though, because it is. Good. Maybe not as experienced as he’s had in the past, but you make up for it in enthusiasm. As in, you’re fucking sloppy with it, wet and hot and perfect, and it’s you, so Lando is already half gone, anyway.

He pulls you off with the hand in your hair, and still has the mind to feel shame when his dick twitches as you wipe your mouth. “Why’d you stop?” you ask him. Your eyes are teary and your ponytail is one wrong move from falling out completely, and he wants to kiss you even though it might taste like his dick.

“Didn’t wanna come,” he says instead.

“You can’t go more than once?”

Which, he could, maybe. The fact that it’s you in front of him, asking him, would definitely make it easier. Still, “Don’t want to chance it,” he says. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Ohhh my god, please tell me you have a condom,” you say, shoving your sweatpants down and using his thighs to pull yourself up and onto the bed. He stumbles around, looking for his pants. Pulls one out of his wallet. “You dog,” you accuse.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, instead of arguing. He’s learning, he thinks.

“Only if you get on with it.”

Lando looks down at you, on your back in front of him, propped up on your elbows. He can see more of you than he could’ve ever dreamed of, and boy did he dream of it. You grin up at him, and he thinks yeah, he’ll get on with it now.

Getting your underwear off is a pretty easy feat, with the way you help him shove them down your hips, looking like you wouldn't much care if he were to actually rip them off of you. Next time, he thinks. Maybe then he’ll have more control of the way his hands roam over you—your stomach, your thighs, your tits. He squeezes them through your bra and you huff, reaching an arm behind you to work at the clasp. Lando helps, and soon, he's staring at you, naked and wanting, and he has to fight the urge to bury his face in your boobs and never come up for air.

“This isn't getting on with it,” you complain, arching your back like he needs to be enticed. As if Lando doesn't want you so bad that he would fuck you even if you threatened to crash into him every race because of it.

He spreads your thighs apart with the palms of his hands. The sight of you, all open for him, is fucking crazy. Like a dream. You're so wet you’re glistening. “Soaked,” he hums, running a finger through your folds.

The glide is easy, and when he finds your clit, you make a choked sound in the back of your throat. “Whose fault is that?” you say, but its not biting enough to make up for the look on your face, cracked open and wanting. Lando feels his need acutely in the center of his chest. Not just the need to be inside of you, but the need to make up for all the times he’s fucked other girls while thinking about you. All the times he's led you to think that he's just leading you on. He dips his middle finger inside of you—you’re tight but so wet that it slides right in, and you toss your head back and say, “Oh,” like he's punched the breath out of you.

His brain feels a bit like it's short-circuiting. Your chasing his fingers with your hips, making it easy to fuck them in and out. He’s worked you up to three by the time he thinks you start getting close, thrashing a bit, pulling your leg up to open yourself wider. Lando takes you by the thigh, holds it against himself so you’ll stay nice and open. He curls his fingers and you say, “Okay, okay, you can get your dick in me now please,” staring straight up at the ceiling, heaving.

Please. God, you do know how to play nice, he thinks as he rolls the condom on. He wonders if you would beg if he asked you to, but he doesn't have the patience right now to find out. He pulls his fingers out and wipes the wetness off on the soft downey comforter. Your face pinches up, and you open your mouth like you’re going to make a comment on his cleanliness, but he presses into you with a hand on the base of his dick, and it shuts you up pretty well.

It takes amounts of self control Lando did not know he was capable of to not shoot off like a rocket the second he's inside of you. He's loosened you up enough with his fingers, but you're still tight, still hot, even through the condom. Lando presses ever forward, feeling like he's fucking folding you in half with your thigh against his chest. He doesn't quite trust his voice to come out right, but still he asks, “Does it feel—okay?”

“Okay?” you ask, like you're offended on his behalf. He fucks out and back in, and you add, “Yeah, Lando, feels so good, feel so—”

“Full?” he asks.

You stare up at him with judgment on your face that you shouldn't be capable of when his dick is in you. “Of course you’d get an ego boost from this,” you say. He thinks you’re going for casual, but it doesn't really work, not when your voice is all breathy, your skin all flushed.

“Bit hard not to.” He presses the palm of his hand to your lower stomach, asks, “Bet you feel me here, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, high and reedy. Your back arches off the bed, chasing something. Lando gives it to you, readily.

Fucking you is worth not finishing the race, he thinks. Whether his mechanics would agree is a different story, but Lando wishes he could travel back in time to the moment he retired the car, and tell himself to not get so pissed. Tell himself to wait it out, til you're in his hotel room, underneath him, writhing and sighing and moving your hips like you can't decide if you want more or want to get away. Lando presses them down onto the mattress so you don't have to decide, so he gets to choose. He sets a pace that's a bit rough on his back—again, worth it, he thinks, for the way you gasp out sobs like Lando’s the best thing that's ever happened to you. And you expect him not to get an ego boost? He's just a man.

Around him, you squeeze him perfectly. Like you were made from him. Better yet, like he's carved out a space for himself, molded you to fit his dick. “Fuck,” he groans, at the thought. At the feeling. You sniff underneath him, hiding your face behind your hands. “No, don’t—” He thinks about pulling your hands away from your face, but decides instead to use his fingers for something more useful, working over your clit. “I wanna see your face when you come.”

“Jesus,” you gasp, wincing away from his hand before pushing back into him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

It works, despite your bitter tone. You look into his eyes and he hopes you can see on his face that no, he doesn't. He doesn't do any of this shit with other girls. He doesn't even want to think about other girls, not now that he's finally got you. Leaning down to kiss you is a real strain on his back, but he’s helpless to the urge, and you gasp into his mouth like he's made the right choice. Plus, whenever his muscles twinge, you push yourself up to lean against the palms of your hands, and the strain lessens.

He rubs your clit faster in thanks, and he feels you clench tight around him, a vice grip. “Lando, I think—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know,” he says, when you can't get the word out. He's about to make you come. He feels crazy with the thought. “I can feel it.”

You groan as he bites at your jaw. “You’re terrible,” you whine, tossing your head back. The movement exposes your neck, more real estate for Lando to leave his mark, so everybody on your flight tomorrow knows you spent the night before taking it.

You get impossibly tighter around him, inhaling sharply, holding your breath. When you come, you say his name, loud enough it might get him a noise complaint. Loud enough that he can't help the way his hips buck, control slipping as you go boneless underneath him, falling back onto the mattress.

You’re relaxed around him now, not squeezing his dick like before. But it still feels so good, you underneath him, around him, your hands covering his own on your hips, urging him on. He thinks about how you're so fucking open and easy for him, about how the way your hips spasm with the aftershocks is a testament to the fact that you want him, the same way he wants you, the same way he's wanted you forever, and comes long and hard into the condom.

“Way better than apologies,” he says into your chest, once he’s fallen forward, spent.

You smack him on the head, but he's too content to care about it.

—

When he pulls out, he tosses the condom to the side, something for him to deal with at a later time. This time, there's nothing distracting you, and you groan, “That's disgusting. The poor carpet.”

You turn your nose up at him, and Lando supposes that just because he can fuck your brains out doesn't mean he stop you from judging him. He looks at the way you’re staring at him, a look he's seen in press conferences and debriefs and plastered all over the internet. It’s a look just for him, and he thinks maybe he never even minded it all that much to begin with.

Maybe you never minded him all that much to begin with, either.

[d3vqnerz]

hi guys I've been away from tumblr since i was busy with commissions but I'm back again.. like m&m...

[not-cool-enough-to-scuba-dive]

actually I would quite like to hear your thoughts on gender philosophy in omegaverse worldbuilding? :3

hm. anon, I fear this is a far larger can of worms than you probably anticipated. I'm going to spare you the worst of it by only giving you a short version, but be careful what you wish for.

I'm also hiding it under a cut because even the short version is embarrassingly long.

I'm hardly a connoisseur of omegaverse content, nor would I consider myself anywhere near an expert. I don't want to speak for all fics as I've admittedly not read many. I did do my master's diss about legal gender recognition, so this is more about gender and philosophically sound worldbuilding than an indictment of any particular writing or story tbh.

the short answer is I find omegaverse worldbuilding really interesting, but I've never fully been able to enjoy it due to the way a/b/o identities tend to have a biological determinist slant to them imo, and tendency for a lack of real world implications of what the omegaverse does to gender and character interactions anywhere outside the bedroom. I'd love to figure out a version that's more inclusive and philosophically/ideologically consistent, both with itself and with my own views on real life gender (basically, I want to make it make more sense, have less biological determinism, and be more inclusive of the wider range of human experiences). this is a big task, and ngl I haven't achieved it and don't anticipate doing so any time soon. I have like, a concept in my head, taking apart all the key pieces and putting them together again but different, but to make it thorough enough would require more effort and time than I have because I'm like, employed 😔

I feel like someday if I ever get invited to a powerpoint night though, this could be It.

[rouge-fauna]

I think you’re talking about these posts [here & here], I don’t know if there have been others.

I'm not gonna say what I did was right, you are correct I should probably just not respond to asks getting me to talk about other people. I will say for these two posts those people had already blocked me I’m pretty sure, so it’s kinda hard to talk directly to them in that case. And I was not doing so anonymously and had not blocked them so I wasn’t hiding what I was saying. I did not follow them, I am not part of the innitor community, and not that that makes it right but I do think it is kinda different. Though you make a good point, perhaps we should stop this pattern of responding to asks about other blogs and such.

Still, the biggest thing to me I realized, back in elementary school when I first dealt with this, was that honestly all the time we talk about people behind their back. Talking about people when they aren’t always in the room is kinda just inevitable and part of socializing, however I think the important part is how you are talking about other people. It’s when you are insulting them, talking negatively about them to people they know, spreading false information and so on that it becomes not okay. Hopefully that makes sense.

In these cases I merely focused on the lore. I didn’t insult them or talk shit about them, as a person, as a blog or say their takes were stupid or they are stupid or speculate about their trauma or mental history. I just talked about reasons why I disagreed, or saw things differently and why we might see things differently. They were also not the only ones I saw to say similar things so I think in my mind I was making more of a general discussion, not trying to target them specifically. I didn’t post beyond that about them. But you are right, regardless it was probably not the right way to go about things.

But just to be clear, if I am a hypocrite it is not my intention. I haven’t vague blogged anyone or meant to vague reblog anyone. I think this week is pretty much the first time I’ve ever been not naming, passive aggressively talking about blogs, and even then I’m not trying to insult them, trying to cancel them. I’m just expressing that before you go off about how I’m stupid and unable to have a discussion about it, the very least you could’ve done was give me an opportunity to try.

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[innanzituttoticalmi]

i'm sorry if you genuinely think bozzi and leclerc "copied the other driver/engineer's strategy" i canttttttt take you seriously

[sportsthoughts]

.

[lxboratorii]

i am once again on tumblr

hi! it's been a while (years, it has been years); i'm just making a quick post to say hi to everyone who might still be there :D

for those who have no clue who i am, my username used to be lxbo-art, but i've decided to rebrand so it's easier to read (no it's not) but uh, after all this time i feel like i should introduce myself again, so i'll do a meet the artist post sometime later i think!

i've just graduated from uni (and finished my apprenticeship!) and therefore - hopefully - i will be able to make more time to share my art online!

i started using tumblr (at least?) since 2015, but i've never really gotten the hang of it, i've basically used it like an image hosting space; and over the years, i've lost the habit of just throwing my art out there, which i'm trying to slowly get back into now

so! i might post some older art because they have not been shared online amongst my freshly baked stuff!

i've also revamped my blog's theme and uh, if you visit it now you'll be able to see an angel kiss the sad pookie i have as profile picture! though i would appreciate it if someone could help me fix its code because it's rounded when it shouldn't be... hahaha

here's a picture for those who are on their phones...!

that being said, to my blog staying alive and my obsession with trying to half-assedly use html to customise it!

cheers! - Lobo

[taylorsabrina]

thinking about how i was once friends with someone who used to pick me apart for saying that ariel is my favorite disney princess, and constantly tried to argue that she only gave up her voice for eric and eric only. what was i thinking??

[jckeperalta]

new desktop theme by @atlasthemes, new mobile header by @bluejane and new icon made by me <3

[soonito]

me seeing how i got to 100 followers and that one cheol drabble keeps getting notes and i have a bunch of drafts that i just want to share so i can get some interactions but i can't seem to finish any of them

[crumblingspine]

These people are so lame like if you're gonna make up shit about me behind my back then at least have some story behind it don't just say "erm he's been kind of a bigot lately" with no source??? That's really weird of you actually!!!