One of the lovely members in the discord server i'm in answered my plea for a request (i'm itching to write + i'm procrastinating on my other fics, sorry), so this was born :)
Pairing(s): Carlos Sainz Jr/Plus size!reader)
Wordcount: 1,2k words
Warnings: unkind thoughts about yourself, vaguely lustful thoughts from Carlos, but what did you expect?
A/n: hope you like it :)
Here's the prompt:
Carlos x plus size!reader and they’re dating and he catches her learning to dance to his Spanish music and she gets self conscious bc of how she looks and how she doesn’t look like stereotypical Latin dancer girls. But he obvi loves her no matter what and they dance together
You’ve been dancing for months now. Slow movements with your hips and with your body, trying to understand the flow of the music that flows in your ears and continues its way through your veins, ending at the tips of your fingers. You try to do it when Carlos is at work, because you know you would never live it down if he caught you clumsily dancing.
Not that he would ever mock you, he’s too nice for that, but sometimes you catch him watching you when you move and his eyes darken and it makes you hot all over, the feeling of a prey when a predator is ready to pounce.
And well… You know what you look like. People like to say that your face is wasted on your body, and so dancing has never been a big part of your life. But when you’re alone at your shared apartment and the blinds are closed, you turn on the tv, put the sound in your headphones and you follow the long sinuous lines of the dancer explaining to their thousands of following how to create hoops with your hips and how to place your arms so create an alluring shape; during these sessions, as you call them, you never look in the mirror. Your reflection makes you look too big and the room too small, movements so awkward that you stop moving all-together to criticize your appearance and think about all the ways you would never be like those models on the screen or the ones who walk in the paddock during race weekends.
Sometimes you wonder. You wonder how Carlos ever fell in love with you, because you don’t doubt he loves you and your mind, but would he love you more if you were to lose weight? If your number of centimeters above the meter mark matched the numbers of kilograms you see on the scale ?
You think that’s how the instagram post described it. A pretty girl, a beautiful girl, a gorgeous girl is one who goes to a pilate class most mornings of the week, who manages to get into a small sized dress, and who eats more salad in a meal than what you eat in two days.
You probably have the same chest size as they do, or at least it’s that way in your head. But you’re more of a block, hair not as long as theirs and not as silky black, and their small hips to create a contrast with their hips, leggings hugging the shape of their thighs down to dainty ankles you don’t have.
You think of Carlos’s hands as you slowly sway your hips, following the woman on the screen of the TV, the music decelerating from the faster beat it was at. It flows through your mind, making you forget the time, losing yourself to the sound coming from the headphones Carlos bought you because you made a passing remark about how your old ones were about to fall apart. You can feel your sweat gathering in your neck, trickling down your back and being absorbed in your black sports’s bra, under the white T-shirt you use for these moments.
The loud music is probably the reason you don’t hear the front lock unlocking, and you don’t register the telltale sound of Carlos’s trainers on the hardwood floor, the thud of his sports bag hitting the floor as he stares at you, eyes widening before his pupils dilate at the sight of you in the middle of the living room, the coffee table pushed to the side to give you space as you dance, your beautiful body swaying to the music he can barely hear coming from your headphones.
He can’t stop staring at you, hungry eyes going up and down your body. He would devour you, he thinks. Worship your body as the most faithful believer at the altar. Get on his knees and pray for the tips of your fingers barely touching you. You are a sight to behold. From his position at the door, he can only see part of your face, as glowing as the most beautiful of jewels.
You still haven’t heard him, and so he slowly approaches you and puts his arms around you, his nose on the back of your neck as he inhales; and now you can feel him, his body glued to your back, and you would recognise his shape everywhere. It’s the shape you sleep beside at night, the shape you constantly think about when he is not there.
You would usually be happy to see him. But you’re sweaty, and you probably look ridiculous in this skirt, the one you keep at the back of your closet like a dirty little secret, the one you only get out for these moments alone, these moments when you try and mostly fail to learn how to dance to the rhythm of Spanish music.
His hands reach up, taking off your headphones, the ones he gave you and he smiles. He detaches his body from yours, putting down the headphones and turning them off, using the remote to link the music now coming from the TV to the speaker in the room. You still haven’t turned around, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. You can’t believe you forgot he had a shorter training session today.
And now the love of your life has seen you move around in front of the TV, probably looking like a headless chicken, not knowing what to do with your limbs and now he’s going to understand that your body could never compare to the ones he sees everyday, those girls you only get to see through your screen as you get more and more inside your own head.
“Hola cariño, would you please look at me?” You shake your head. There is no way for you to turn around and see the disgust in his eyes when he watches your face, shiny with sweat, hair in disarray.
He gets in front of you and puts his hands on your hips. “Querida, please open your eyes.”
You can’t deny him. You’ve never been good at that. Your default setting is probably to try and listen to him. And so you open your eyes, bracing yourself. He’s looking at you, dark eyes and pupil larges, as if to absorb the whole of you and imprint this view to the back of his retinas, to never forget what this sight is. You, glowing and doe eyes watching him in silence, wondering what he’s thinking about.
But the music coming from the speaker, slow at first but going crescendo, drowns your doubting thoughts and his hands on your hips trace the shape of your body, up to your arms and down to your hands. He tugs at you.
“Come on cariño, let us dance to this music”, and you can’t help but follow his steps, mirrorring him, what you’ve learnt in the past months coming back to your body and limbs, if not your mind.
And now you’ve stopped worrying, a grin at your lips and a spark in your eyes, and when he mimes falling at your feet, you laugh, the sound echoing around the room, amidst the music and the love you share for each other.
☆: .｡.o.｡.:☆
Hope you liked it! don't hesitate to hmu if you have another request, you know my tumblr and i put the fandoms i write for in my master post :))
Daniel and Lando are bright sunshine at midday and jumping into the pool because you’re sweating so much. They’re loud music and cocktails and dancing until your feet hurt. They’re smirks and rowdy confidence and demanding to be loved.
Oscar and Lando are going for a walk after the rain in autumn. They’re baking biscuits in the holidays and cuddling by the fire to rewatch rom-coms. They’re drinking tea when it’s cold and sneaky glances over books in a library. They’re delicate smiles and featherlight touches , a soft love that doesn’t need to be seen.
I don’t know which one I like more but it’s safe to say that I am deeply unwell about both
Carlos sobre o primeiro pódio de Nico: “Eu nunca duvidei dele.”
“Parabéns. Ele deve ter feito uma corrida muito sólida para estar lá em terceiro. Sinceramente, para mim, o fato de as pessoas ficarem criticando ele, o fato de que ele ainda não tinha nenhum pódio… sempre foi completamente irrelevante. Para mim, ele sempre foi um dos cinco melhores pilotos do grid toda vez que esteve na F1. O nível de talento e execução de corrida dele é incrível.
Eu fui companheiro de equipe dele na época. E o fato de que ele não tinha um pódio era só circunstancial. Então fico feliz que ele finalmente tenha esse pódio para calar todo mundo que duvidou dele.
Pra mim, eu nunca duvidei. Eu sempre soube que um dia ele estaria no pódio.”
