Top Posts Tagged with #charlando

hi bby so im back :) and i have a request!!

charlando x reader (why are there not more fics about these two??)

bc this pic is too fine not to write about and ily and ik that you will EAT with this

hehee ilyyy gorgeousss <3333

💋💋

that's our girl — cl16 + ln4

smau + written blurbs

charles leclerc x !actress reader x lando norris

you weren’t just a young actress. you were the young actress. oscar-nominated at 21. cover of vogue before 20. the internet’s darling, directors’ favorite, and the face of three fashion houses by 23.

but the one thing you kept fiercely private — the only thing you never let the world touch — was them. charles leclerc and lando norris.

it started quietly. a few late night texts. a shared hotel suite after a grand prix. a summer that felt like a dream. then suddenly, you were in love with two of the fastest men on the planet — and they were in love with you. for almost a year, it was just yours. safe. secret. sacred.

until the night of your movie premiere. until they stepped onto the red carpet beside you. until the world finally saw what had always belonged only to you.

and saw that you were their girl.

fc : anya taylor-joy

(a/n) : hi baby love!!!! i missed you:) charlando is soooo underrated in my opinion and i took direct inspo from this pic. (i think i drooled a little bit the first time i saw) love you to the moon and back!!!!!! hope you enjoy

—

voguemagazine

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, lando and 4,440,000 others.

voguemagazine : the face of a generation returns to our cover. for her fifth time gracing vogue’s front page, @/yourusername opens up about the role that changed everything, navigating fame in the age of obsession, and why some secrets are worth keeping — especially when the world is watching. inside the issue: exclusive photos from set, notes from her director, and a few words (just a few) about the rumors swirling around her love life...on stands august 1st.

tagged : yourusername

—

view 300,000 other comments.

yourusername : just a little film, a little fashion, and maybe a little fun. who’s to say 🖤 love you vogueeeeee

liked by voguemagazine, lando and charles_leclerc

username000 : charles and lando in the likes after all these rumors BFFR RN VOGUE

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↳ voguemagazine : we know nothing 🤫

lando : great photos. very cool story. would love to meet her someday 🙃

liked by voguemagazine, charles_leclerc and yourusername

↳ username005 : we have literally seen paparazzi pictures of you two together. you cheeky fucker

username001 : vogue being messy again and i love it here

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username77 : can’t wait to hear her say absolutely nothing about her love life in the most elegant way possible

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↳ yourusername : yes queeeeeeen. give us nothing!

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username55 : "some secrets are worth keeping" yeah ok but i’m nosy

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charles_leclerc : beautiful cover. she always makes everything look effortless.

liked by voguemagazine, yourusername and lando

↳ username75 : charles just drop it and admit you are in LOVE.

—

You don’t hear them come in. The studio is buzzing—lights humming, cameras clicking, stylists whispering and bustling around you as you hold a pose in an impossibly structured gown. The sleeves are too long, the heels too high, and your neck is stiff from holding your head just right. You’re exhausted, your muscles screaming for a break, but the shoot must go on.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of something familiar—a flash of unruly curls, a pair of too white trainers stepping carefully around cables, the unmistakable glint of sunglasses on a face you know too well.

You pause, blinking. A small, tired smile creeps onto your lips despite the chaos around you.

“Hey,” Lando’s voice breaks through the noise, light and teasing. He waves enthusiastically, completely unbothered by the formality of the setting.

Charles stands just behind him, arms crossed, trying to look composed, but you see the slight upward curl at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t say much, but his eyes say it all—they sparkle with pride and quiet affection.

“You’re staring,” Lando grins, stepping closer.

“I’m not,” you tease, even though you are. “I’m just... appreciating the art.”

Charles chuckles softly and crosses the room, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Art can be exhausting, but you make it look effortless.”

Lando tosses you a snack—your favorite—grinning like a kid caught in the act. “Thought you might need a break. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

You laugh, and he uses the back of his hand to swipe a bit of whipped cream from your lip, smirking. “Careful,” you warn. “I might start expecting this kind of treatment all day.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies with a wink.

Your stylist clears her throat, offering a pointed glance. “Remember, no eating on set,” she says, though her voice is softer than usual.

Charles kneels down to zip up your boots, careful not to wrinkle the fabric of your gown. “We’re breaking all the rules today,” he murmurs, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve.

You rest your head against his shoulder for a moment, feeling the steady warmth there. “You both shouldn’t be here,” you say softly. “You have meetings.”

Charles shrugs, still smiling. “Meetings can wait. You’re the priority.”

Lando nods in agreement. “Yeah, we’re your unofficial support team.”

They linger nearby during the makeup touch-ups, sharing quiet jokes with the crew and keeping you company in the madness. The photographer catches a few candid shots—your bare feet tucked under the chair, Lando feeding you bites of cake, Charles speaking softly to your stylist about lighting. None of it will make the magazine. None of it needs to. It’s your little secret.

Later, as the shoot winds down, Lando pulls you aside. “Promise me you’ll take a break after this.”

“I will,” you say, leaning into him.

Charles wraps an arm around both of you. “We’re coming with you. No exceptions.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of their presence—your steady constants amid the frenzy of your life. And for once, you don’t feel tired at all.

—

The shoot wrapped late, but none of you were in any rush to go out. No afterparty, no fancy dinner, no red carpet chaos. Just the three of you — hair undone, makeup half wiped off, glitter still clinging to your collarbones — back in your apartment, where things felt quiet. Easy. Yours.

You’re curled up on the couch in the softest pair of Charles’ joggers and one of Lando’s old McLaren hoodies, a throw blanket draped lazily over the both of you. The lights are dim, the windows cracked open to let in the cool night air, and something low hums from the speakers. Your feet are in Lando’s lap. His hands are wrapped gently around your ankles, thumbs moving in small, lazy circles against your skin.

Charles is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed as he stirs something in a pan. Every so often, he hums under his breath. He moves with quiet purpose — barefoot on the tile, focused and calm, like he always is when he’s doing something for you.

“What’s he making again?” Lando murmurs, half asleep already.

You smile, not bothering to open your eyes. “He said pasta. But fancy. With wine he won’t let me touch yet.”

“Typical.” Lando nudges your leg with his elbow. “We’re out here starving while he builds a five-star menu from scratch.”

“He offered to teach you,” you remind him, grinning.

“He offered to boss me around in the kitchen,” Lando counters. “Different things.”

You laugh, and Charles calls out from the kitchen without turning around, “I can hear both of you, you know.”

“You were supposed to!” Lando shouts back. “It’s part of the charm.”

Charles walks over a moment later, drying his hands on a towel and tilting his head at the sight of you two — one completely melted into the couch cushions, the other practically draped across them like a very spoiled cat.

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, then one to Lando’s temple. “Fifteen more minutes.”

“Feels like twenty,” Lando mumbles.

“Feels like heaven,” you say softly, reaching out to grab Charles’ hand as he turns to go. He lets you hold it for a beat, thumb brushing over yours. A silent little thank-you, wrapped in touch.

By the time dinner is ready, Lando’s fast asleep, his head resting on your thigh, breathing slow and peaceful. You thread your fingers through his curls gently, trying not to wake him, but Charles smiles as he sets two plates down on the coffee table.

“He’ll eat in ten minutes. Watch.”

Sure enough, the second the scent hits the air, Lando stirs.

“Is that… garlic?” he mutters, still mostly asleep.

Charles chuckles. “Told you.”

The three of you eat cross-legged on the floor with your plates in your laps, sharing bites and clinking glasses. Charles insists on pouring the wine. Lando insists on playing music you all hate but know by heart. You insist on dessert — which turns out to be ice cream eaten straight from the tub with mismatched spoons.

Later, you end up on Charles’ chest, your cheek resting over his heart. Lando’s sprawled out beside you, arm slung over your waist, humming tunelessly against your shoulder. The TV is still playing, but none of you are watching. You’re full, warm, and tired in the best way.

“You know what?” Charles says softly, running a hand through your hair.

“What?” you murmur.

“This,” he says, gesturing lazily to the pile of limbs and blankets, “is my favorite kind of night.”

Lando yawns, tightening his arm around you. “Don’t get used to it. I’m picking the movie next time.”

You smile into Charles’ shirt. “That’s fine. As long as you keep your cold feet to yourself.”

“No promises,” Lando says sleepily, already drifting again.

And just like that, the room settles. Three heartbeats, steady and overlapping. The quiet comfort of people who love you, not for the cameras or the headlines — just for being here. Just for being theirs.

—

You slip out quietly in the morning, just after sunrise.

The apartment is still, bathed in soft golden light. Charles is sound asleep, one hand beneath the pillow, the other stretched across your side of the bed. Lando’s curled up on the couch where he’d passed out halfway through a movie rerun, his curls messy and one sock hanging halfway off his foot.

You hesitate by the door for just a second, watching them in their peaceful, quiet state. And then you leave a note — just a little “shooting early today, love you both. forever.” — and disappear into the morning mist with your script in hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

The set is already awake by the time you arrive. Costumes. Hair. Makeup. People bustling around in purposeful silence. It’s your favorite kind of work — period drama, grounded in pain and ambition, like The Queen’s Gambit if it were a little darker, a little more fractured. You lose yourself in it easily.

By the time you’re seated across from your scene partner, lights set and cameras ready, you’ve forgotten the outside world completely. You don’t even notice them sneak in.

They meant to stay for only a few minutes. They had flights to catch, debriefs to attend, an entire race weekend ahead. But the moment they saw you — fully in character, back straight, gaze sharp, playing this complicated, brilliant woman with all her fire and grace — they froze in place.

And neither of them moved again.

From the side of the set, Charles stands with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, not saying a word. Lando's next to him, hoodie pulled up, biting the tip of his thumb like he does when he’s nervous or overwhelmed.

"She’s insane," Lando whispers, mostly to himself. "Like—how does she do that?”

“She becomes someone else entirely,” Charles murmurs, eyes never leaving you. “And still… she’s always her.”

You're in the middle of a quiet, devastating monologue when you finally notice them. It’s just a flicker — movement behind the lights. You keep your expression steady, but your heart flips in your chest. You hadn’t expected them. You definitely hadn’t expected them before their flight.

After the scene cuts, you walk off set still in costume — a structured 1960s dress, hair pinned perfectly, makeup heavy — and raise an eyebrow at them both.

“You’re supposed to be halfway to Hungary,” you say, but your smile gives you away.

Charles steps forward first, slipping his arms around your waist and pulling you in like he’s been counting the minutes. “We had time.”

“Barely,” Lando adds, before pulling you into a messy, one-armed hug. “You were brilliant, by the way. Like… ridiculously brilliant. Kind of unfair, actually.”

You bury your face into Charles’ chest for a moment, breathing him in. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

Charles kisses your hair. “We couldn’t not.”

“You looked like a goddess out there,” Lando says, grinning. “And terrifying. I think I’m a little scared of you now.”

You laugh softly. “Good. My character would be pleased.”

“You make it look easy,” Charles murmurs, his hand brushing against yours. “But it’s not. I know it’s not. And yet every time I watch you… I fall in love all over again.”

You glance between the two of them, hearts on their sleeves and eyes only for you, and your chest aches with the weight of it all. The love. The support. The way they never let you carry any of it alone.

Lando holds out a paper bag. “We brought breakfast. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s yours.”

You blink, touched. “You brought me food?”

Charles shrugs. “We weren’t sure if you’d eaten.”

“Or slept,” Lando adds. “Or remembered you’re a person.”

You take the bag with a soft laugh. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love,” Charles says simply.

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. “That was so corny.”

Lando points at Charles. “That was all him.”

They stay until your next call time. Charles stands behind the camera monitor, arms crossed, jaw set — protective, proud. Lando leans against a pillar, hands in his pockets, watching you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. And when you glance over mid-take, something in their expressions softens you. Reminds you who you are. What you have. Not just a career. Not just a role. But love. Constant. Quiet. Steady. Yours.

—

You’re in costume when they find you again, back in that high-necked vintage dress, gloves slipping past your wrists, your hair pinned up so tight it aches. The studio is quieter now — a late scene being set up, lighting being adjusted, the buzz simmering to a hum. You’ve been working for hours, but your chest is tight for a different reason.

They're standing near the monitors, Charles with his arms folded, Lando shifting from foot to foot like he wants to say something and can’t quite find the words.

Their driver is waiting outside. The plane is on the runway.

It’s time.

“Can we…” Lando starts, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway, “Can we have a minute?”

You nod without hesitation, slipping out of the studio and into the cooler, quieter corridor with them. The second the door swings shut, Charles reaches for your hand.

You squeeze it tight.

“We hate leaving you like this,” he says softly, searching your face like he’s trying to memorize it. “Especially now. The shoot. The interviews. Everything.”

“I’ll be fine,” you whisper, and it’s not a lie — not really. You just leave out the part where you’ll be fine because you’ll see them again very, very soon.

“You’re always fine,” Lando murmurs, resting his forehead gently against yours for a moment. “That’s the problem. You don’t let us take care of you.”

“You took care of me last night,” you smile, eyes stinging. “And this morning. And right now.”

Charles kisses your knuckles slowly. “We’ll call after FP1. Text us when you wrap.”

You nod again, biting your cheek to keep from cracking. “I love you.”

Lando hugs you first — tight, warm, lingering. “Love you more.”

Then Charles folds you into his arms, one hand on the back of your head, one around your waist, holding you like it’s the last time. “See you soon,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I promise you will.”

You watch them walk down the hallway, hand-in-hand, glancing back at you with soft, reluctant smiles. When they disappear around the corner, you wait exactly thirty seconds before pulling your phone from your coat pocket. Your driver is already outside. Your bags are already packed. The jet is fueled, waiting on standby.

You text your assistant one word: ready.

She sends back a string of fire emojis and a thumbs up.

The second your last scene wraps, you’re out of the dress, out of the hair, into sweats and sneakers with a baseball cap pulled low. Your driver sneaks you through the back exit, past the trailers, out into the fading light. You don’t stop smiling the entire way to the hangar.

They think they’ve said goodbye. They think you’re still wrapped up in a long night of reshoots. But in eight hours, maybe less, you’ll be in their paddock. Wearing their colors. Holding their hands again. And they won’t see it coming.

—

f1gossipgirls

1,400,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : actress yn ln was spotted in both the McLaren and Ferrari garages this weekend… 👀 sources say she arrived quietly Saturday morning and was seen chatting with Lando Norris before qualifying, then later slipped into Ferrari hospitality with Charles Leclerc after. a paddock pass and a love triangle?? we’re not saying anything… but we’re also not not saying anything.

—

yourusername

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, franciscagomes and 5,705,000 others.

yourusername : big big thank you to @/f1, @/mclaren and @/scuderiaferrarihp for hosting me this weekend. so so much fun!! ❤️🏁

tagged : lando and charles_leclerc

—

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scuderiaferrarihp : our favorite guest 🔥

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lilymhe : you’re actually unreal. i want to be you when i grow up.

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↳ yourusername : teach me to golf!! so lando will stop bullying meeeee

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↳ lilymhe : anytime my queen!

maxverstappen1 : pick a side coward (come to the red bull garage)

liked by lando, yourusername and charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc : was a very fun weekend ❤️

liked by yourusername and lando

username000 : her in lando’s car. HER IN LANDO’S CAR.

yukitsunoda0511 : are we just pretending this isn’t suspicious?

liked by lando, yourusername and charles_leclerc

lando : had the prettiest views this weekend...you, my trophy and leclerc <3

liked by yourusername and charles_leclerc

—

It’s hot. Too hot. The sun is relentless above the circuit, and neither Lando nor Charles is particularly in the mood for press, meetings, or anything other than crashing into their hotel beds and maybe sending you a “wish you were here” voice note.

Lando kicks at a pebble in the paddock walkway, sunglasses sliding down his nose.

“She could’ve at least texted,” he mutters.

Charles, walking beside him, lets out a soft laugh. “She’s busy. Movie star things, no?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando shrugs. “Still. Miss her.”

They turn the corner toward hospitality — and freeze. Because there you are.

Wearing oversized sunglasses, a team pass slung around your neck, and a grin you can’t hide even if you tried. You’re standing casually by the entrance, sipping a cold drink like you didn’t just jump through fifteen scheduling hoops to get here. Like you didn’t just spend hours on a private jet, reviewing lines on the flight over.

Lando’s mouth drops open.

Charles blinks. Once. Twice. “No… way.”

“Hi,” you say sweetly, like you haven’t just turned both their brains to absolute mush.

Lando reaches you first, practically barreling into you, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he lifts you slightly off the ground. He buries his face in your shoulder, murmuring, “You’re actually here. You’re here.”

Charles follows right behind, tugging you away from Lando just enough to press a kiss to your cheek and then your forehead, hands holding your face like he can’t believe it’s real. “This is the best surprise you’ve ever pulled,” he breathes, still a little stunned.

You giggle, brushing a thumb across Charles’ cheek before turning to Lando. “I missed you both so much. I wrapped early, hopped on the jet, and came straight here.”

“We’re never letting you go again,” Lando mumbles, arms wrapping around your waist from behind as Charles leans in to kiss your temple.

“You’ve just guaranteed the best weekend ever,” Charles grins, fingers lacing with yours. “Don’t even care how the race goes now.”

And in the middle of the noise and the chaos and the cameras flashing from afar, the three of you exist in your own little bubble — soft and warm and full of love. Just where you’re meant to be.

—

The cameras are gone. The champagne’s dried sticky on the podium. The crowd’s long dispersed and the sun is beginning to dip low on the horizon, casting everything in that golden-orange hue that makes the world feel like a dream.

And inside a quiet motorhome far from the chaos, Lando is still wearing his race suit, hair damp from the heat and champagne, eyes lit up with joy and disbelief.

He barely gets the door open before you throw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking the cap off his head.

“You did it,” you whisper, voice tight with emotion. “Pole and the win. You actually did it.”

“I did it,” he says back, almost in awe. “You saw?”

“I saw everything.”

You kiss him then, soft and full of pride, your hands cupping his face like you’re trying to ground him — or maybe yourself. He pulls you tighter, laughing into your mouth like the joy is too much to keep in. When you finally break apart, Charles is already stepping in, still wearing his fireproofs, still flushed from the race.

“Mon amour,” you breathe, reaching for him with one hand while still tucked against Lando with the other. “P2. You were incredible.”

Charles leans in to kiss your forehead, his palm cradling your cheek, eyes flicking to Lando over your shoulder.

“Couldn’t be mad about it,” he murmurs. “Not when it’s him.”

Lando chuckles, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hand finds Charles’. “Best podium ever.”

You guide them both to the small couch at the back of the room, Lando curled into your side and Charles lying with his head in your lap. Your fingers run gently through Charles’ hair as Lando draws shapes lazily on your thigh with his finger.

No words are needed. Just the rise and fall of breaths. The brush of knuckles. A kiss placed on your wrist. The weight of Charles’ arm draped over your lap. Lando’s nose nuzzling into your neck.

There’s something sacred in the silence — a kind of warmth that doesn’t ask for applause or attention. Just presence. Just love.

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper eventually, voice barely above the hum of the AC.

Lando hums sleepily in response. Charles shifts to kiss your thigh through your jeans. It’s quiet. It’s perfect. And for a few moments, the world doesn’t exist beyond this small room and the three hearts tangled together inside it.

—

The race weekend is over, the interviews wrapped, the fans gone home, and for the first time in days, the three of you finally have a moment to breathe.

You’re tucked into the backseat of a sleek black car, Charles in the passenger seat fiddling with the playlist, and Lando driving with one hand on the wheel and the other resting casually over on Charles' knee.

“You know we could’ve just ordered room service and stayed in bed,” you tease, leaning your head against the back of the seat.

“Room service doesn’t come with this view,” Lando says, nodding toward the winding coastal road. “And besides… I wanted to show you the little place I found last year.”

Charles hums in agreement. “He hasn’t stopped talking about it.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course he hasn’t.”

But when you arrive, you understand the hype. It’s a tiny beachside restaurant tucked into a quiet cove — all string lights and weathered wood and the smell of salt in the air. The owner clearly knows them both, claps Charles on the back and teases Lando as you’re led to a table right on the sand.

The sunset is molten gold. The waves are soft. And the three of you are finally still.

Charles orders wine with practiced charm. Lando sneaks bites off your plate and pretends to pout when you slap his hand away. You end up feeding him anyway. Charles takes a candid photo of the two of you mid-laughter, then turns the camera to you and says, “Smile for me, mon amour.”

You lean in and kiss him instead. After dinner, you slip off your heels and walk down the shoreline, Charles’ arm around your waist and Lando’s fingers laced with yours. The ocean kisses your ankles and the moonlight dances in their eyes. At some point, you end up sitting in the sand, your head resting on Lando’s shoulder while Charles lies back with his hand over your stomach, tracing absent-minded circles.

“We should do this more often,” you say softly.

Lando hums. “We should win more often, you mean.”

You laugh. “That too.”

They don’t let you walk back alone — one on each side, pinkies linked, hands warm and solid and real. And even though the world will spin madly again tomorrow, tonight is just for the three of you. Quiet. Golden. Safe.

—

several weeks later...

gossiproomx

1,880,000 likes.

gossiproomx : red carpet royalty?? actress yn ln stepped out for her highly anticipated movie premiere last night — but it wasn’t just the film that had jaws on the floor. not one but two f1 superstars — charles leclerc and lando norris — were seen arriving with her, staying close by her side on the carpet, and looking suspiciously like doting boyfriends during her pre-screening speech. sources say they were spotted exchanging proud smiles, sneaking glances, and even applauding the loudest from the front row. 👀 just friends? supportive pals? or is this our favorite kind of triangle? 💌

—

You’d spent the entire week convincing yourself they wouldn’t make it — between media duties, simulator runs, travel, and the chaos of back-to-back races, it just wasn’t realistic. They had sent flowers, sent texts, sent sleepy late-night “you’re gonna kill it” voice notes. And that had been enough.

Until it wasn’t.

You’d just stepped out of your car, nerves humming beneath your skin as flashes began to pop around you, when the security team at the end of the carpet suddenly shifted. Then you heard it: the wave of reaction down the press line, the sudden spike in volume, the unmistakable roar of surprise and camera shutters.

And then you saw them.

Charles and Lando. Both in tailored suits that fit them far too well, ties matching the tones of your dress exactly — they’d planned it, of course they had. Lando’s grin was wide and boyish, his curls tamed just enough to pass red carpet standards. Charles looked a little breathless, like he’d just rushed from the airport, but his eyes never left yours.

“Hey, baby,” Charles murmured as they reached you.

“You didn’t think we’d miss this, did you?” Lando added, already pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Are you real?” you asked, blinking rapidly, trying not to smudge your makeup.

Charles laughed softly and kissed your cheek. “Very real. And very proud.”

The three of you walked the carpet together — them flanking you, looking devastatingly handsome and impossibly proud. You kept it professional for the cameras, smiling and posing, never too close, never too obvious. But behind the scenes? Every glance, every brush of their hands against your back, every whispered compliment told a different story.

“You’re glowing,” Lando whispered as you stepped aside for solo shots. “They’re not ready for you.”

When it was time for the speech before the screening, you stood on stage with the director, mic in hand, eyes scanning the crowd. And there they were — front row, right in the center. Charles with his chin rested lightly in his hand, watching you with soft, steady eyes. Lando with a lazy arm draped over the back of the seat beside him, grinning like he knew every word before you even said it.

You took a breath. “I want to thank the people who got me here. Who love me for who I really am. Who remind me every single day that it’s okay to take up space.”

They clapped the loudest. You couldn’t stop smiling.

—

lando

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, carlossainz55 and 7,770,000 others.

lando : my boy and our girl :)

tagged : charles_leclerc and yourusername

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pierregasly : finally. i’ve been holding this secret in for MONTHS.

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carlossainz55 : obsessed with this. like actually.

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charles_leclerc : our girl 🥰 forever and always.

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georgerussell63 : congratulations on being the most photogenic trio ever

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oscarpiastri : just casually breaking the internet, huh?

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maxverstappen1 : this post cured my seasonal depression

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yourusername : i love this. and you. both of you.

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