#Argentines and the need to argentinize everything. I know

[strongestbanner]

Imagine gossiping with Victor but while drinking mate 🧉 ...

Bro would have too many things to tell!! He surely knows a lot of things about Logan that even Logan doesn't know 👁️👁️

Yes, when we Argentines drink mate in pairs or in a group, we tend to gossip and talk about anything about life. Conversation gains points if there are biscuits or something else delicious to eat (this is basically like take a snack but it could be any time of the day lol)

Leaving my old edit cuz why not?

[pucksandpower]

Rumour Has It

Franco Colapinto x Princess of Norway!Reader

Summary: you’ve never heard of Franco before and Franco has certainly never heard of you … but when gossip magazines decide to set you two up, Franco realizes that he wouldn’t mind making the rumors a reality

“Have you seen this?” Noora says, bursting into your study with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes wide and frantic.

You look up, half-expecting the sky to have fallen or for Oslo to be under siege. “Seen what?”

Noora slams the tablet down on your desk, and your face is met with a tabloid headline in bold, obnoxious letters: Norway’s Princess Caught in Secret Romance with Argentinian Racing Prodigy Franco Colapinto!

You blink at the screen, then back at Noora, and then at the screen again, as if maybe the headline might rearrange itself into something more sensible. “Sorry, who?”

“Franco Colapinto!” She says, exasperated. “The Argentine driver — the rookie! In Formula 1!”

You tilt your head. “I don’t know who that is.”

Noora gives you a look that’s somewhere between sympathy and horror. “Okay, well, apparently you’re dating him. And half of Norway seems to think so too, thanks to this article.”

“Dating? Noora, I’ve never even heard of him, let alone met him! And this … this is nonsense!” You shove the tablet back at her, feeling your cheeks flush. “How did this even happen?”

Noora sighs, sliding the tablet away. “It’s the internet. They don’t need facts to build a story — they just need a blurry photo and a wild imagination.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply. “And why didn’t anyone tell me sooner? It’s not like we don’t have a whole team for this.”

“Well, to be fair, it only surfaced last night,” she says, crossing her arms. “But now it’s all over social media, and your name is attached to his. People are actually talking about you two as if you’re the new royal couple.”

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. You’ve spent years cultivating a careful, respectable image — a modern princess who’s still traditional enough to respect the expectations placed on her. And now, you’re supposedly dating a race car driver?

“What exactly are they saying?” You ask, your voice quieter, laced with dread.

Noora hesitates, but you give her a pointed look until she relents. “They’re saying you met him at some secret event in Monaco and that you’ve been hiding your relationship to avoid the media frenzy. Apparently, he’s been visiting Norway on his off-days just to see you.” She snorts. “It’s absurd, really. But people are eating it up.”

You stare at her, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “This cannot be happening.”

“Oh, but it is. And the comments …” She trails off, biting her lip.

“Out with it, Noora.”

She sighs. “Some are saying it’s refreshing that you’re dating someone so … I don’t know, normal. But others …” She winces. “Others think it’s irresponsible. That you’re … well, neglecting your duty for some glamorous fling.”

You take a shaky breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “Neglecting my duty,” you repeat, more to yourself than to her. “Because I’m apparently sneaking off with some Formula 1 driver I’ve never even met.”

“I know,” she says, reaching out and giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “But it’ll pass. A few days, maybe a week, and they’ll have moved on to the next scandal.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to imagine it blowing over. “And what if it doesn’t?”

“Then we get PR involved. Make a statement, deny everything.” She pauses, eyeing you with a wary smile. “Or, you know, we could just arrange a very public appearance with you and someone else. Nothing quashes rumors like a little royal romance with a suitable partner.”

Your eyes snap open. “Noora.”

She grins, unphased by your glare. “What? It’s an option.”

“I’m not going to parade around with someone just to make the tabloids happy,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, that leaves us with the boring option: addressing it head-on, squashing the rumor, and hoping it dies quickly.”

“That will just make it worse,” you sigh resignedly. “The press will think any denial means we have something to hide.”

Noora nods, still eyeing you cautiously. “You could always lean into it a little — make it sound mysterious.”

“Mysterious?” You echo. “No, Noora. I want it gone. I don’t even know this man!”

“All right, all right,” she concedes, hands raised in surrender. “But you know, you could at least look him up.”

You narrow your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because people are going to be asking questions. You’re the Princess of Norway. If they think you’re dating him, it would help to know who he is.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she’s already pulling out her phone. “Just … humor me, okay? It’ll take two seconds.”

She taps her screen, and suddenly a series of photos pops up — images of a young man with dark hair and a serious expression, usually in some variation of a racing suit, often holding a helmet. He’s smiling in one photo, a faint smirk in another, but the confident gleam in his eyes is unmistakable.

“He’s twenty-one,” Noora says, scrolling through some text. “Started karting young, worked his way up. Got his big break with Formula 1 this year.”

You try not to look interested, but it’s hard to ignore the pictures flashing by. He has a kind of easy charisma, that much is obvious.

“And look,” she adds, holding up a picture of him on the track, eyes focused, mouth set in a determined line. “He’s pretty talented, apparently.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to look away. “None of this matters. Because I don’t know him, and I’m certainly not dating him.”

Noora smirks. “Doesn’t matter. The media thinks you are, and as far as they’re concerned, that makes it practically true.”

You groan, sinking back in your chair. “So what do I do?”

“For now? Sit tight, let PR work their magic. But you might want to brush up on your Formula 1 knowledge, just in case anyone asks.” She grins, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Wouldn’t want you to sound unprepared.”

You roll your eyes, reaching for the tablet and skimming the article’s ridiculous details. “He brought me roses on the first date?” You mutter, incredulous. “We had a secret dinner at a villa on the Côte d’Azur? Do they just make this up?”

“Pretty much. And it’s only going to get worse if people keep sharing it.”

You rub your temples, trying to banish the lingering image of Franco’s cocky smile from your mind. “Fantastic. Just what I needed — a fake romance with a twenty-one-year-old race car driver.”

Noora pats your shoulder sympathetically. “Could be worse.”

“How, exactly?”

“It could be real.”

***

Franco is hunched over his phone, scrolling mindlessly through his notifications as he waits for his PR briefing to start. The Williams headquarters is bustling this morning, and he barely notices when the door opens until Abbie, his PR officer, strides in, her expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Franco, we need to talk,” she says, folding her arms.

He glances up, one eyebrow raised. “Am I in trouble already? That’s got to be a record.”

Abbie sighs. “No, you’re not in trouble. But you’re in … let’s call it a situation.” She pulls up a chair across from him, lowering her voice as if sharing state secrets. “Have you seen the news?”

“Can’t say I have,” he replies, half-interested. “What, did Carlos suddenly decide to retire and I get to keep my seat for next season?”

Abbie doesn’t laugh, which is a bit worrying. Instead, she hands him her phone, showing a screen filled with a tabloid headline. Princess Y/N of Norway in Secret Romance with F1’s Newest Rising Star, Franco Colapinto!

His brows furrow as he reads, slowly, taking in the headline, the photos, the fabricated “romantic details.”

“Wait … I’m dating a princess?” He says, breaking into a grin. “And nobody thought to tell me?”

Abbie sighs. “Apparently. They’ve got edited photos, fake details — everything.”

He leans back, intrigued. “Princess Y/N,” he muses, tapping his chin with a thoughtful smirk. “Of Norway?”

“Yes, of Norway.” She leans in closer, her expression serious. “This has gone viral, Franco. Everyone’s talking about it.”

He can’t resist; he grabs his own phone and taps out “Princess Y/N of Norway.” The first few links are about her background, her position in the line of succession. “So, she’s next in line to be queen or something?”

“Second in line,” Abbie corrects. “After her father. She’s a pretty big deal over there.”

Franco’s eyes sparkle with interest. “Second in line. And she’s what … like, forty?”

“Not even close,” Abbie says, exasperated. “She’s around your age, I think. She’s twenty-something.”

Franco looks at her, skeptical. “Twenty-something? And a princess?” He scrolls through images of palaces, state functions, and some photos of you smiling politely at dignitaries. She’s dressed elegantly, impeccably, not a hair out of place.

Then, finally, he finds one candid shot, and he stops scrolling. You’re laughing in the photo, a little windswept, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, your smile bright and entirely un-royal. He smirks.

“All right, all right,” he mutters to himself, still looking at the photo. “She’s pretty cute.” He taps back to the headline with a glint of amusement in his eye. “But still not a MILF.”

Abbie groans. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugs, still looking delighted. “Come on. You know my type. I like them older. But …” He trails off, grinning wider. “I could certainly do worse.”

“You’re not actually considering this, are you?” Abbie says, horrified. “Franco, this is a fake rumor. You’re supposed to be distancing yourself from it.”

“Oh, I know. I know.” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. “But it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Me, a royal boyfriend?” He leans back, arms crossed, still smirking. “I’m almost flattered.”

Abbie sighs and taps her own phone, clearly typing something in response to the rest of the Williams PR team. “Look, flattered or not, you need to be careful. She’s a public figure. If you say the wrong thing, it’ll just fuel the fire.”

“Oh, please,” he says, waving a hand. “What are they gonna do? Put me on trial?”

“Maybe not you,” Abbie replies, giving him a warning look, “but she has an image to protect. This isn’t just gossip for her — it’s her whole life.”

He lets out a low whistle, thinking. “Must be hard, huh? Everyone expecting you to act a certain way. Not much room for fun.”

Abbie eyes him, her expression softening a bit. “I’m sure it is. Which is why we need to treat this carefully.”

Franco glances back at the photos, his smile fading a bit as he considers. He may not know you, but he can picture the situation well enough: the relentless tabloids, the public judgment, all the expectations.

“All right, fine,” he says, finally. “What’s the plan?”

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’ll be working with her team to prepare a statement. The usual ‘there’s no truth to these rumors’ line. But until then, keep it low-key.”

He raises a brow. “Low-key? Since when have I ever been low-key?”

“Then try for once.” She gives him a pleading look. “It’ll help her out. Trust me.”

Franco nods, though there’s a spark of amusement still flickering in his eyes. He can’t help it — he’s never been one to turn down a little excitement, and this whole thing is exactly that. He glances at Abbie. “So … if someone were to ask about it …”

She narrows her eyes. “Franco. Don’t even think about it.”

He chuckles. “Relax. I’ll be good.”

But as he heads back to the simulator, he can’t resist a smirk.

***

The meeting room is far more understated than you would’ve expected for something of this scale, tucked away in a discreet corner of a private suite in a London hotel. But it’s neutral ground, and it’s quiet, and no one outside this room will ever have to know about this awkward collision of worlds.

You’re early, of course. You’ve been pacing for the last ten minutes, scrolling through every frantic email your team has sent since this ridiculous rumor broke, trying to make sense of the tabloids’ spiraling narrative.

Franco arrives with a small entourage, though it feels like the entire room shifts the moment he steps in. He looks relaxed, perfectly at ease — too at ease. He catches your eye almost immediately, smirking as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this absurd situation to unfold.

“Princess,” he says, as if the word is a private joke just for the two of you. He holds out his hand, that ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes.

You don’t take it, instead clearing your throat and nodding a polite, “Mr. Colapinto.”

He drops his hand, unfazed. “Mr. Colapinto? Ouch. I thought we were past formalities, what with the whole secret romance thing.”

You stare, unamused, but he only laughs, taking a seat at the conference table across from you. He leans back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair, entirely too comfortable.

Abbie enters behind him, followed by Noora and two more of your advisors, who exchange a brief look with you before giving Franco a wary glance. The room feels divided: your side tense, professional; his side relaxed, as if they’re here for afternoon tea.

Noora clears her throat. “Thank you all for coming. We’re here to discuss … the situation between Her Royal Highness and Mr. Colapinto.”

Franco raises his hand like a schoolboy. “Just Franco’s fine.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I think it’s important that we treat this with the gravity it deserves.”

“Right,” Franco says, his tone playful. “Like a royal summit.”

Ignoring him, you turn to Noora. “What’s our best option? A joint statement? Something definitive?”

Noora nods, producing a folder from her bag. “Yes, we think a mutual statement from both parties would be the most effective way to dispel the rumors. The tone should be clear, respectful, and leave no room for interpretation.”

Franco grins at you. “So, no room for romance?”

You bite back a sigh. “Exactly.”

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand as if studying you. “Pity. I thought we made a pretty good pair.”

You shift in your seat, folding your hands tightly in front of you. “This isn’t a joke. It’s an issue of public perception, protocol-”

“Protocol,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “Can’t say I’m big on protocol. Haven’t you heard? I’m dating a princess now. Practically makes me royalty, right? Protocol doesn’t apply to me.”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Protocol applies to everyone.”

“Boring people,” he counters, grinning wider. “Which, by the way, you are not. I don’t buy it.”

You feel your cheeks flush. “I don’t think you understand the stakes here.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. But, come on …” He gestures to the small group of advisors around the table. “Look at this! Two teams acting like we’re two PR disasters waiting to happen … it’s ridiculous. You would think we were in the middle of an international scandal.”

“We are in the middle of an international scandal,” you say, exasperated. “People think we’re dating. It’s a breach of public trust for both of us-”

He snorts. “You’re talking like I’m some kind of international criminal. Come on, Princess. It’s just a rumor.”

“It’s more than that,” you insist, struggling to keep your voice steady. “This rumor reflects on me, on my family. On Norway.”

He watches you, head tilted, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “And do you care?”

You frown, feeling that flush creep back to your cheeks. “Of course I care.”

“No, I mean, do you care about it — us? I mean, the rumor?”

There’s something disarming in the way he says it, like he’s testing you. You can’t help but hesitate, your well-rehearsed words slipping just out of reach.

“It’s my duty,” you finally say, straightening your shoulders, “to uphold my family’s reputation.”

He doesn’t seem impressed. Instead, he shakes his head, a bemused smile on his lips. “You’re so serious. Makes me think I really did pick the right princess.”

Noora coughs, clearly eager to refocus the meeting. “Let’s discuss the actual statement, shall we?”

You nod, relieved to move on, but Franco holds up a hand, eyes still locked on yours. “I just want to say, for the record … I don’t think I’d mind the rumors, if they were true.”

There’s a moment of silence, thick and uncomfortable. You can feel the curious stares of your team, the surprise on Noora’s face, the quiet snickers from Franco’s side.

“Mr. Colapinto,” you say carefully, “this is neither the time nor place for that kind of … remark.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Who decides that?”

Noora jumps in. “We do. And as such, we have a preliminary draft we’d like to review with both of you. It’s brief and to the point, which is important.”

Abbie leans in, already reading over the statement. “The recent reports of a romantic relationship between Princess Y/N and Franco Colapinto are entirely false and without merit. Both parties are focused on their respective roles and responsibilities and have not been involved in any way that would support these rumors.” She looks up, pleased with herself.

You give an approving nod, glancing at Franco. “Short and factual. Perfect.”

Franco frowns, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s a little … cold, don’t you think?”

“That’s the point,” you say flatly. “We’re supposed to be shutting down the rumors, not fueling them.”

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. “How about something more like … while I have great respect for Princess Y/N and have enjoyed our time together, I can confirm that we are, unfortunately, just friends?”

You look at him, horrified. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.” He gives you a devilish grin. “It’s all about the narrative, Princess. People want romance, intrigue. You’re literal royalty — give them a little fairytale.”

You feel your cheeks burn, and it takes everything you have not to snap back at him. “This isn’t some soap opera, Mr. Colapinto.”

“Franco,” he corrects, eyes still dancing with mischief.

Noora clears her throat again. “I think it’s best we stick with the original statement.”

He gives you a mockingly solemn nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

You give a small, exasperated sigh, looking back to Noora and Abbie. “If we’re all agreed, can we proceed?”

Abbie glances between you and Franco, as if gauging the tension in the air. “Yes. We’ll finalize the statement this evening and have it released tomorrow morning.”

Franco pushes back his chair, rising to his feet. “Well, I suppose that settles it, then.” He glances down at you, his gaze lingering a bit too long. “Shame, though. This could’ve been fun.”

You fold your arms, giving him a pointed look. “We have very different definitions of fun.”

“Clearly,” he says, his smirk deepening. “But tell me, don’t you ever get tired of all this?” He gestures around at the meeting room, the stacks of paperwork, the solemn faces of your advisors. “The rules, the protocol. Doesn’t it get … dull?”

You purse your lips, resisting the temptation to give him a real answer. “It’s my duty.”

He tilts his head, his expression softening just slightly. “I get duty. But where’s the fun?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. And for a second, just a second, you wonder if he has a point.

Franco’s gaze sharpens as he watches you struggle to respond. And then, to your utter shock, he steps closer, his hand reaching for yours. “Here,” he says, with that sly, teasing smile.

Before you can pull away, he lifts your hand, bringing it to his lips in a slow, deliberate gesture. His eyes hold yours as he brushes his mouth over your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make you feel the heat creeping up your face.

“I promise,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, “the next time I kiss you, Princess, it’ll be somewhere much more pleasurable.”

You pull your hand back, heart pounding, but he only grins, unbothered, and gives you a playful wink.

“Until next time, Your Highness.”

***

The bar is dimly lit, tucked away on a quiet street where no one knows who you are and, more importantly, no one cares. It’s the perfect place to slip away from the weight of your title, from the headlines, from the rules and the statement that your team is probably drafting up at this very moment. For once, you just want to sit here, nursing a drink, and pretend you’re anyone else.

The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome distraction. You let out a breath, easing back against the bar, feeling some of the tension in your shoulders release. For the first time all day, no one is watching, no one is whispering. You’re just … here.

Until a voice slides into the quiet like a warm breeze. “Didn’t think I’d find royalty in a place like this.”

You don’t even need to look to know it’s him. You don’t turn, but your grip on the glass tightens as Franco slides onto the stool beside you, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

���What are you doing here?” You ask, not bothering to mask the exasperation in your voice.

“Me?” He says, all innocence. “Just having a drink. Same as you.” He signals the bartender. “Tequila,” he says, then nods at your glass, smirking. “And whatever she’s having.”

You sigh. “Of all the bars in London, you had to pick this one?”

He grins, shameless. “Maybe I just have good taste.”

You roll your eyes. “Highly doubtful.”

He chuckles, unfazed. “Come on, Princess. I know you’re thrilled to see me.”

“Thrilled isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

He leans in, his voice dropping low enough that it feels like a secret. “What would you use, then?”

You pause, taking a sip of your drink as you consider. “Mildly inconvenienced.”

He laughs at that, a warm, genuine sound that catches you off guard. You try to keep your face impassive, but there’s something disarming about his laughter, something that makes you wonder why it feels like he’s always able to unravel you with so little effort.

“Fine,” he says, leaning his elbow on the bar, mirroring your posture. “Then I’ll just sit here, mildly inconveniencing you until you admit you’re enjoying yourself.”

You scoff. “That’s not going to happen.”

His whiskey arrives, and he raises his glass, clinking it lightly against yours. “Care to bet on that?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you always think everything’s a game?”

“Only when it’s fun,” he says, his gaze dropping to your lips. There’s something undeniably bold about the way he watches you, something that sends a little thrill down your spine despite yourself.

You hold his gaze, refusing to back down. “What exactly do you think you’re doing here?”

“I thought that was obvious,” he says, his voice turning softer, more intimate. “I’m trying to get to know you.”

You snort. “Get to know me? I’m pretty sure you just want to use this as an excuse to fuel the rumors.”

“Maybe the rumors are more interesting than you think,” he counters smoothly, sipping his drink. “Or maybe I’m just curious.”

“Curious?” You echo, lifting an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About what a princess does when no one’s watching.” His eyes flash with that familiar glint, and he gives you a lazy, unapologetic smile. “And so far, you don’t disappoint.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Oh, I don’t need to try,” he says, his voice soft but self-assured. “I just do.”

You shake your head, determined not to let him win this little game. “I don’t think you’re as irresistible as you think you are.”

“Maybe.” He tilts his head, studying you with an infuriating level of focus. “But you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Your retort dies on your lips as his hand moves closer, resting just on the edge of the bar, fingers inching toward yours. It’s subtle, but it sends a pulse of awareness up your arm, and you’re suddenly very aware of how close he is, the warmth radiating from him, the intensity of his gaze as it lingers on you.

You straighten, clearing your throat. “So what’s your endgame here, Franco?”

“No endgame,” he says easily, but there’s a promise in his tone, a flicker in his eyes that makes it hard to believe. “Just wanted a drink with a pretty princess.”

You almost laugh. Almost. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Is that why you’re smiling?” He asks, leaning closer.

You hadn’t realized you were. You quickly straighten your face, but he’s already noticed, that knowing smirk widening as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Relax, Princess. You’re allowed to have fun, too.”

“Define fun,” you say, though you’re painfully aware that you’re actually enjoying this little back-and-forth. It’s dangerous, exhilarating — two things you never let yourself indulge in.

“Fun?” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Fun is you, sitting here, pretending you don’t like me, while secretly hoping I’ll keep talking.”

You roll your eyes. “Delusional.”

“Maybe,” he says, and his hand moves again — this time, resting casually on your thigh under the bar. The touch is light, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch, enough to make you momentarily forget the carefully constructed boundaries you’ve set.

“Franco,” you warn, though your voice is less steady than you’d like.

He raises an eyebrow, his fingers tracing a slow, almost absentminded circle against your leg. “Problem?”

You don’t answer, but he takes your silence as permission, his fingers edging just a little higher, teasingly close, as if he’s daring you to stop him. And you should. You know you should. But for some reason, you don’t.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me to stop, Princess. And I will.”

Your mind races, every sensible thought colliding with the thrill that’s building inside you. You swallow, feeling the weight of his gaze, the heat of his touch.

“Why would I tell you to stop,” you say quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper, “if I don’t want you to?”

He grins, satisfied. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Before you can respond, he’s closing the distance, his hand slipping higher under your dress, his thumb brushing slow circles that make your heart race. It’s reckless and wild and nothing you’d ever thought you’d do — but in this moment, it feels impossible to resist.

The next few minutes are a blur of whispered words and stolen glances, your resolve slipping with every soft touch, every cocky grin he throws your way. You barely register the decision to leave the bar until you’re outside, standing on the quiet street, the night air cool against your flushed skin.

“Your place or mine?” He asks, his voice a playful drawl.

You hesitate, a thousand reasons to walk away tumbling through your mind. But when you look at him — at that unrelenting confidence, the challenge in his eyes — you feel your control waver. Just this once, you tell yourself. Just this once, you’ll let yourself break the rules.

“Yours,” you say, surprised at the steadiness of your voice.

He doesn’t waste a second, taking your hand and leading you down the street, his grip warm and solid, grounding you even as your heart races. You follow him, pulse pounding with each step, until you’re standing outside his hotel room door, the reality of what you’re doing hitting you in a rush.

But then he’s looking at you again, that mischievous smile softening into something more intimate, and your doubts fade. He opens the door, and you step inside, feeling as though you’re crossing some invisible line.

The room is dim, the city lights casting a faint glow through the windows. He steps closer, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, almost reverent, and for a moment, you see a different side of him — something softer, deeper.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. But instead of answering, you lean up, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that’s tentative at first, then deepening as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

And for the first time in as long as you can remember, you don’t think about duty, or protocol, or anything else. In this moment, there’s only you and him and the quiet thrill of finally letting go.

***

francolapinto

Liked by f1wagupdates, royalwatchers, and 714,925 others

francolapinto all the rumours are true

View all 3,816 comments

pintobean everyone called me crazy for believing the articles but look who’s laughing now!

coca-colapinto because as much as i love franco, there’s no way i was about to believe he could’ve pulled a whole ass princess

pintobean this is a lesson not to underestimate his rizz

coca-colapinto please never say that unironically again

f1wagupdates pray for their PR teams, whatever they’re earning is not nearly enough 🙏

gridgossip franco had exactly nine races to turn the paddock upside down and boy did he not disappoint

f1wagupdates who needs an f1 seat in 2025 when you can have a throne?

***

The morning arrives far too soon, sunlight streaming through the hotel curtains and casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. You barely have time to blink yourself awake when a loud, frantic banging rattles the door, shaking you out of the haze of last night.

Franco groans beside you, his arm lazily draped over your waist. “You expecting someone?”

You’re too comfortable, too wrapped up in the warmth of his skin and the lingering bliss to even think straight. “Not … exactly.”

The pounding persists, and then voices — urgent, unmistakable voices — filter through the door. “Franco! Y/N! Are you in there? It’s urgent!”

Your eyes widen, a flash of panic cutting through the sleepiness. Franco doesn’t seem fazed. He barely lifts his head off the pillow, his hand lazily running down your spine as he mutters, “They’ll go away.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” You push yourself up slightly, glancing over the bed, finding discarded clothes and a vague sense of regret somewhere on the floor. The pounding grows louder, and finally, Franco sits up, rubbing his eyes, his hair adorably disheveled.

He stretches, glancing at you with a lazy grin. “What do you think? Just a few more minutes or …”

“Open the door!” Comes a familiar, exasperated voice from the hallway. You recognize it immediately — Noora.

Franco’s eyes meet yours, amusement glinting there. “Looks like we don’t have a choice.”

Reluctantly, he pulls himself out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor and slipping them on with a casual ease that only makes your heartbeat quicken. He tosses you a smirk over his shoulder before heading to the door.

As he opens it, a whirlwind of people floods into the room — Noora, Abbie, and a few more members of both your PR teams, all of them looking like they’re seconds away from losing their minds.

“Oh my god,” Noora gasps, her gaze darting between you and Franco, her face turning several shades of pink. “This … this is-”

“Completely reckless!” Abbie finishes, giving you a look that’s half shock, half scandalized admiration. “What were you two thinking?”

Franco crosses his arms, unfazed. “Good morning to you too.”

One of Williams’ other PR officers steps forward, looking ready to faint. “Franco, do you have any idea what you’ve done? Those photos … your Instagram …”

Franco grins, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What, people are talking?”

“Talking?” Noora squeaks, her voice an octave higher than usual. She glares at you, her eyes wide, almost pleading. “This is a disaster! Do you understand what you’ve done to our schedule, our statement plan? And the … the-” Her gaze flickers to the faint marks on your neck, and her knees buckle. Abbie reaches out quickly, guiding her to a chair.

“Maybe we overreacted,” Abbie mutters, though she doesn’t take her eyes off you. “Or maybe we didn’t react enough.”

You feel a rush of heat flood your face as everyone’s gaze lands on you. Franco catches it and gives you a cheeky wink, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s created.

“Look,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “maybe we got a little carried away, but it’s … it’s not like we did anything wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Noora says, her voice faint as she studies the marks on your neck again. “You … you have no idea how this looks, do you?”

Franco, completely unfazed, strolls over to the mirror above the dresser. He takes a long look at his own reflection, tilting his head to admire the scratches and darkening bruises scattered across his skin. “Looks like a good night to me.”

Your PR teams collectively groan, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. Franco catches your eye in the mirror, and the mischievous spark there makes it impossible not to crack a smile.

“Franco, this isn’t a joke!” One of his managers snaps, practically pulling at his hair. “Do you know how many calls we’ve received since you posted those photos?”

Franco shrugs, giving them a lazy grin. “Then turn off your phone. Worked for me.”

Another round of exasperated sighs fills the room, and you can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for your PR team. Not enough, though, to actually feel bad.

Noora steps forward, hands on her hips, looking at you with an expression that’s somehow both sympathetic and stern. “Your Highness, this is … unprecedented. We need to issue a statement immediately, clarify this situation-”

“Or not,” Franco interrupts, his tone far too nonchalant. He turns away from the mirror, crossing his arms. “Honestly, I think the people like a little mystery, don’t you?”

Noora gives him a look that could wilt flowers. “This isn’t about what the people like, Mr. Colapinto. It’s about protecting reputations.”

“Oh, so we’re doing that now?” Franco glances at you, his smile playful. “Funny, last night I didn’t get the sense that the two of us in this room were all that worried about reputations.”

Your face flushes, and you shoot him a look that’s half reprimand, half reluctant amusement. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Who said I was trying to help?”

Abbie lets out a long sigh, rubbing her temples. “Can we at least agree that this … whatever this is, stays here? Quietly?”

Franco raises an eyebrow, looking at you with a smirk. “You hear that, Princess? Quietly. Doesn’t sound like much fun to me.”

You swallow, trying to ignore the way his gaze makes your stomach flip. “Maybe some things should be quiet,” you say, though your voice sounds unconvincing even to you.

Noora, still looking a bit wobbly, clears her throat. “Please, can we just … make a plan?”

Franco sighs, feigning disappointment. “Fine. Make your plan. But don’t expect me to follow it.”

Before anyone can respond, he gives you one last smirk and strides over to the door, pulling it open. “In fact, I think it’s about time we had the room to ourselves, don’t you think?”

The PR teams exchange panicked glances, but they don’t have much choice as Franco gives them a not-so-subtle wave toward the exit. Noora opens her mouth to protest, but Abbie gently ushers her toward the door, casting one last look at you that’s a mix of concern and reluctant approval.

“We’ll be in touch,” Abbie says, but there’s a hint of resignation in her tone, as if she knows that whatever control they thought they had is slipping fast.

Once the last of them has been herded out, Franco shuts the door with a decisive click. He turns back to you, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and before you can process it, he’s crossing the room, closing the distance between you in seconds.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and teasing, “I think we gave them quite a show.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “We? That was mostly you.”

He laughs softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You didn’t exactly object.”

You’re about to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His hands find your waist, and suddenly you’re being guided backward, the mattress hitting the back of your legs as he eases you down. His gaze is intense, his smirk fading into something more serious, more intent.

“Franco,” you murmur, but the way he’s looking at you steals the rest of your words.

He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to the corner of your mouth. His voice is barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “We’re not done yet, Princess.”

Your heart races as he shifts, his hands warm against your skin, his weight pressing you back into the bed. And as he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both playful and possessive, you realize that whatever the consequences, whatever scandal might follow … right now, none of it matters.

Right now, there’s only him, the quiet thrill of his touch, and the feeling of finally — finally — giving in.

***

The night sky over Las Vegas glitters with a million lights, bright enough to drown out the stars, as the drivers’ parade winds down the track. The grandstands are packed, the excitement in the air palpable even before the race has started.

Franco is perched atop the back of a bus, arms folded, his easy smirk in place as he surveys the flashing cameras and cheering fans. Beside him stands Lewis Hamilton, calm and collected as always, with that practiced smile of someone who’s done this a thousand times.

Franco nudges Lewis with his elbow, grinning. “So, you know we’re both basically royalty now, right?”

Lewis chuckles, giving him a sideways look. “Oh, yeah? What makes you think that?”

Franco shrugs, looking as if he’s contemplating something serious for a split second, then tilts his head. “Well, you’ve got the knighthood, Sir Hamilton,” he says, drawing out the words with an exaggerated British accent. “And I’ve got, well …” He grins, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. “The princess.”

Lewis laughs, a rich, full sound. “Ah, I see. So you’re actually out here trying to one-up my knighthood?”

Franco clutches his chest dramatically. “Exactly. I mean, not to make it a competition, but I’m basically a prince now. Which, if we’re being technical, puts me a bit above you in rank.”

Lewis lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, man. I’m a knight, not a court jester.”

Franco raises his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. I’m sure knighthood’s very nice, but I think there’s something to be said for having a princess.”

Lewis shakes his head, trying not to laugh. “So it’s true, then?”

For the first time, Franco’s smirk softens into something else, something quieter. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen with an expression that’s unmistakably fond. He’s not looking at Lewis now, or at the cheering fans, or even the flashing cameras around them. His gaze is locked on his phone, where an image fills the screen.

It’s you, cozy on the couch with your Cavalier King Charles Spaniel in your lap, a warm blanket wrapped around you, hair falling casually over your shoulder. You’re looking straight into the camera, a relaxed smile on your face, and there’s an almost surprising intimacy in the photo — the kind that doesn’t come from a staged royal portrait but from a simple, real moment. It’s the type of photo someone only sends to someone they care about.

Franco doesn’t say anything right away. He just stares at the image, his thumb tracing lightly over the screen, as if he’s savoring the private moment before he has to lock his phone away for the race.

He nods, almost to himself. “Yeah. It’s true.”

Lewis studies him slowly, an almost invisible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t think I’d see the day,” he murmurs, a touch of amusement there. “Guess you’re growing up, huh?”

Franco finally looks up, chuckling. “Speak for yourself, man. I’m still a kid at heart.”

Lewis raises an eyebrow. “A kid at heart who’s dating a princess? That’s a combination I didn’t see coming.”

“Neither did I, to be honest.” Franco leans back, stretching his arms out along the edge of the bus, still clutching his phone in one hand. “One minute, I’m just minding my business, and the next … boom.” He snaps his fingers. “The entire world decides we’re dating. Didn’t even know her name before then.”

Lewis chuckles. “And now you’re on your phone looking at pictures she sent you. You’ve come a long way.”

Franco glances down at the picture again, a private smile playing on his lips. “Guess I have.”

The parade continues, the roar of the crowd swelling around them as they pass another section of the grandstand, but it all feels distant. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence, and Franco finds himself thinking back over the past few weeks, the whirlwind of rumors and statements, and then … the quiet moments that somehow followed.

Lewis studies him, eyes narrowing in that perceptive way he has. “So … you and her. Is it, like, official?”

Franco lets out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? This is Her Royal Highness we’re talking about. There’s no ‘official’ until we’ve been courting for at least a year. There’s procedure and … what’s the word she loves to use? Protocol.”

“Protocol.” Lewis grins. “That sounds … exactly like what you hate.”

“Oh, believe me.” Franco laughs, shaking his head. “She’s been trying to teach me, but I don’t think I’ve followed protocol a single time. I mean, she actually tried to tell me what utensils I should use at dinner. Like, why does it matter?”

“Didn’t go well, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ve decided that those tiny forks are optional.” Franco sighs, pocketing his phone. “But that’s her. She takes it all so seriously. Makes me want to take it seriously too, in some strange way.”

Lewis tilts his head, watching him. “I get that. That’s what happens when someone really means something to you.” He pauses, as if weighing his words. “So, she’s watching tonight?”

Franco nods, a flash of pride evident in his smile. “She sent me this right before we went out for the parade.” He taps his pocket, where his phone is hidden now. “Said she’d be watching. Don’t know how she manages to get away with it, with her schedule planned out months in advance, but she’s … creative.”

Lewis laughs, shaking his head. “The lengths you two go to. Like some kind of fairytale romance.”

The bus they’re on takes another slow turn around the parade route, the lights of Las Vegas casting a surreal glow over the scene. The streets are packed with fans, all of them waving and shouting, and Franco finds himself wondering if you’re watching this right now. He imagines you, curled up on the couch with that fluffy little dog of yours, laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Franco smiles. “Yeah, I guess it really is.”

[maretinelli]

UNTIL YOU LOVE ME

Lando Norris X Piastri!fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n is Oscar's older sister, she works at McLaren in the media and still has a thing with Lando. But she starts avoiding him when she sees videos of him with another woman on Instagram.

Words: 3.7K+

Warnings: Swear words, LOTS of suggestive words, NO BETRAYAL (I didn't want to put more in summary so as not to spoil the plot of the story, relax, no betrayal. Because I hate that), Y/n is Oscar's older sister, mentions of other pilots and Lily being a very sweet, understanding sister-in-law and best friend to Y/n.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. And as always, this story came from a song I was listening to while washing the dishes hahaha (??) ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

"Since when does your sister speak Spanish?" Lando asks, leaning against the garage counter with his arms crossed. His gaze was fixed on Y/n near the track, talking to Franco.

Oscar, who was next to his teammate, looks up from his cell phone and sees his older sister talking to Franco, laughing and speaking in Spanish to the Argentine.

"Oh, since she started college. She had to take an extracurricular subject and chose Spanish." Oscar shrugs, turning his attention back to his cell phone.

Lando was still beside him, still leaning on the counter, his eyes fixed on Franco. He had a frown on his forehead, heavy breathing and a look as if he would jump for the pilot's neck.

Piastri then sighs and puts his cell phone in his pocket, nudging his friend's shoulder, making Lando look at him.

"Stop looking at him like that. Soon you'll be able to make him levitate in the air with just a look."

Lando rolls his eyes and uncrosses his arms, resting one hand on the counter behind him.

"She's still not talking to you?" Oscar asks, looking at his older sister and then at Lando.

He shakes his head. "No..."

"What about you? Did you at least try to explain yourself to her?" Oscar raises his eyebrows, waiting for Lando to say something.

"Obviously!" Lando says a little loudly. "I've been trying to talk to her in person and sending her messages for about three races now. But she ignores everything, making the excuse that she needs to sort out some things with the team."

Oscar chuckles softly, knowing that when his older sister didn't want to talk, she knew very well how to find a good excuse to get out of the situation.

"Trust me, you need to explain your side of the story, because... I know exactly what hell is going to happen next." He holds back a laugh and Lando's eyes widen a bit, turning his gaze to Y/n. "You need to tell her that the woman in your car in Monaco was-"

"Oscar!"

Before Oscar could finish speaking, Lily appeared in the garage with a sweet smile.

The Australian driver starts to take a few steps out of the garage and looks at Lando. "You need to talk to her!"

Lando smiles and nods.

Piastri grabs the rest of his things and turns towards where his sister was. "Y/n!! LET'S GO!" He shouts smiling and Y/n immediately turns towards her brother.

"OK! Wait for me in the car, I'll be there in a few minutes!"

Oscar just nods and holds his girlfriend's hand, who is waiting for him in the garage. The Australian looks at Lando and gestures with his hand, encouraging him to explain himself to his older sister.

Lando laughs and they leave the garage.

Since joining McLaren's media team, Y/n has always been close to Lando. They had an easy friendship, full of teasing and laughter, with a natural complicity that made even the mechanics joke that the two worked better together than many driver pairings.

But everything changed six months ago, after a GP that Lando won. The celebration in the paddock was intense, but what really stood out that night was the unexpected kiss that happened between them.

It was something spontaneous, impulsive and perfect.

After that kiss, something changed. They started meeting up outside of racing, seeing each other more often, wanting each other's company in their downtime.

At first, neither of them knew exactly what they were doing, but one thing quickly became clear: this wasn't just a phase or a hobby. Lando and Y/n never explicitly said they were dating, but they promised they wouldn't date anyone else until they figured out what that feeling meant to them.

The truth, however, was that they both already knew the answer. They were in love. They were loving.

Over time, the secret meetings became routine. Lando would take Y/n to Quadrant events, the two would spend nights relaxing in each other's apartments, watching movies or simply enjoying each other's company. Or maybe, it was just the sex.

Everything was away from the eyes of the media, away from any rumors or gossip. Only Oscar and Lily knew what was really going on between them.

But it all fell apart a few weeks ago.

She was in her apartment in Monaco, enjoying a quiet evening, when she decided to browse the internet without any commitments. That's when a video appeared on the screen, posted by some fan.

In the video, Lando was leaving a restaurant accompanied by an unknown woman. They seemed to be talking normally, until she got into his car and he drove away.

The shock was immediate.

A few hours earlier, Lando had even texted Y/n saying he would spend the night with her. And now, here he was, leaving a restaurant with another woman and giving her a ride.

Y/n's mind began to spin, remembering his words, the promise they made not to be with anyone else. Had he lied to her? Betrayed her trust?

Anger and disappointment came together.

At that moment, she made a decision. She canceled all future dates, started avoiding him at GPs, and whenever she had to interact with him for work, she kept everything strictly professional. She ignored all his messages, refused all attempts to talk, and even blocked his number.

But what Y/n didn't know was that it was all just a misunderstanding.

Lando hadn't dated anyone but her. The promise they made was still real to him. He hadn't dated anyone since the day she was announced to work at McLaren. God, he knew from that day that the Australian was the woman of his life.

And the woman in the video wasn't what she seemed, and he desperately needed to tell Y/n the truth before it was too late.

After finishing the conversation with Franco, Y/n walked to the garage again to grab her bag and go to where her brother was waiting. Lando took advantage of the moment and tried to get closer to her, wanting to explain himself, because he knew exactly why she was like that.

"Y/n, can we talk?" He appears beside her as soon as she enters the garage.

Y/n rolls her eyes, noticing his arrival there, and just continues walking down the hallway, ignoring the deep look he had on her.

"Is this about some video for McLaren's media?" She asks, spotting her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

"hm, no..."

"Then we have nothing to talk about. Good night!" Y/n started walking again.

Lando sighs deeply, but smiles, biting his lower lip slightly, knowing that under different circumstances, back when they were together, she would just take her anger out on him in bed. The two of them. Messy sheets. And heavy breathing.

He quickly shakes those thoughts from his mind and runs after her, before she can fully exit the garage.

"So... Franco, huh?" Lando approaches her, whispering close to her neck. Y/n tries to suppress the shiver she felt, but it was unsuccessful, Lando smiled knowing that he had so much power over her.

"Maybe, who knows?" Finally her gaze falls on Lando, raising her eyebrows a little and putting on a corner of her mouth.

He smiles. Y/n Piastri is definitely very different from her brother. While the younger one was more reserved, made few jokes and always had a neutral expression on his face. The older one was a totally provocative person, made a thousand jokes a day and was extroverted.

And Lando knew how incredibly provocative she was in bed. Oh, how he knew.

"I didn't think he was paying you much attention!"

Y/n looks at him in disbelief. "I didn't know you cared so much." She continues walking. "And I also don't know why you're talking to me. You should be thinking about the actions you've been doing while I was in my apartment waiting for you."

Lando rolls his eyes a little amused at the situation he was in. Yet another sign that Norris could be quite the provocateur.

He leans closer to her ear, making her swallow hard and start walking slower.

"You know, I don't think he's your type..." He begins. "I don't think he's going to hold you in bed..." Lando smiles, watching Y/n lose the stability he had created around her lately. "Because... with him you try, but with me you come and sit!"

Y/n held a breath in her throat and looked at him, trying to keep a serious expression and a frown on her forehead.

"Are you still talking?" She sends him a menacing look, which for a moment, makes Lando regret his jokes and teasing.

Y/n continues walking through the paddock, quickly now, a little shaken by those words, but leaving Lando behind, staring at her silhouette that was getting further and further away.

Norris would do anything that weekend to have an explanatory conversation with Y/n, even if he had to use his flattering and provocative side.

•••••••••••••••••••••

The following day, the early sun was already painting the paddock lines orange during the Spanish Grand Prix. While the team moved with their usual pre-race haste and energy, Y/n remained secluded in her small McLaren media office, a simple space provided by the organization for the teams.

Ever since Lando's attempted conversation the previous afternoon, she had made a point of avoiding him, maintaining an emotional distance that reflected the confusion she felt and the provocations that had definitely gotten to her.

Sitting in a swivel chair, Y/n turned slowly, as if trying to find answers in the rotations of her own body. His eyes, lost in thought, followed the reflection of the lights that were beginning to twinkle through the window glass, while his hands, restless, gently touched the back of the chair.

Beside her, Lily was sitting in a smaller chair, positioned so that she could follow both the cell phone screen and the thoughts that, lightly, escaped Y/n's lips.

“I think I have the measles.” She says, blowing her nose into a tissue and Lily stifles a laugh, raising her eyebrows slightly. “I had a fever before I got on the flight and now I’m sneezing.”

"Couldn't this just be a cold?"

"I don't know..." Y/n sighs, resting her head on the back of the chair and turning around again. "I googled it and it told me it was measles or cancer... so I preferred measles."

Lily lets out a loud laugh. "Good thing you didn't choose a career in healthcare." Y/n turns to her and laughs too. "But the fever? I think it's love fever." She waggles her eyebrows. "Have you talked to Lando yet?"

Y/n rolls her eyes when she hears the pilot's name.

"Not me. I have nothing to talk to him about!"

"But he must have, right?" Lily said calmly, leaning forward a little to look at her sister-in-law. Lily shook her head with an amused smile, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the arm of the chair. "You can pretend you don't care, but I know you still like him."

Y/n stopped spinning in her chair, sighing deeply.

"I like him, okay?" She admitted, looking down at her hands. "I'm still in love with him, and that's what makes me the most angry. Because if it were any other guy, I'd just move on. But it's Lando...and he's the best...I can't explain how in love I am...and I also can't believe he did this to me."

Lily watched her for a moment, biting her lip as if pondering her next words. She knew the truth. Lando had already told her and Oscar everything when Piastri confronted him, ready to defend his older sister.

But it wasn't Lily's place to reveal the truth. Y/n needed to hear it directly from Lando.

"Have you ever considered that it might have been a misunderstanding?" Lily suggested carefully.

Y/n snorted. "Yes. And at the same time, no. If he wanted to explain it to me, he had plenty of time to do so."

"That is if you would stop running away from him, right?" Lily raised an eyebrow. "He's already getting frustrated with how much you avoid him."

Y/n crossed her arms, not knowing how to respond. Maybe Lily had a point, but she still couldn't just forget what she saw.

Lily, noticing what her sister-in-law was thinking, decided to lighten up a bit. "And you know what? He's getting really jealous every time you talk to Franco. It's hilarious. He glares at the poor guy every time he sees you two talking."

Y/n rolled her eyes, holding back a smile. "Oh, great. Now he wants to play jealous?"

"Believe me, if his looks were lethal, Franco would already be in another dimension." She laughed.

Before Y/n could respond, they heard a knock on the door. Turning their heads in sync towards the noise.

"Come in!" Y/n said, still smiling slightly.

When the door opened, Lando appeared, leaning against the frame with a serious look, but with a small smile on his face.

"Lily, Oscar is looking for you." He informed, glancing quickly at Y/n before turning his eyes back to Lily.

Lily smiled, feeling that this was the perfect moment to leave the two alone. "Great!" She said, standing up. Before leaving, she lightly touched Y/n's shoulder. "Take the opportunity to talk to him."

Y/n shot her sister-in-law a death glare, but Lily just winked at her before leaving, smiling sympathetically as she walked past Lando.

Silence filled the room. Y/n looked away from the pilot and stood up, going to a table to get her camera.

"Can we talk?" He was still there, leaning against the doorframe.

"I have to work," she said, adjusting her gear. "Now is not a good time for conversation. You should be in the garage, too."

Lando sighed, and before she could move toward the door, he closed it, blocking the exit.

"Do you need to work or are you avoiding talking to me?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Or... do you just want to go talk to Franco? You guys seem pretty close, don't you?"

Y/n stopped in her tracks, narrowing her eyes at him. "Seriously? You want to go that way?"

Lando smirked. "I'm just asking."

Y/n approached the door, trying to open it, but he used his body to stop her.

"What's wrong, Y/n? Are you afraid to answer?"

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “Oh, please, Norris. If I wanted to provoke you, I could do a much better job of it than just talking to Franco.”

Lando chuckled, leaning closer to her ear. "And what would you do, then?"

Y/n just rolled her eyes and tried to ignore the heat his gaze caused. She was still irritated, but at the same time, she knew she was about to give in.

She felt the heat of Lando's body so close to hers that she had to close her eyes for a moment, trying to control her rapid breathing. But it was useless. He was there, so close, and she felt electricity run through every part of her body.

Making her remember all the times they were the only ones in a room with kisses, sighs and touches all over their bodies.

Lando smiled as he noticed her gesture, his expression becoming even more teasing.

"Why don't you give me a chance to explain myself, huh? Afraid of finding out I was wrong?"

Y/n opened her eyes, her stubbornness returning with a vengeance. "I've seen enough, Lando. I don't need to hear lies."

The answer only made Lando move even closer. They were face to face now, their faces inches apart. His intense gaze bored into her eyes, and Y/n felt her legs give out a little as her breath hitched against his lips.

"So that's it? You'd rather believe a random video than me?"

He was so close that she could feel his words on her skin, like a warm breath. Without thinking, as if something greater than her stubbornness took over her, Y/n moved even closer. And Lando smiled before finally kissing her.

It was a hot, urgent kiss, full of longing and emotion. His hands held her waist firmly, pulling her close, while her fingers intertwined in his hair. Lando kissed her as if he was trying to prove, with every movement, that she belonged to him. Y/n gave in for a moment, feeling her heart hammering in her chest.

But before they could go any further, she suddenly pulled away and slapped his chest, her expression irritated.

"You're impossible, Lando! That was a low blow!"

Lando chuckled, licking his lips. "I'd say it was well deserved."

Y/n huffed, pushing him aside lightly. "You should be focusing on the race, not me."

"I haven't been able to concentrate since you started avoiding me." He smiled sideways and added, his voice lower and full of intent, "I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me."

Y/n rolled her eyes and opened the door, rushing out and slamming it shut behind her. That was it. If she didn't talk to Lando right away, he would continue to follow her like a relentless paparazzi.

As she walked through the paddock, Lando's taunts still echoed in her mind. Little by little, she began to doubt whether she had really seen the situation wrong.

Oscar had insisted that she talk to Lando, and if it really was a betrayal, his brother would never speak like that.

Y/n suddenly stopped in the middle of the paddock, lost in her thoughts, when someone bumped into her.

"Oops! Sorry, Y/n! Are you okay?"

She blinked a few times and smiled.

"Hi, Yes, I just... I need to speak to someone on the team."

Franco frowned suspiciously. "You look a little lost."

She just smiled.

But before she could say anything else, the Argentine pilot placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled.

"Well, whatever. It's going to be okay," he comforted gently. "See you around!" He walked through the paddock, holding a thermos in his hands and his mate.

It was at that moment that she decided. She needed to talk to Lando.

Y/n ran back to McLaren HQ, rushing inside to get to the office. But before she could reach the door, she turned a corner and bumped into Lando head on.

"What's going on?" He held her, worried.

"You!" Y/n smiled determinedly.

Lando smiled back and she grabbed his hand, pulling him back into the room.

"I was too hasty and didn't let you speak. But now you can say everything. Even if it hurts." She said quickly, as she closed the door to the small office.

Lando held her face with both hands, caressing her cheeks as he looked deep into her teary eyes.

"Okay, you were angry. But, Y/n, the woman in the video was my sister, Flo. She came to visit me in Monaco and I took her around the city. I would never cheat on you. Ever. And you know..."

Y/n felt her heart race. She blinked in confusion, letting the tears fall.

"Your...your sister?"

Lando laughs and takes his cell phone out of his pocket, opening the photo gallery and showing a photo of him and his brothers. The girl next to him was identical to the one who appeared in the video.

Y/n laughs and puts her hands on her face, a little embarrassed now.

"It's your sister-in-law." Lando chuckles. "You know, I'm in love with you Y/n, I haven't dated anyone before you showed up at McLaren. I knew something big was coming, and it was you. You're the woman I want in my life. I love you, my Australian!" Lando says softly, calmly and romantically. Another version of him that made Y/n's heart melt.

Y/n felt her heart race. She blinked in confusion, letting the tears fall. "Do... do you love me?"

Lando laughed softly.

"And why wouldn't I? You're wonderful, stubborn, funny, kind, beautiful... warm. I love your Australian accent, your laugh when you find something really funny. I love how you bite the cap of your pen when you're concentrating. I love when you play the big sister and fight with Oscar in the garage in front of everyone, just out of protectiveness." She laughs and Lando tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear. "And I love... loving you."

Y/n's tears fell at once and, without thinking, she threw herself into his arms.

"I'm sorry. I was an idiot for not listening to you sooner. It's just... this relationship with a public figure still scares me."

Lando pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.

"I will never hurt you. Nor do anything that would make you feel betrayed. Besides, if I did that, Oscar would hunt me to the ends of the earth."

Y/n laughed, pulling away a little and cupping his face.

"I love you, Lan!" She confessed. And how she loved that British man.

Lando's smile grew and he took her hands in his. "So, do you want to make it official? Do you want to date me?"

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise. "You're asking me out now?"

"Yes. And if you say no, I'll have to kiss you again until you change your mind."

"Yes, I do, love." She smiles.

Lando pulled her into another kiss, this time calmer, but full of affection and love. His hands framed her face, as if she were a rare and precious jewel. The Australian's hands ran to his light brown curls, twirling some of them around her fingers.

"The only problem is that I don't have the ring here. But as soon as we get to Monaco, I'll spend hours with you in bed and give you the ring that's already been bought." Lando says, as they walk away.

"Okay, I guess I can go a few days without the ring." She smiles, and then leans closer to his ear. "But now, the part about staying in bed... I can't promise to stay without it..."

"If you keep saying things like that, I won't even be able to run tomorrow."

She laughed and kissed him again, knowing that no matter what, they were finally where they were supposed to be.

Author: Now, a curiosity hahaha I live in the south of Brazil, practically next door to Franco haha, and here I drink a lot of "Mate" too, I'm addicted, but it's also called "chimarrão". My aunts who live in the countryside call it "Mate", I who am from the big city call it chimarrão hahahahaha, just a curiosity of mine and the south of Brazil.

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 3: Gossip

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You’ve always felt like you belonged right at Franco’s side, but as he begins to grow in popularity, you begin to wonder if his world has any place for you. 

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort. Use of YN, mentions of anxiety disorders/therapy, reader has major self esteem issues and panic attacks. Appearance of Christian Horner (that man needs his own CW). There is a “manager” character that is not a reference to any of Franco’s IRL managers!

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @xivilivix

A/N: I can’t thank you all enough for all the love you’ve shown on this fic 💙 It’s been incredible. I do want to sincerely apologize for leaving you with all this cliffhanger before I have to take a small hiatus with the holidays haha. I played around a bit with perspective in this chapter, so I hope it still reads clearly! Also, if you want to be added to the tag list, make sure your blog isn’t set to hidden and that you allow tags or else I’ll be unable to do that on my end. As always I hope you enjoy it :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Sip the gossip, drink ‘til you choke

Sip the gossip, burn down your throat

You’re not iconic, you are just like them all

Don’t act like you don’t know 

Austin had been beautiful, and you had written down every word you could describing it. Mexico, however, was a race you wouldn’t exactly want to document.

It started out okay. Franco’s Forbes cover shoot was released, and, as predicted, it blew up the internet. Of course, you were happy for him. But to see the entire world want him almost as much as you wanted him was…disheartening.

For a long time, it had just been you and Franco. He had clawed his way up and earned everything he had achieved through hard work and unmatchable determination. You were his biggest fan and supporter. And it was just you and him against the odds.

You had been so happy for him to make it to F1 after all he’d worked for. And to see the world embrace him so wholeheartedly was beautiful. But you were scared, deep down, that you’d lose him in the glitz and glamor of pilot stardom. 

His place at Williams was only temporary, of course, but you knew that when he did eventually get a secure seat, your friendship would have to change. After all, you couldn’t fly around the world with him forever. But you figured you’d adapt, like you always did. It would all be okay in the end. Franco never gave you any reason to believe that you’d get left behind. 

That is, until Mexico. 

You barely saw him at the beginning of the week, with him being so busy filming for brand sponsorships. Come the weekend, a phone call from home had soured his mood. You let it be, knowing that now was the time to just support him in any way you could, even if that was just giving him space.

But on Saturday he had woken up feeling better, and you were happy, thinking that he’d turn this weekend around for the better. Mexico was full of Argentine fans, and again, you were both ecstatic for him and feeling a bit left behind. You weren’t from Argentina. You didn’t really speak Spanish. These random fans had that connection with him that you’d never have. 

You pushed it down—for now. You’d write about it later. 

But now you were on your way to Williams hospitality to meet Franco. He was beaming when you’d seen him at breakfast that morning. Some big Argentine musicians were coming to the paddock.

You would have been happier for him if he had introduced you to them. But now you sat in hospitality with Franco and the group, and they all completely ignored you. Franco hadn’t even introduced you.

Yes, you were naturally on the quieter side. Yes, you didn’t speak Spanish, which they now all excitedly talked in, laughing about something you’d never know. But did that really mean that you deserved to sit there, awkwardly glancing at your phone as your best friend ignored you?

And all the while, he was glancing over to the female singer sat opposite him. God, she was beautiful. And from Franco’s tone, you could tell he thought so too. He was flirting with her right in front of you.

Yes, you were just friends. But you had slept in his bed with him curled up into your side. He had celebrated every win with you since you were teenagers. But right now, you were nothing.

You just kind of stared off into the distance until you saw a familiar face. Lily to the rescue! She came over and waved to Franco and the group, who stopped their conversation for a brief second to wave back. 

“Hey YN, wanna come help us film a video?” she asked. Clearly this was just an out to help you escape the torture of being ignored. 

“Sure,” you agreed. When you got up to leave, Franco didn’t even acknowledge you. 

You and Lily walked into the garage. “Thank you for helping me out there.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were going through it. Were they that bad?”

“Well, I don’t know. Franco never even introduced me and I don’t speak Spanish.”

“So he just ignored you? That’s so rude,” he said, her face grimacing, “I’m sorry.”

You just shrugged and offered her a weak smile. There was that unspoken recognition from both of you; Franco had ignored you to flirt with the singer. She was everything you weren’t: beautiful, popular, confident. 

“Well, come hang with me and Alex. I’ll teach you how to make a tiktok,” she said.

You were surprised that her excuse hadn’t been an excuse at all—she actually wanted your company, unlike someone else. 

You went out to the pit lane to meet Alex. Fans were cheering from the sidelines. They were all screaming for Alex, of course, but a few yelled for Lily too. And one yelled for you. 

“YN! YN!” the girl yelled, Argentine flag in her grasp. Your head turned.  “YN! Can I get a picture with you?” she asked. 

You paused. “You want a picture with me?” 

She smiled. “Yes, if that’s okay.” You laughed, not mocking her, but just unsure to do with the absurdity of it all. 

“Of course,” you said, smiling for the camera. “I wasn’t trying to be rude,” you explained, “I’m just surprised you knew me.”

“Oh, we all know you. Everyone’s seen the videos of you and Franco. You all are so cute!” You knew what she meant—your friendship with him was endearing, you had to admit. But the reminder of him felt like a sharp dagger to the heart. Lily called you over, so you bid goodbye to the fan, an odd feeling settling in your chest. That could be unpacked later.

But later was sooner than you anticipated. You had a great time making videos with Lily and Alex, but they had gone to get lunch before qualifying, and you couldn’t find Franco anywhere. So you went to his driver’s room, and finding that even empty, you just gave up and stayed there. He had told you that his room was fair game to hide in if you ever felt overwhelmed, and you definitely did. Now that you were alone, all the emotions were rushing to the surface. 

So you opened your notebook to write.

I can’t believe Franco didn’t even introduce me to anyone this morning. I get it, I’m not like them. I’m not talented or famous or as beautiful as that girl is. God, she’s perfect. She’s everything a man could want. Why would Franco ever want someone like me? I’m just an anxious, dependent mess. I don’t blame him for flirting with her. I just wish he wouldn’t do it in front of me. 

You were spiraling, and soon enough tears came to your eyes. You tried to blink them away but it was futile. You felt like you were losing your best friend.

But, speak of the devil, he was at the door. 

“Oh, YN, I was looking for you,” he said absentmindedly as he walked in the room and fiddled with his helmet. “You left your phone in the garage, Lily has it.”

“Oh, shit,” you muttered. It seemed like you were developing a habit of losing things. You got up to meet Lily in the garage, making a mental note to stop at the bathroom to take a breather. You prayed that Franco wouldn't look at you, but today was your unlucky day, it seemed. As you walked out, he looked up and his eyes met yours, and you saw the concern dawn in his eyes. He moved to say something, but you just quickened your pace, and ignored him when you did hear him call after you. 

You found the nearest bathroom and broke down, allowing yourself to just cry it out for a few minutes. Your thoughts kept spiraling. You were ridiculous, you thought, breaking down over something so small. You were pathetic. No wonder he didn’t want you. Why would anyone? 

After a few minutes, you took a few deep breaths and steadied yourself and tried to make it look as if you hadn’t been crying. Qualifying would be starting soon. You quickly grabbed your phone from Lily, who thankfully didn’t say anything about your clearly post-sobbing session face, and you found a comfortable spot in the back of the garage to watch qualifying. 

He qualified 15th. Not great. Nothing to elicit a celebratory hug, though, God, you needed one right now. 

You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and sleep away the weariness. So that’s what you did, skillfully avoiding Franco’s eye scanning the paddock for you.

When you got back to the hotel, you could barely change into your pajamas and get in the bed. You felt heavy like a block of lead. You checked your phone before bed, seeing that Franco had taken a photo with the musicians and posted it to Instagram. 

It was taken after you left, of course. As if you were never there at all.

The sight brought another wave of tears. You sighed in frustration and cried until the weight of it all lulled you to sleep.

The next morning, you didn’t even want to go to the grand prix. As you got up and tidied where you had gotten back and just thrown things around last night, you contemplated what to do.

On one hand, you wanted to support Franco even if you were upset. On the other hand, you thought you might burst into tears if you saw him again.

You just needed to write it out, and then you’d be able to face him. You grabbed your bag and fished around for your journal.

It was gone.

Shit.

Then you remembered, you had left it in his driver’s room yesterday. You groaned.

You checked your phone, intending to text him about it, only to find that he had already texted you last night while you were asleep. Just a simple, You okay? but you hadn’t answered. 

Frantic, you called him. He answered immediately. 

“Hey YN, you—”

“Have you seen my journal?”

“What?”

“My journal. I accidentally left it in your driver’s room yesterday.”

“No? I don’t remember seeing it.”

“Shit…” you whispered. Tears pricked in your eyes yet again. 

“I’m on my way to the track, I’ll check when I get there and ask the team about it,” he assured. “We’ll find it.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice dry. 

“Look, are you okay? You just disappeared yesterday—”

“I’m fine,” you lied. He knew you were lying. 

“YN, talk to me. Please.” His voice was soft with genuine concern, but it pissed you off. There was no way he could know he was the cause of your upset if you didn’t tell him. But you just couldn’t. Not now, at least.

“Can I just meet you at your driver’s room to look for it?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.” You hung up the call.

You had calmed yourself down a bit before you reached the track, but it was no use when you met Franco at his room and found it empty. The desk where you had set yesterday to write looked strangely devoid of life. 

You all wordlessly continued to look for a while, and even went around asking the Williams employees about it, but it was no use. It was gone. 

When you returned back to the room, defeated, you couldn’t help but cry. 

For fear of embarrassment, you'd never cried in front of Franco before, but you didn’t even have the capacity to try and hide it anymore. At first he looked startled, like he didn’t know what to do. But as you crumpled onto the small couch and he saw your body wracked with sobs, he knew all he could do was hold you.

So that’s what he did. 

His touch was warm and comforting, but it just made you weep all the more. He just held you tighter, and you were enveloped in the smell of his cologne. “It’s okay,” he whispered gently to you, “I’m here.”

When the sobs finally left you, he looked in your tear-stained eyes and asked, “Will you talk to me?”

You had never wanted to do anything less. But you knew that these were the moments that counted. Your journal had become a crutch rather than a tool—now was the time to actually do the hard work to get better. 

You began, “It’s stupid—” 

“I want to know anyway,” he assured.

You paused, then resumed, “It just really hurt me yesterday when you didn’t introduce me to anyone.”

He made a confused face at you. “I didn’t?” 

“No, Franco, you didn’t,” you said, your tone getting angrier. “You were too busy flirting with that singer to notice that I was sitting there alone.”

“She asked about you, though. I told her you were just a friend.”

Ouch. Just a friend. 

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are,” he assured, but it felt hollow. 

“It doesn’t feel like it when Lily has to come rescue me from being ignored all day.”

“I’m sorry, YN. I didn’t even realize it, I was just caught up in the conversation. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Because I just felt like an intruder. I mean… I’m not a famous musician or anyone important in Formula 1. I’m not from Argentina, I don’t speak Spanish—”

He cut you off, “So? And you know my mother would adopt you in a heartbeat.”

You were unamused by his attempt at banter. “So, it just hurts because I don’t belong here. And when you ignore me, I’m just alone.”

He paused. “YN, I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He continued, “But for the record, I was not flirting with anyone. You know the main reason I spend time with all these people is for the brand, right?”

You looked confused. “The brand? Since when do you care about your brand?” Franco was known for being impossible to media train. Why was he suddenly so concerned with his public reputation?

Even though you were alone in his driver’s room, he looked over his shoulder, listening out for any approaching footsteps. But you all were truly alone in the quiet morning at the paddock. “You have to promise to keep it quiet,” he said.

“I promise,” you whispered.

He leaned in closer. “There’s a chance, a very small chance, but a chance…that I could get a contract with Redbull next year.”

Your eyes widened. He continued, “Checo has been driving so bad that they want him out. But he brings in a lot of money and it’ll cost a lot to break my Williams contract. I need to show them that I can have just as much backing in Argentina as Checo has in Mexico.”

You were practically speechless. “Oh my God, Franco, that’s…”

But Franco was more worried about you. “The people are all nice enough, but I’d prefer your company over theirs any day. You’re still my best friend.”

The tears that threatened to fall now were happy ones, from pride in your best friend and the love you felt for him. 

You confessed, “I hope you get it. But I’m so scared that I’ll be left behind and forgotten.”

He reached to hold you again and you let him. “Never,” he said, “never. You’ve been here since the beginning, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

You both broke the embrace and he wiped a tear from your cheek. The soft touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” you said. 

He smiled at you. “No, thank you for opening up to me. You ready for the race today?”

You nodded, “Always.”

He didn’t score any points, but the points weren’t the point anymore. Your conversation earlier had made you feel so close to him in a way you never had before. You watched the screens in the garage with a religious reverence, looking into his eyes when the camera switched to face him. They were focused, like the only things in the world were him, the car, and the track ahead. And for you, that was all there was in the world, too.

Your celebration after the race was more subdued, but nonetheless supportive. As he walked to the media tent, you all glanced at each other and you mouthed to him proud of you. He winked back.

You all had fallen into a familiar routine of dinner together and winding down in his hotel room, and tonight was no different. Again you all found yourselves in the same positions: him, cross legged on the bed, and you in the chair near him. 

The atmosphere was a bit tense though. Being back at the hotel, you couldn’t help but remember the horrible morning, and what you had lost—your journal. Who would have thrown away a journal from his driver's room? You had asked around the paddock again after the race and no one had seen it.

Or maybe it hadn’t been thrown away. Maybe someone took it.

Your mind wandered back to the last few conversations with Franco: your “stolen” lipstick, his asking to read the journal…

No. He wouldn’t. That’d cross a line.

But weren’t the contents of the journal crossing a line themselves?

Franco noticed how you’d gone quieter since you got home from the paddock. You all were both exhausted.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, lazily tracing circles in the comforter.

You responded with your own question. “Franco, will you be honest with me?”

He looked up at you, his face hardened with concern. “Of course.” He looked nervous. 

“Do you have my journal?”

He shifted his gaze away from you. “No,” he said, simple as that. 

“Franco,” you began, “listen to me. I’m not mad, but you understand how this looks, right? I know we joke about this kind of stuff a lot, but you asked to read it and then it suddenly disappears after I left it in your driver’s room.”

“I didn’t even go back to the room after you left,” he said.

“Maybe not. But you got there this morning before I did. And now it’s gone.”

He paused. “You really think I’d steal your diary?”

The situation had become too tense for your liking. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” you explained, “and I promise, I’m not mad. I just… there’s some things in there that are too personal for me to share with anyone, even you.”

“YN, I don’t have it.”

“Okay. I’m just saying, if you happen to find it, please promise me that you won’t read it. Please,” you quite literally begged. 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, YN. You know I was joking when I asked to read it, right?”

He wasn’t joking. Both of you knew that. And both of you knew that he had taken the diary.

You hoped that he would understand what you asked and respect your wishes. In a few days he’d text you saying that a Williams employee had randomly found it—another lie—and he would give it back to you, unread. And your friendship would go on like nothing had ever happened.

But what if it didn’t? What if he read every filthy word you had written about him?

You thought it through over and over later that night, back in your own room but unable to sleep. So you made a plan.

You and Franco, thankfully, would be on the same flight to Brazil. When you landed and went to the hotel, you’d swap out your room keys and go to his room while he did his media duties. Then, you’d find the journal in his room and take it back.

A few problems with the plan. One, It gave him the first 3 days of the week to read it, and two, it was fucking unhinged of you to go through your best friend’s stuff. 

You rolled over and angrily groaned into the pillow. 

Brazil was going to be an interesting time. 

Well, interesting was the understatement of the century.

It began on the flight, a flight that was way too fucking long. Thankfully, Franco had arranged for you to take this one together, so at least you had his company. 

You could never sleep on planes, they were too loud and uncomfortable. Franco usually did, but today it seemed he couldn’t; he bounced his legs and darted his eyes around the plane.

“Nervous?” you asked.

“Very,” he answered honestly. “There’s just so much going on this weekend.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly rather than condescendingly. “You really should try to get some rest though. It’s been a long few weeks for you.”

“I can’t. I’m too wired up.”

You felt an unexpected boldness come over you. “Close your eyes,” you directed, “and take a few deep breaths. Stay still.” 

He obeyed, and you grabbed his hand from the armrest between you and held it in yours. You felt him tense at the unexpected touch, but you slowly began to trace circles into his palm with your thumb, and he relaxed into it. With his own boldness, he placed his head on your shoulder and exhaled. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. You knew from experience that he’d be asleep for the rest of the flight, so you let yourself get comfortable with the familiar weight of your sleeping best friend pressing into your side.

Slivers of sunlight from the window traced the soft edges of his sleeping form. Even when unconscious, he was beautiful. If you truly wanted to, you could have turned ever so slightly and kissed his forehead without waking him. And God, you truly wanted to.

So you did, gently pressing your lips to the smooth surface of his skin. Maybe this was crossing a line, but it seemed like, at this point, all lines had been crossed between you two.

His presence calmed you enough that you were able to fall asleep, too. When you woke a few hours later, he was still fast asleep by your side, and you savored the moment.

But deep down you wondered how long this would last. You were head over heels in love with him. He was… well, you didn’t know how he felt. But he was your best friend in the entire world. He knew almost everything there was to know about you. 

He had four races left in F1. Four races until you would go back to your day to day lives; still intertwined, but not this close. And if he did get the seat, that you so desperately wanted for him? He’d be gone even more than he already was. You couldn’t follow him around the world forever. He’d go from city to city, race to race, club to club, woman to woman.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of him with another woman. You remembered the singer in Austin, how he said he wasn’t flirting with her, it was for the brand, whatever excuse he could come up with. You guessed it was true. Or maybe he meant that it didn’t really mean anything to him. Just playing up that side of him that the media absolutely loved. His Argentine charm was undeniable. 

Okay, then maybe it was true. Everyone knew Franco was a flirt, you especially. But it made it so much harder to determine, then, what was truly meaningful to him and what wasn’t. 

But your friendship meant something to him, right? He had asked you to come along to all his races. He made time for you in the midst of the paddock’s chaos. You had slept in the same bed. He held you when you cried. And now, he slept peacefully on your shoulder, hands still intertwined. How could that not mean something?

You didn’t want your fears of the future to make you miss out on the present. At some point you’d have to open up to him. But that moment wasn’t right now. 

And you were determined that you’d be the one in control, so when you landed and made it to the hotel, you enacted your plan you’d concocted earlier. When the receptionist handed you the keys, you waited until Franco was fiddling with your luggage to switch out two, making sure to hand him the correct key. He would never need to know that the other key in the little paper pocket was the key to your room, and if he did, he’d just assume there was an issue. A natural cover.

Okay, maybe you were smart and smooth with it. 

You knew you wouldn’t see much of Franco in Brazil. With stakes this high, he had an overwhelming amount of team meetings and media duties. Still, as usual, you all made your way to the paddock together. 

The energy was electric—in good ways and bad. Good: there were so many Argentine fans that you often found yourself questioning what country you were in. The amount of support was unreal. And each one of them were proud of Franco—but not as proud as you were.

Bad: Literally everything else.

But that was yet to come. You entered the paddock to a flurry of camera shots and a cacophony of voices yelling for Franco. 

Usually you liked to stay out of the shot of cameras, but it was impossible here. Franco did his best to draw their attention towards him and away from you, but it was overwhelming nonetheless.

As you all passed a group of fans, one in particular caught your eye. She was holding out two bracelets. “Franco, YN!” she called out. 

You both stopped to speak to her. “I made you all bracelets,” she said, handing one to you and the other to Franco. You read the beads: it had Franco’s name, number, and blue hearts. You smiled at the adorable gesture. 

“Oh,” Franco said, looking at you, “This one has your name on it. Let’s switch.”

As he moved his hand to do so, the fan said, “No, they’re supposed to be like that. They’re friendship bracelets for you all!”

“Thank you,” you said, unsure if the warmth of your cheeks was a soft blush forming or from the chaos around you. The fan had wanted you to wear each other’s names.

You kept walking, but when you were out of eyeshot, you offered to switch the bracelets around again, thinking the implication was a little too much for him. He refused, keeping your name around his wrist.

He went off to wherever he needed to be, and you went to William’s hospitality to find Lily, but unfortunately, she wasn’t in Brazil at all.

Maybe, in hindsight, what you did next was a terrible decision. But you did it anyway. 

You made your way to Franco’s drivers room for some privacy and pulled up your social media, looking to see what people were saying about him. 

Ever since he had confided about his potential for a seat next year, you had also cared about his brand, too. And, officially or unofficially, you were a part of that. Like Lily had told you, people were speculating. You just hoped that what she said about the people loving you was true. 

Fortunately, it was. 

Franco and YN being obliviously in love with each other; a thread

You tapped on the post, reading your way through the comments.

Does YN know that she’s living our dream?

Oh to be YN, being loved by Franco like that.

Need someone to look at me the way YN and Franco look at each other.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love YN, but Franco should be with an Argentine girl. They’d be a power couple. 

The comment soured your mood. You kept reading anyway.

Guys, I met YN in Austin and she was so sweet! Our girl is chronically offline because she was so surprised that I even knew who she was and like, girl, WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WE ARE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!!

You smiled, the memory of the girl in Austin coming back to your mind. 

I love how we have all collectively decided to adopt YN as the newest wag even though her and Franco aren’t even dating 

You laughed to yourself, remembering how Lily had mistaken you for a wag when you first talked. Maybe that was the reason why.

You read the replies: 

To be fair, you don’t look at someone like that unless you LOVE LOVE them

Does anyone else think this is weird tho? I mean, they're just friends but the entire internet wants them to get together, must make things so awkward…

Honestly I’m glad they’re not together because if my bf flirted with other women the way Franco flirts with reporters, I’d throw the whole man away

You snorted. Of course, these random people on the internet didn’t know you, but they seemed to get inside your head a little too much for comfort. Or maybe you just weren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you always thought you were. 

Speaking of hiding your emotions, you had a job to do. Checking your clock, you knew that Franco was going to be busy for the next 3 hours before you all had planned to meet up again. He had a very important meeting with Christian Horner. Your heart skipped a beat and you said a silent prayer for your friend.

But now, you have a mission. You were going to get your journal back.

It would have been an easy task, if not for the fans. Thankfully you got out and into an uber undetected, but upon opening the door to his room, you cursed them in your head.

Gifts were everywhere. His team must have been gathering them all week, and Franco clearly wasn’t organizing them. 

You thought 3 hours would be more than enough to leave, find your journal, return it to your room, and get back to the paddock unnoticed. Maybe, you thought wrong. This was going to be a long 3 hours. 

As you searched, back at the paddock, Franco sat in the meeting that would decide the course of the rest of his life. His leg bounced uncontrollably, his mouth was dry, and he felt like he was going to throw up his breakfast. 

He wished you were here. Your presence always calmed him in moments like these; he had no idea where you were, and the intimidating presence of Christian Horner across the table did nothing to ease his nerves. 

“I’ve got to admit,” Horner said, “he’s exceeded everyone’s expectations. But a couple good races doesn’t tell us much.”

Franco’s manager replied, “Of course, we understand. But he’s got more than enough of a fanbase to rival any driver. I mean, just look outside and it’s a sea of Argentine flags!”

“Fans are good, but does that translate to sponsors? I mean, you’ve got to compete with Disney here. Not every driver can bring in that level of support.”

“We’ve gotten some strong sponsors recently, and a lot more in the works currently. Franco’s future is promising.”

“What about his PR? Any disasters there?” Horner laughed.  

Franco’s manager, however, did not. “He’s good. The fans love him, and he knows when to shut up.”

Franco suppressed a laugh. Anyone who had been around him for more than 5 minutes knew that he was a PR nightmare. And it seemed Horner knew it too.

“Now, that’s not what I’ve heard,” he said. “I’ve seen the videos. You strike the balance well for the most part, but you can’t be telling people not to buy Redbull merch.” They all laughed. “And you can’t be bringing your girlfriend to every race.”

Franco’s manager began to speak, but not before Franco cut her off. “My girlfriend?” 

“Yeah, YN isn’t it? As far as I’ve seen, the fans like her, but if she’s constantly around they’ll get fatigued. Again, it’s a delicate balance.”

“YN isn’t my girlfriend.” The sentence felt…odd, as Franco said it with a matter of fact tone.

“Oh, even better. We can get you with an Argentinian woman, then. Maximize that market.”

“A PR relationship? Those are real?” Franco questioned, and Horner laughed, as if Franco was the dumbest one in the room, and he certainly felt like it. 

“Not really. Just be seen a few times, like some posts, maybe go to events together if you wanna really get serious about it. Generate talk, you know.”

“Isn’t that what happens with YN now anyway? I mean, everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

“Yeah, but she’s nobody. No offense,” Horner said, as if his comment held no weight. “But with a celebrity or model? That really gets people talking. A little controversy is good.”

Franco felt sick to his stomach. She’s nobody. But she was somebody, to him. She was his best friend. 

“Look, kid,” Horner began, “I agree that you’ve got promise, but it’s too early to make any decisions right now. Show us what you’ve got in these last few races, and maybe we can work something out.”

Everyone rose to exchange polite goodbyes and handshakes. Franco felt like he was in a totally different plane of existence.

His manager came over to him afterwards. “You did well, Franco. We’ll just do as he said—keep focused, get results, and keep your head down. Seriously, watch it with the media.”

Franco nodded absentmindedly, but his manager wasn’t happy with that response. “What’s wrong?” she asked. 

Franco began, “Look, a PR relationship, seriously? And he’s telling me I can’t have my best friend in the paddock?”

“I think YN will survive if she doesn’t come to every single race.”

“But I want her here with me. I don’t want to hurt her.” He remembered Austin, holding you while you cried, afraid that he’d leave you behind. And here push had come to shove. 

His manager looked at him, incredulous. “Seriously, Franco, this is what you're focused on? You have a shot at a seat with Redbull, and you’re more focused on not hurting YN’s feelings? How do you expect to achieve this with that attitude?” 

Franco was upset now. “Don’t say that. Even Horner said I’ve been exceeding expectations.”

“I know you have, and we’re all proud of you. But you need to stay focused. Leave the women alone.”

“YN is not just a random woman, she’s my best friend.”

His manager’s frustration was growing by the second. “I know Franco. I know you love her, we all love her. But she is not your priority right now. Your future is, okay?” 

Hearing those words felt like a rollercoaster, complete with the euphoric highs and stomach churning lows. I know you love her—well, it was true, you were his best friend. But what kind of love? He didn’t know, and besides, the low—she is not your priority right now—he didn’t have the time or space to find out. 

He had a job to do.

All the while, you also had a job to do, but you were failing spectacularly. You had searched every square inch of that fucking room. You looked in every nook and cranny, every pocket and pouch, under the covers and even in the bathroom. Your journal wasn’t there. 

There was no way Franco was this good at hiding anything (other than emotions, maybe). You now had to entertain the possibility that you had been wrong all along.

Maybe he didn’t have the journal. Maybe you had just accused him of lying and shown that you don’t really trust your best friend. 

You let out a frustrated groan as you put everything back in place. You couldn’t believe it. 

If he didn’t have the journal, then where was it?

It was a question you’d have to answer later, because right now you were racing to reconfigure his room and get back to the paddock before anyone noticed that you were gone. 

You barely made it in time, arriving at the Williams garage with your body in fight or flight mode. You spotted Franco instantly.

“YN! There you are,” he said. “I thought I lost you.”

“Oh yeah, I was with some fans.” The lie just slipped out without you having to think about it. You’d never done that before—who were you becoming?

Franco looked confused. “You were? Since when do you willingly leave the paddock?” he questioned, clearly joking.

“Since I have to help the brand,” you smiled. “By the way, how did the meeting go?”

He just replied, “Good.” 

Franco was never a man of few words, so his hesitancy to speak was a red flag.

“Top secret?” you asked, thankfully giving him an out.

“Yeah, it’s… complicated.” 

“Well, you know I’m always here rooting for you,” you said, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. The gesture sent shivers down your spine.

Seriously, who were you becoming?

The next day didn’t make the situation any easier. The morning sprint had granted Franco another 12th place finish—no points, but still respectable. At least, it was to you. You could tell that he wasn’t happy. You knew that he pushed himself too hard, because how else would he be able to achieve, but it still broke your heart. You assumed that the meeting yesterday hadn’t been the greatest, and you wished that Franco would talk to you about it. But he didn’t. That was okay, you’d done the same to him before. You just wanted to be there to support him, even if it meant being on the sidelines, in the dark both physically and metaphorically.

And the darkness was looming over Interlagos. The forecast was horrific. The reality was even more horrific. 

As the rain poured down in sheets, you silently said a prayer for all the poor souls with General Admission tickets who must be swimming right now. You were nice and dry under the paddock, thankfully, but outside it was practically a monsoon.

Everyone knew qualifying would get postponed, it was just a matter of time until a final decision would be made. The atmosphere was tense—a championship battle loomed in the distance between Max and Lando, and Franco would be driving for his life. 

But as the hours passed and the rain continued, the energy around the paddock loosened up. You saw Lando and Oscar at the gates waving to fans, George jumping in puddles, Ollie taking naps against the warm tires. 

So, of course, Franco would enjoy his time too.

His manager stood in the back corner of the garage, talking with one of the media interns. Looking at her, Franco felt his frustration return. He had never been the stubborn type. But since making it to Formula 1, he had been told what to do left and right. Go here, say this, don’t do that. It pissed him off. 

He was going to do what he wanted to, at least this once. 

Of course, you were oblivious to all of this. You didn’t know what to make of it when he walked onto the pit lane, exposing himself to the elements. Within seconds his fluffy curls were flattened and he would be dripping in rainwater when he came back into the garage. 

“YN!” he called into the garage. “Come dance with me!” 

You looked up from your phone, and the garage around you was still buzzing, but you could feel everyone’s necks craning to listen and look upon whatever antics Franco was up to.

You just laughed and shook your head. You weren’t getting out in that mess.

But you didn’t have a choice. Franco marched his way up to the garage and yanked you out. 

You yelped his name playfully as he dragged you to the middle of the pitlane and put his arms around your waist. 

“What are you doing?” you asked him through your widening smile.

“Dancing. Having fun,” he answered. His arms stayed around your waist, too close to be platonic.

You turned to the crowd of fans in the grandstand in the distance. “We have an audience. Is this good for the brand?” 

It would seem ‘the brand’ was becoming a running bit, until Franco shut it down. “Fuck the brand. Dance with me.”

He pulled you closer, the only thing separating you being the layers of clothes that were thinning with the rain. He spun you and you all danced back and forth, giggling when you splashed in the  puddles swiftly gathering around you. 

And then he dipped you. The world felt like it stopped for a moment. You were suspended in air, an electric warmth between you and your best friend, the only two people in the world.

He brought you back up and you both stopped. Your eyes met for what must have only been a split second. It was like all at once, all the love you had for him flooded your heart, stronger than the unrelenting rain. 

Everything about him was beautiful. His arms wrapped around your waist, his eyes now looking at your lips—

He was going to kiss you.

That is, until his manager yelled at you both from inside the garage. “Franco! Quit fucking around and get in here!”

The moment was ruined.

You both sheepishly returned to the garage. Your anxiety had faded in that perfect moment with him, but had now returned with a vengeance upon hearing the frustration of his manager. Luckily, everyone else in the garage seemed to not care. But Franco looked like a kid getting called to the principal’s office at school.

Before you even got back in the garage, you turned to him and said, “Franco, I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, I—”

He cut you off. “You didn’t get me in trouble,” he joked, “I got myself in trouble. Don’t worry about it. You can shower in my driver’s room, I should have a spare sweater in there. I’ll try to meet you there.”

You nodded as you went your separate ways.

You did as Franco said, having a quick shower and doing your best to dry your hair in his driver’s room. You grabbed the spare Williams quarter zip he had and slid it on, relishing in the warmth and the smell of his cologne. You felt safe here, quiet and alone, knowing that he’d come meet you when he could. You scrolled on your phone to pass the time.

Of course, it had only been minutes and you all had already gone viral.  

You tapped on the post of a gossip page.

Williams driver Franco Colapinto and friend YN seen in Interlagos having a sweet moment dancing in the rain! Although the pair are quoted calling each other just friends, fans continue to speculate about the true nature of their relationship. What do you think? Sound off below!

You scrolled to the comments.

Might as well just make out with her in parc ferme smh

Why are they actually the main characters of a rom com

Sooooooo when is he proposing

YN the woman that you are. I’d ask what we are after being held like that

You smiled. Maybe the internet was starting to grow on you. 

Back in the paddock, Franco was soaked to the bone, shivering, and being scolded by his manager.

“I told you to keep a low profile. What was that stunt?”

“I was just having fun—”

“I know. That’s the problem. You are not here to have fun. You are here to compete.”

“Having fun doesn’t impact my ability to drive,” he said, his voice sharp with anger. “Look, I get that you want what is best for me. But I’m not stupid. Fans love this kind of stuff, they eat it up. And I’m improving every day with my driving. Just let me do what I do best.”

“And you’re doing this purely for the fans?” she asked. They both knew the answer. Franco was silent. She continued, “Franco, she’ll be here at the end of the season no matter what. But this opportunity won't if you don’t focus. You’re distracted.”

“This will be good publicity. The fans like it when I’m flirty.”

“You’re not here to be flirty. You’re here to drive,” she said with a forceful and final tone. She sighed. “The FIA just announced that quali is postponed until tomorrow morning. Go back to the hotel, get some rest, and come back tomorrow ready to perform, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed. 

When he finally made it back to his driver’s room, he found you asleep on the small couch. He thought his heart would burst.

Quietly, he took a shower and changed into dry clothes. He sat down and just watched your sleeping frame, taking in how beautiful you were.

But you couldn’t stay here all night. He woke you up by gently brushing your hair out of your face, and you stirred at his touch.

“YN,” he whispered. “Quali is postponed. Time to go.” You sleepily rose and followed him out of the paddock, only fully waking up on the Uber ride back to the hotel.

The drive was quiet, but peaceful. It was dark out, and the rain scattered the light from the street lamps of Sao Paulo. Franco looked out the window, contemplative. It was a side of him you'd never seen before.

You placed your hand in the middle between you two, and wordlessly, he held it in his own.

It was unspoken, this new…thing, between you two. You both knew that something had fundamentally changed. It was a question of who would crack first. 

Franco knew, though, that his manager was right. He needed to focus. He needed to deliver. And you’d be here at the end.

But when he laid in his bed alone later that night, he couldn’t rest. All he could think about was that moment you both had felt, and his eyes that had focused on the soft skin of your lips. How badly he had wanted you in that moment. 

A line had been crossed, yes, but that wasn’t the only one. 

In his backpack, there had been a weight that had hung over him the past few days. A metaphorical one. He had kept it on his person at all times for safekeeping, not wanting to risk anyone finding out what he’d done.

He told himself he wouldn’t do it. But he needed more of you that he couldn’t have—not now, at least. 

But he could have this, right now.

So he sat up in bed, grabbing the small leather diary from the bag, and opened the first page.  

[themultifanshipper]

Seeing your requests open seats makes me happy 🤗

Id like to put another request in whenever you can or want to! Reader x the Spaniards (Alsonso & Sainz and honorary Franco- I know he’s not Spanish) with 🟣 and somehow semi public? Honestly whatever your magic can whip up is good too

Five times Carlos was jealous of Franco. 

And one time Fernando helped him do something about it. 

Warnings: smut, anal (mxm), Jealousy, mention of alcohol, idk if yachts count as semi-public? Fernando is manipulative, he is also bisexual, kinda dom nando, sub franco,  Carlos being pathetic and Nando being a good AND BAD friend, franco gets railed, idk what else to say

Prompt list

● The first time Carlos noticed you with Franco he almost threw up in his mouth. 

Franco and you were walking into the paddock, hand in hand and looking all happy together. 

For the entire day, when Franco wasn't busy, his arm was around you. 

Or his hand was on your back, or your neck, or your hair. He apparently felt the need to touch you at all fucking times. 

Carlos wasn't entirely sure why your relationship with the Argentine made him so angry. 

He wasn't into you like that, you were close friends, and he had nothing against Franco, so his own anger confused the hell out of him. 

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Carlos had been building up the courage to finally make a move on you. 

● The second time, Carlos felt his blood boil when he caught the two of you making out behind one of the garages. 

He'd almost punched the younger man in his stupid boyish face. 

How could you let Franco rope you into doing something so stupid and reckless? 

He was a bad influence on you, and Carlos told you so but you laughed him off. 

You said you and Franco weren't serious, that you were just messing around. 

That almost made it worse in Carlos' opinion. You deserved better than that, you deserved someone more mature. 

Someone who knew to please a woman. 

Someone more like him. 

That thought made him shiver.  

● The third time he finally thought he was getting somewhere. 

 In between race weekends you chatted often, and when you had two week breaks, the opportunities to see each other multiplied.  

You could feel how distant he'd been lately, and you wanted to remedy that by inviting him to your yacht party. 

It wasn't a huge thing, just a few drivers (the ones that could make it) and a few friends. 

But the first thing he saw when he got there was Franco, with his arms wrapped around you as you danced. 

He'd been stupid to think Franco wouldn't be there, but it still pissed him off to no end every time you kissed him. 

And that little number you were wearing wasn't helping either. 

It was somewhere between lace and mesh, covering and hugging your bikini clad figure underneath. 

You'd spent the afternoon swimming with Franco, it transpired. 

The only time he smiled was when you finally gave him some attention, sitting in his lap, obviously slightly tipsy, and told him how much you enjoyed being his teammate. 

Then you pecked him on the cheek, which made his heart beat out of his chest, before going straight back to Franco. 

He scowled the rest of the night, hoping everyone could forgive him for his inexplicable sour mood. 

But there was one other person there that didn't need an explanation. He knew Carlos well enough by now to know exactly why he frowned more than he smiled nowadays. 

● “Jealous? Of him? You have got to be joking” 

Fernando levelled Carlos with a look that clearly said ‘Cut the bullshit mate’ 

They were both standing around, watching the mechanics rushing around on media day, trying to get everything ready for the next day. 

“You have been teammates for two years and you never made a move, of course she has someone else now” 

The old man was right. Damn him. 

Carlos had been attracted to you from the moment you joined the team, but had been hesitant to potentially ruin the great dynamic you had going with him. 

“I know, and it's not like I love her, I just think I could satisfy her better than that kid” 

Fernando sighed. They watched you suddenly emerge from somewhere, pursued by Franco. 

From their vantage point they couldn't hear anything, but it looked like you were having an argument. 

“Ah? Trouble in paradise?” Fernando smirked. 

Carlos hummed thoughtfully. 

He wasn't about to jump in while you and Franco were having problems, he wasn't a dog. 

But he was insanely curious about what you could possibly be angry about. 

Maybe Franco had caught feelings? Maybe he was bad at sex? Maybe you were ending the arrangement because you liked somebody else? 

A man could dream, anyway. 

He won the race on Sunday, and when you'd jumped out of your car and into his arms he felt the weight in his stomach lift, just a bit. 

But you couldn't celebrate his win with him because you had an early flight. 

The more Carlos thought about it, the more he wanted to strangle himself for not fucking you sooner.  

● By the next race, Fernando was officially sick of Carlos' behaviour. 

He'd slumped down on his driver’s room couch and ranted about how he was sure you were in love with Franco because you'd stopped paying attention to him. 

“Listen, mate” He huffed “Do you want me to talk to her? Do you want me to talk to Franco?” 

Carlos scoffed at the idea. 

“No that would make it worse. They would know you came from me” 

Fernando rolled his eyes and made his way to the door. 

“I can be very inconspicuous…” 

… 

That night, Fernando followed you home. 

Not in a creepy way, he just took an uber with you to your hotel, so that he could start a conversation and hopefully dig into some gossip. 

Or at least that's what he told you. 

His real intentions were to get you to talk about Franco, and Carlos. 

And then if he got the answers he suspected he was going to get… maybe a little something extra. 

This week, your hotel room had a minibar, which you and Fernando made full usage of during the evening. 

“So what is the deal with you and Franco? If you are dating it is not very discreet… I am surprised social media hasn't picked up on it yet” 

You laughed putting your 3rd shot of whatever concoction Fernando had created down on the smooth marble of the bar. 

“No, no! We're just having fun!” you chirped “You know, like young people do” 

You winked and Fernando raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Have more respect for your elders!” he chuckled. “But if you aren't serious, why were you fighting in the paddock the other day?” 

“Nando!” you gasped “You little gossip monger!” 

He raised his hands in surrender. “Just curious” 

“Well… if you must know, we were arguing about Carlos” 

Beautiful, he thought, he didn't even need to bring up his fellow spaniard, you were doing it for him. 

“Franco thinks Carlos hates him. Because he has this idea in his head that Carlos wants to fuck me, which is absurd, and that I want to fuck Carlos!”  

Fernando gasped. 

“No!... but… do you?” 

You seemed to hesitate at that. “Well, I wouldn't say no, he is fit. But I doubt he'd be interested” 

He chuckled. “Really? I assumed you were more interested in younger men because of Franco” 

You smirked cheekily at him. 

“Not really, I can go for slightly older men. In fact I haven't spoken to Franco in a few days now…”  

Your hand landed on Fernando's knee, and he gulped. 

"I think I need a change of pace…” 

His eyes darkened and he leaned against the counter. 

“How much older can you go?” 

“I don't know…” you purred, hand slowly making its way up his tense thigh “twenty years? Give or take” 

The look in his eyes was predatory as he glanced at your lips. 

“Good.” He rumbled “Then let me show you the benefit of experience”... 

By the time he got on his plane the next day, he had a plan. El plan to end all plans. He just wasn't sure how to set it in motion. 

● The perfect opportunity landed in his lap a week later, when you sent him a text. 

“Nanooo, how would you feel about an afternoon on my yacht? Maybe have a bit of fun ;)” 

He grinned, typing out a response immediately. 

“I am always down for some fun ;) Can I bring someone to join us?” 

You were taken aback by his request, but you agreed without much convincing, even though he refused to tell you who he was bringing because it was a surprise. 

You sure were excited though, because there was only one logical choice. Carlos.  

The reason (you suspected) Fernando wanted to talk to you that night before… well… 

The memory made your heart beat a little faster every time it crept into your mind. 

How own earth were you going to handle two of them?

When the day came, you picked out your nicest bikini and sprawled out on the deck while you waited. 

When you heard a voice call out your name, you bolted upright. 

That wasn't Fernando's voice. It was… 

“Franco?”  

He grinned, making his way over to you. 

“Ooh you look nice today!” he embraced you warmly, but you just sat there in shock. 

“You were who Fernando wanted to bring?” you asked incredulously. 

“Yes? Are you disappointed?” he seemed a bit hurt at your lack of enthusiasm. 

“No of course not! I just wasn't expecting it to be you. I’m surprised you’d want to… you know, with Fernando.” 

You giggled and he kissed your forehead affectionately. 

“I am up for anything, you know that” 

Fair enough. 

“Why don't I get us a couple of drinks while we wait for him?” he offered kindly, he knew your yacht in and out by now and you accepted. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you watched him jog down the steps. 

You weren't sure whether you were happy or disappointed.  

Franco and Fernando seemed like quite duo, but you'd kind of build yourself up to the idea of finally getting to fuck Carlos and… 

Well you didn't really have time to finish that thought, because suddenly Carlos was there, walking across the deck, having just come aboard. 

He quickly noticed your terrified expression and stopped in his tracks. 

“I am guessing Fernando didn't tell you I was coming…” 

Your eyes darted to the steps, up which Franco would be coming any second now. 

“No he did not” 

“Are you… are you not happy to see me?” he looked heart broken and you snapped out of your stupor to go and give him a hug. 

“Of course I am… it's just-“ 

“Listen, I told Fernando if you are not comfortable with this, we do not have to do anything. He told me you would be…” 

He trailed off, eyes fixed on Franco who was standing back on the deck with two glasses in his hands, and looking slightly confused. 

Carlos scoffed “Why is he here? I thought it was going to be the three of us?” 

Franco’s eyes narrowed at the older man. “I could ask the same, I was invited by Fernando” 

Carlos looked at you questioningly, and you looked at Franco, who looked a Carlos, and it carried on like that for several seconds, a festival of wide eyes traveling back and forth. 

“I'm gonna call him” you finally broke the silence and grabbed your phone. 

When he picked up, his smiling face took up the entire screen and he was wearing the most ostentatious sunglasses you'd ever seen. 

“Fernando what the fuck did you do?” 

He just laughed and set his phone down so that you could see he was in a car. 

“Ah, I take it the other two are already there. I’m sorry nena, I will be a few minutes late, don't let them kill each other before I get there” 

He hung up, and you just stared blankly at the screen for a minute. 

“So… what do we think his plan was?” Carlos asked warily. 

You thought back to the conversation you had with him in your hotel room. 

“Well… I'm guessing he wants me and Carlos to fuck.”  your gaze snapped towards Franco “But I'm not sure what your role is in this”

 

“Well… I will get another glass then” Franco responded, and promptly made his way back downstairs. 

“I'm sorry Carlos, I had no idea about any of this” 

He chuckled “Well I supposed it is partly my fault. I have been complaining to Fernando that I have wanted to fuck you since you joined the team” 

You choked on your spit. 

Franco didn't take long to come back and sit with you, each of you with a cold drink in hand while you waited for Fernando. 

When he did finally arrive, the three of you just stared at him, waiting for an explanation. 

“I thought we could all have some fun!” he shrugged. “Given that some of us are already… intimately acquainted” 

You blushed, avoiding his eyes. 

“And also I want to see you two finally fuck” he pointed between you and Carlos. 

Franco, who was closest to him, looked up at him shyly. 

“What about me?” 

Fernando threaded a hand through Franco's hair, pulling his head back slightly and making the younger man's breath hitch as his eyes widened. 

“You… are going to sit on my lap, hermoso, and watch them” He smiled evilly “And if you are a good boy, I might reward you” 

Franco gulped, and that image was so hot your thighs clenched together involuntarily, which caught Carlos' attention. 

“You like that idea?” he muttered, leaning close to your ear “You want me to fuck you while they watch us?” 

You nodded with a small whimper, and that was all Carlos needed to press you down onto the sun lounger and devour you. 

Almost literally, he all but attacked your neck with his greedy mouth, licking and sucking at your skin in an effort to mark you up. 

His hand made quick work of the ties on your bikini, getting you completely bare for him, and he marveled at the sight. 

He then worshipped your chest, sucking hickies into your soft flesh while his hand made its way between your legs to teasingly slip a finger inside you. 

You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“More, Carlos.”  

He slipped another finger in and his thumb came to rub circles around your clit, sending jolts of electricity up your spine at the contact. 

He couldn't believe you were this wet already. 

It took you an embarrassingly short time to come, and Carlos groaned into your neck at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around his fingers. 

The sound of a bottle cap opening caught your attention and you looked at where Fernando was lubing up his fingers. 

What made a new wave of arousal course through you though, was that Franco was on his lap, bare from the waist down, his legs spread open by Fernando’s thighs. 

“Fucking hell” you muttered, and Carlos seemed to have the same though as he watched with an open mouth as Fernando teased Franco's rim, before pushing two fingers inside the younger man. 

The whimper he let out made your cunt throb, and you licked your lips at the sight of Franco's cock leaking precome onto the floor in front of him. 

“Look at me” Carlos muttered, and the look he was giving you made butterflies erupt in your stomach. “I have waited for this for a long time, I am going to savour it” 

His eyes were fully black, and he slid into you slowly, inch by agonising inch until his hips met yours. 

You let out a breath, and pulled him down for a sloppy kiss while he waited for you to adjust to his girth. 

You glanced to the side, to where Fernando was placing Franco over his cock, and the younger man didn't even wince when he sank down onto it. 

“Now don't move until I say so” Fernando rumbled, and the order made Carlos twitch inside you. 

He thrusted into you shallowly, figuring out the angle and pace you preferred by the amount of noise you were making. 

Thank god your yacht was docked right at the end of the marina, next to the cliff face so you weren't very visible (or audible).  

As Carlos picked up the pace, he could feel your legs trembling, so he hooked them over his shoulders to press you down harder while he bullied his cock into you. 

The new angle made you fucking melt into the lounger, it was so good. 

 

Franco was having trouble obeying Fernando's orders, the sight of you falling apart under Carlos was making him so fucking needy it hurt. 

Not to mention Fernando's cock buried inside him, stretching him out so perfectly it was keeping him on edge.

“Nando…” he whimpered “Please, I'm gonna come” 

His hips were twitching uncontrolably, and the Spaniard decided to take pity on him. 

“Carlos!” he called “bring her over here so she can suck him off” 

The two of you crawled over without hesitation, and Franco was manhandled onto his knees with Fernando behind him. 

The first lick against Franco's angry, leaking tip made him sob out a whine and you promptly took him down as far as you could go. 

Carlos resumed his earlier pace, and stared at the way Franco's eyes rolled into the back of his skull. 

Fernando held him in place and thrusted into him at a brutal pace while you sucked him off diligently. 

Suddenly his body clenched and he threw his head back in pleasure. 

“Fuck- Mierda… Puta ma-“ 

Carlos couldn't hold himself back at the obscene sight in front of him, Fernando fucking into Franco like an animal, while you swallowed his cum like a good girl. 

A few more thrusts and he was spilling inside you as well, panting hard as he curled over you and wrapped an arm around your middle to ground himself after that intense wave of pleasure. 

Fernando wasn't far behind, coming inside Franco with a low groan while the Argentine let out a breathless whimper at the feeling of being filled up. 

Carlos thought he looked almost ethereal, glowing in the sunset with his lips bitten raw and his utterly fucked out expression. 

The thought almost made his cock twitch back to life.

 

Maybe there could be some room in his bed to explore some more with you and Franco by his side…

[katiascraft]

"You should think about the consequence of your magnetic field being a little too strong" | LN4

Parings: Lando Norris x argentine!reader.

Summary: Your bestie Franco Colapinto is now an F1 driver for Williams Reacing Team. He flew you to the Austin Grand Prix in the USA. Little did you know you would blew one of the papaya boys' mind.

Now playing: "Gorgeous" by Taylor Swift.

Word count: +1,6k.

Warnings: use of Spanish. Pure fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be errors. Not proofread.

Author's note: had this idea while going to uni and i found it so cute! I'm really needing Franco to stay forever in F1 🥹 I promise mate and pizza is the best! Don't forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friemds :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

You were so excited to finally see your best friend shine in this world. You have always been with him through thick and thin. He trusted you blindly.

You arrived to the paddock with your mate and flask in hand. You couldn’t share your mate with Franco just in case. To protect his health before the race. So he had his as well. You were talking and laughing about memes and stuff you saw so he wouldn’t be so nervous and get lose.

You never felt so happy to be with him. You admired him so much. His strength in never give up to make his dreams come true knowing he had what is needed to shine in this sport. You’ve always loved formula one. Back home you loved spending the weekends at kartings or watching national races with your family. You love the adrenaline that gives you driving really fast. You met franco at the go karts when you were kids and since then you were inseparable. Both of your families were intimate.

“Para antes de que me dejes sola nos podemos sacar una foto? Mamá me pidió. Si no, se va a poner pesada” (you asked for a picture with him before he goes into the garage to do his driver thing - because your mom asked for one back from Argentina) you said to him giggling a little so you posed for a few pictures and even Alex got shot. You didn’t know he was behind trying to understand your conversation failing in each word. You all laughed and hugged your best friend tightly. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and hugged Alex too.

“Good luck guys! I know you’ll kill it! Love ya” you said happily waving at them while they got far from you. You poured more water into your mate and drunk it. You needed to wait for Lily so you stayed with Maria, Franco’s manager. You drank mate together talking for a while. Then Lily finally arrived back from the bathroom and you hugged her in response. You loved her. She was always so welcoming. It was so nice to finally meet in person. She is so fun to be around. And so polite. You already loved her.

“Are you hungry? Maybe we can go and have some pizza at the resto” she offered and you nodded.

You and Lily went into the resto and asked for the pizza you wanted. As a regular argentine - you walked everywhere with your mate and flask. You were to drink mate and have pizza. The best combination. Lily wasn’t so sure about it so she ordered a coke.

You chose a table there and sat down starting to talk about flights and people and gossip. There’s always gossip to talk about. English wasn’t hard on you because back home you were an English teacher. So you were fluid but of course you had a foreign accent.

While you and Lily were chatting. The waiter brought you the food and started eating. She was telling you everything about everybody you didn’t know. How the drivers were in real life and stuff. She said hi through the glass window in front of you so you looked where she did and there you saw your crush: Lando Norris. You smiled at him passing by. Didn’t say hi because you actually didn’t know him so you thought that maybe it was inappropriate.

Lando smiled back at Lily when she said hi. Immediately he saw this mistery girl he has never seen in his life here on the paddock. Oh god. He thought she was so beautiful. When she smiled back at him he felt his heart skip a beat. He never felt like this seeing someone for the first time. When he passed through the Williams building he looked at Oscar.

“Do you know who the girl with Lily was?” He asked curiously. Oscar denied with his head.

“I’ve actually have no idea mate. Maybe she is something of Franco. He is the new guy so maybe you know” he said while going up the stairs at the Mc Claren building. Lando nodded. But he thought about it from then. Your smile and your face were stuck in his head. He couldn’t ask Franco about it either because it could be misinterpreted.

(…)

After the race you were already a bit drunk from drinking beer. You were going crazy in excitement. Franco scored a point again! What an achievement. You really wanted him to get a seat for next year. He is ready. And he knows it. He is doing so well. And he is doing history for our country. When he came back to the garage you jumped at him, making him laugh. You were out of your mind. You congratulated him and kissed his face. He isn’t into hugs that much but he let you do it along with the rest of the team. Charles has won the race and oh boy! He was even more beautiful in person. You got a little shy about it. We could say you felt intimidated by the men driving.

You wanted to see the podium so you got out of the garage alone and tried to make your way to where the podium and celebration were to take place. You were texting like crazy to your friends and family, even Franco’s family. For that reason you weren’t looking where you were walking.

Lando was defeated. He was struggling finding a way of not being so harsh on himself. He got the chance and he didn’t know how it slipped through his fingers again. Oscar hugged him in support “everything’s okay mate. You did a great race. Next time it will be” he said trying to push his friend back up from the lose. He was texting his mum that couldn’t be there with him. He wasn’t looking where he was heading until he and somebody else crashed making both phones crash into the cement.

“Oh god im so so sorry” a feminine voice said that made him look up to see who she was. And in that moment he saw you. Worry all over your face. Cheeks red and you handing him his phone with the screen broken that you picked up from the floor rapidly. “I’m really sorry I didn’t see you. I can make it up. Tell me how much it costs to fix it and I’ll pay” she said and you just found it so cute. You were truly worried but he didn’t care about the phone. He could buy another one.

“Oh no no it’s fine really you don’t need to worry I didn’t see you either. What 's your name?” He said politely and sweetly, taking his phone back. You felt so ashamed. First time you come to an F1 race and you already broke lando’s phone. You felt so embarrassed.

“Really? My name is y/n. Nice to meet you by the way” you said turning red because his sight made you feel so flustered. He had the most beautiful eyes you have ever seen. And in person he was even more handsome that you could appreciate on Pinterest or tumblr. He licked his lips, nodding.

“Nice to meet you too y/n. I’m lando. Did I break your phone?”he asked sweetly. He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were and your voice. Oh he loved your voice and he didn’t even know why.

You denied “oh no it’s fine it’s just the screen. It’s nothing really” you said trying to make sure he didn’t worry about it. You could fix it back home.

La do saw the screen of your phone broken. He considered it was a huge damage “let me make it up to you. It 's on me okay? You’ll just need to give your number so we can talk about it” he said charmingly, probably not losing the opportunity of his life. Your heart started racing like crazy. You giggle shyly and nervous. He found you so gorgeous. He needed to know you. He even wanted to kiss you right there. He gave you his phone so you typed your number.

Y/n 🇦🇷. That was your name on his phone now. You gave it back to him. He smiled watching his screen.

“Oh, are you from Argentina? Is Franco your brother?” He asked to get crucial information. He would die if you were Franco’s girlfriend. He wouldn’t be able to take it. You were too beautiful.

You laughed a little “Nono he is my friend since we were kids but yeah I’m from Argentina. Franco invited me this weekend. My first ever F1 race” you told him. He smiled.

“Really? Is it your first? So sad you didn’t get to see me on the podium. I would've asked you to marry me up there. You’re gorgeous to be honest” he said and you almost died. Actually you thought your soul left your body for a moment.

“Oh wow thank you” you said flustered with a huge smile on your face looking at him nervously. “It is indeed really sad. I would’ve said yes to be honest. You’re gorgeous too, lando” yo said just like him playfully. “ I gotta see leclerc celebrate now but maybe next time we could get married alright? Nos vemos Lando. I’ll be waiting for your text. I’ll be cheering for you next weekend” you said quirky and gave him a kiss on his cheek to keep on walking to the podium.

He watched you leave his side completo stupid because you actually said you would marry him. He didn’t even know you but he already knew how amazing you were and how in love he already was.

The Latina charm he thought.

And of course he will text you. Right there he sent you a text.

“Hasta luego mujer bonita. Don’t forget to save my number like you already have my heart ;)”

It was cheesy. And he used the translator. But he would do anything to make you fall in love with him.

——————————————————————————————

You definitely need to try mate. It’s the best thing in the world I promise :3

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

[blorbocedes]

For the trope mash-up: didnt mean to turn you on + innocent physical touch for franco 'milf-hunter' colapinto and checo/lewis

okay hear me out. what if checo was a woman instead 🤭🫣

Checo's had a fucking year.

The car is shit. She's been saying for so long but now they finally believe it as even Redbull’s wunderkind Max struggles in it. Every other interview, news cycle is about her retiring, her being unceremoniously kicked out as drivers salivate for her seat, her middling performance due to early pre-menopausal hormones? Just 2 years ago, she was the Mexican Queen of Defense, and now it's 'is she Redbull’s DEI hire?' The stories have become outlandish, announcing her second pregnancy and retirement at Mexican Grand Prix. That's why after Daniel, who had very clearly been brought in to replace her, was switched mid season she posted the Wolf of Wall Street clip on her instagram to make it clear: I’m not fucking leaving.

So forgive her if she's been seeking a little respite elsewhere.

There's a hot, young Argentine at Williams that's been eyeing her. Checo’s a woman on the F1 grid, she's been eyed like that thousands of times, most of it unwanted. Although, it fell off after she birthed the twins and her tits never returned to their glory days. So it's a little flattering reminder she's still got it. Being able to speak in the same language also helps, not having to translate everything for doublespeak. They have rapport.

“How old are you?” Checo asks at the club. She's not there to celebrate, she just needs a drink. Franco’s at the stage where finishing a race is cause for celebration.

“Twenty five.” Franco replies in her ear entirely too quickly, with a grin.

Checo raised an eyebrow. She didn't keep track of the rookies but she sure as hell knew they weren't doing twenty five year old rookies anymore.

A group of tourists seem to recognize her, probably fans and she's in no autographing mood so she pulls Franco in closer in front of her, to block her five foot four self from the world. He misreads the signal, but is all too happy to step in closer; personal space be damned.

“Okay. I lied. I didn't want to freak you out.” Franco confesses sheepishly.

Checo drinks her whiskey, assessing it. “I was winning karting races while you were in diapers, yes?”

It makes her feel old just saying it. She doesn't know how Fernando does it.

Franco nods, pupils going dark.

“And…” she raises her left hand, eyes pointing to her wedding ring.

Franco smirks. “I don't mind if you don't.” He leans in for the kiss, and Checo leans back denying him. Too public. She's learned from that mistake. She does put her left hand on his nape, stroking it and praising the boldness. It's dangerous, sleeping with another driver. When you're a woman, it gives them too much power. That's why Checo never acted on Max's obvious interest. But Franco doesn't have a seat next year yet... as temporary and harmless to her prospects as it gets.

“Come on,” Franco’s voice betrays the frustration underneath the trying hard to be suave, “I know you're thinking it too. You'd rather be on a boat with me than this totally lame club. And what I might lack in experience, I can make up for in stamina.” He practically purrs in her ear.

“A boat? Williams is not paying you that much.” Checo laughs, even as she entertains the line about stamina. James is a penny pincher to a fault. And Franco might get F1 groupies impressed with that line, but as the primary breadwinner she knows a little better.

Franco’s undeterred. “Your boat then. I can be your yacht boy.”

Now wouldn't Checo love to be sunning on a boat, no kids running around, being waited on hand and foot by an eager, younger man who can go for round two in ten minutes. God, she hasn't been filled up in a satisfying way in so long, her cunt throbs at the fantasy, aided by the tall, warm body in front of her.

Checo bites her lower lip, and looks around. Nobody around them in paying attention to the dark corner they're in anymore. She takes Franco’s hand and places it over her breast, holding his gaze. For all his smooth-talking, Franco seems momentarily stunned, mouth parting in surprise. He has naturally red lips, Checo wants to bite on it. He tentatively squeezes her breast, and after seeing her nod, starts kneading it, thumb trying to find her nipple through the layers of her polo shirt and sports bra.

“Can I please eat you?” Franco’s voice is husky as he begs.

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 – GAVI

warnings. p in v sex, public s3x (there’s no one around), jealous!gavi, & an annoying teammate

summary. academic rival!gavi makes sure you only have room for one nerd in your life

a/n. part two of comfort zone. tysm for the idea @gavisuntiedboot 🫶🏽

the sound of your professor’s voice filled the room as he explained your next assignment. you simultaneously put away your notes and listened carefully as this next project would be worth twenty percent of your grade. you were already laying out the details of your work as the professor continued to describe the assignment.

“there is one twist to this project. you’ll be working with a partner.” his words made you freeze. “and before you ask yes i will be choosing your partner for you.”

the room was filled with groans at his last comment, many of your classmates upset that they wouldn’t be working with their friends. meanwhile your eyes searched the room until they locked with a certain brunette. gavi had been looking forward to asking you to be his partner and now he was simply hoping the professor had decided to put you two together.

“mrs. y/l/n and mr. moretti you’ll be working together.” your professor says as he crushes gavi’s hopes and dreams.

franco moretti had arrived last semester from turin when his father took over as head of the marketing department for sevilla fc. he was also the teammate gavi despised the most due to them playing in the same position and because he would always insult him in words he didn’t understand. you scan the room to search for the argentine spotting him all the way at the end of the room looking at something else on his laptop. you sigh in frustration wondering if this project would be the reason your grade goes down.

as soon as class ends you make your way towards the blonde hoping to introduce yourself and get the project over with. he instantly notices you offering you one of his flirty smirks.

“bueno…” he starts. “we’re partners right?”

“uh, yeah. i just came to introduce myself-”

“i know who you are.” he interrupts you. “well i only know you’re like the smartest kid in our class.”

“i wouldn’t say that.” your cheeks heat up at his words.

“no need to be humble. your face along with his-” he points towards gavi. “is plastered all over the school. i’ve got to say i am very impressed by how you manage to do sports and somehow maintain your grades so high at the same time. but you probably just want to talk about our project.”

“uhm, thank you?” you can’t help but laugh at the interaction. “oh, yeah. i just wanted to ask if you have any certain topics you want to make our project about?”

“well i’ve got to get to practice in like five minutes or else coach will make me run five miles around the whole school. do you maybe want to meet up at the library later to discuss it? say around four?” he says as he packs up this things.

“yeah, that’s fine. i’ll see you there.” you smile awkwardly not sure if you should look forward to seeing him later or not.

you stay behind a couple of minutes going over some of your notes with the professor making sure you got everything right. you couldn’t afford to risk your spot in the rankings for a small error. grabbing your stuff you make way towards the library hoping to get some free time to study for your next psych exam before meeting up with franco. although, you don’t expect to find gavi waiting for you outside the door.

“he totally thinks you’re hot.” he simply blurts out.

“nice to see you too pablo.” you say sarcastically. “why are you blessing me with your presence today?”

“i bless you with my presence everyday.” he says as he begins following you to wherever it is you’re going. “so, you and franco…”

“me and franco aren’t even friends if that’s what you’re wondering.” you roll your eyes. “why do you even hate him so much?”

“i don’t hate him.” you simply stare at him. “okay maybe i do just a little but it’s reasonable.”

“you hate him because his dad works for sevilla and he’s slowly climbing up through the rankings. i’m not sure i would call that reasonable.” you say as you open the doors to the library. you’re grateful there’s barely anyone in there, you don’t enjoy being around large groups.

“whatever.” he huffs. “do you think he’s cute?”

you pause in your tracks turning towards gavi. the top button of his dress shirt unbuttoned and his red tie on the verge of coming loose. he looked quite good and a part of you just wanted to go home already.

“are you jealous pablito?” you tease him.

“me? jealous of a benchwarmer? please. not only am i better than him athletically but also academically. there’s no reason for me to be jealous.” he scoffs at the ridiculous idea.

“okay so you won’t have a problem with me studying with him later in here right? you totally didn’t follow me to the library just to make sure i didn’t find him attractive right?” you ask him as you press the button on the wall to get an elevator. you loved that each floor was dedicated to a different genre of books.

“why would i have a problem? i’m the only one making you cum anyways.” his words catch you off guard. you look around making sure no one else has heard him.

“pablo!” you hit his chest and you expect him to just laugh but he only stares at you. his eyes darker than before. he pulls you towards the end of the nonfiction section where there’s barely any light and a bunch of books that haven’t been read in years. how romantic.

“but maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll spread your legs for him. give him a good view and everything.” he drags his hand to the middle of your legs opening up your legs.

you can feel his breath on your neck as he moves your hand from your thighs to your core teasing you. you completely forget where you are as he leaves love bites all over your neck. the pleasure intensifying as teases you by running his hands along your core but not getting them under your panties to touch you.

“and maybe he’ll hear those sinful noises you make as he drags his fingers along your folds.” you whine as pablo spreads your wetness around your folds with his fingers.

“but maybe you’ll be desperate to have him inside you to feel full again. so you’ll simply move these to the side.” he moves your panties to the side giving him full access to your dripping core. “and take him in you like the good girl you are.”

you help him undo his belt eager to have him fuck you already. his button down shirt losing some of its buttons in the process. the two of you so needy to finally come together like a puzzle to care about what happens next. he finally manages to pull out his hard aching dick out and he doesn’t waste another minute as he brings it to your needy hole.

“and then he’ll drag it along your folds teasing you even more. but after a couple of minutes he begins to insert himself until he fills you- oh fuck.” he groans as he enters you. “and your walls squeeze him as he pleasures you.”

“please pablo.” you beg him as one of your hands digs into his soft brown hair and the other into his shoulder at the feeling of his slow sensual thrusts.

“please what princess?” his voice sounds so out of breathe.

“faster please. fuck.” his length hits you in spots you didn’t know were possible. you can barely contain your moans and pablo simply hopes you get louder.

then you hear it the sound of the elevator doors opening for the end of the long hallway. you think you’re imagining it at first since pablo doesn’t notice it kissing you as he fucks you dumb. then you hear the loud footsteps and you panic they’re heading right towards the two of you.

“pablo. there’s someone here.” he can barely comprehend a word you’re saying as he watches how you take him so well. almost like your pussy was made just for him.

“pablo stop.” then he listens scared he crossed some boundaries and hurt you. he immediately steps away from you the two of you groaning at the loss of contact.

“fuck sorry. are you okay? did i-”

“no, you didn’t do anything wrong it’s okay. there’s someone here though. get dressed.” you say as you fix your hair and skirt.

meanwhile pablo isn’t so lucky and he can hardly button his pants when franco himself shows up. the argentine tries hardest to stop himself from laughing at his teammate but he barely can as he looks at pablo’s disheveled hair. although, you look perfectly fine so he tries to figure out why pablo looks so messy.

“bro you look like you got dressed in the dark what happened?” franco stifles a laugh.

“caught him getting frisky with one of the librarians.” you blurt out wanting to tease him.

“no way? but they’re all over thirty- oh don’t tell me you’re into milfs. kinky shit bro.” franco somehow believes your lie.

“fuck you.” gavi directs at you before being invaded by his teammate with more questions.

the next couple of minutes gavi tries his best to get his teammate to shut up and convince him that you were lying. that he simply had fallen asleep during class because he’d already studied the topic at home which was quite believable. the three of you chatted before gavi had to make his way towards the field to make up for missing practice earlier. although he spends all five miles grinning like a little shit because he’d be willing to run them all over again as long as it meant getting franco the furthest away from you. he was hoping you’d only have time for one academically gifted athlete.

[44unique]

you know the party's over, when you're standin in an empty space alone

lando norris x franco colapinto

summary: after a tough race at the italian gp, lando finds solace in a chance encounter with franco. what begins as a simple conversation turns into an unexpected night of connection.

warnings: suggestive content

word count: 789

a/n: this is my first work pls dont jude me, also i dont shipp them i just saw on twt that someone wanted an story so here it is 😭 english is not my first language

----------

It was the after-party following the Italian Grand Prix, and Charles was drunk, celebrating with his entire team. On the other hand, Lando sat alone in a dimly lit corner of the club, holding a glass of vodka coke. He had finished P3 in the race, but to him, it felt worse than ending up in P20. Thoughts of everything he did wrong plagued him, overshadowing the podium finish. He knew he was the only driver with a real shot at the championship, and the weight of that responsibility exhausted him.

Lando was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice someone approaching until a voice snapped him out of his daydream.

"Este pibe está re ido, boludo," said a voice with a thick Argentine accent, loud enough to pull Lando back to reality.

"Huh? What?" Lando replied, blinking up at the newcomer. It was Franco, the new Williams driver.

"I was calling you, but you seemed pretty lost in whatever’s on your mind. I’ll leave you alone," Franco said, starting to turn away.

"No, Franco, wait," Lando called after him. "Please, stay. I was just thinking about today’s race, but I’ll get over it."

Franco hesitated but then smiled. "You did really well today, Lando."

"Not well enough," Lando muttered, shaking his head. "I needed that P1. But whatever, I don’t want to think about it anymore. What about you? Why are you talking to the lonely guy in the corner? You should be celebrating—you had an excellent race."

Franco chuckled softly. "Thanks, mate. But I don’t really get along with the others yet. You’re literally the only one who’s spoken to me about something other than work."

They chatted for a while, the conversation flowing easily between them. Lando found himself relaxing for the first time that evening, but eventually, his exhaustion caught up with him.

"It was really nice talking to you, Franco, but I’m tired and not really in the mood to stay here much longer."

"Oh, don’t worry," Franco said, standing up. "If you want, we can leave together. We’re staying at the same hotel, right?"

"Are you sure? It’s not that late. You could keep celebrating. I don’t want to drag you away."

"Believe me, it’s okay. I had a great time with you anyway," Franco replied, his smile widening.

Lando felt his cheeks warm at Franco’s words. He thought Franco was really cute, and the idea of spending more time with him was surprisingly appealing. Eventually, they both left the club together, stepping out into the cool night air.

When they arrived at the hotel, Lando was only thinking about collapsing onto the king-sized bed and getting the best sleep of his life. But Franco had other plans.

As they stood in the elevator, comfortable silence between them, Franco broke it. "What if you come to my room? The atmosphere is different, and I brought some liquor from Argentina."

"I... I don’t know. I had other plans," Lando began, but he hesitated.

"No, you’re right," Franco said, quickly backpedaling. "You’re tired. I’ll just drink alone."

Lando watched the way Franco’s shoulders slumped slightly, and before he could stop himself, he found himself saying, "You know what... maybe I could stay. But only for a short time."

Franco’s face lit up with a smile. "Eso, dale, vení."

The "short time" Lando had promised turned into hours. They drank, laughed, and talked about everything, sprawled on the floor of Franco’s hotel room. When the laughter finally died down, they found themselves lying side by side, staring into each other’s eyes.

Without realizing it, they started to drift closer, and before either of them knew what was happening, they kissed. It started soft but quickly became more heated, hands tangling in each other’s hair. But suddenly, Franco pulled back, panic flashing across his face.

"Yo—I’m—I’m so sorry, Lando. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m just... just really drunk. This won’t happen ever again."

Lando blinked, his mind spinning. "You think I kissed you back just because? Let’s be real."

Franco froze, his breath catching. "What—what do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" Lando repeated, his voice firm. "Franco, I wanted to kiss you. Now do you get it?"

Franco stared at him, wide-eyed, and then, without another word, he leaned in again. The tension between them broke as they melted into another kiss, this one even more intense than the last. They barely made it to Franco’s bed, where the night took on a new and unexpected course.

At the end, Lando did get to lay on that king-sized bed and had the best sleep of his life, with the only difference being the half-naked young man sleeping beside him.

[stxrsniolo]

๑ ˓˓ crash and burn ㅤ࣭ㅤ ★

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : exchange student!reader x hockey player!matt

Chapter 09: building the connection

the days following their night together were a new chapter for matt and y/n, filled with stolen moments and a growing connection that neither could deny. the autumn air was crisp, the leaves painting boston in hues of gold and red, mirroring the warmth that was slowly enveloping their relationship.

matt knew he had to confront his team, to set boundaries that were firm yet fair, so, during practice, after a particularly intense drill, he called for a huddle.

the team gathered around him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and the lingering tension from their previous disagreements. "look, guys," matt started, his voice steady, his boston accent thick with determination. "i'm still your captain, still all in for the team, but i need ya to understand something. y/n ain't going nowhere."

nate was the first to speak, his tone skeptical. "and what, you're choosin' her over us?"

"no," matt answered, his gaze meeting each of his teammates. "i'm choosin' to have both. i can be a good captain and have someone in my life who matters to me. i ain't askin' for your blessin', but i am askin' for your respect."

there was a murmur among the team, some nods, some skeptical looks, but matt's resolve was clear. "i'll give my all on the ice, but off it, i'm gonna do what makes me happy. and y/n does that." the practice continued, the tension easing slightly, but matt knew he'd won a small battle, not the war.

he was prepared to prove his dedication, both to the team and to y/n.

with y/n, matt found himself changing, softening in ways he hadn't expected. he was still the sarcastic, somewhat brash guy from the hockey team, but around her, there was a tenderness, a protectiveness that was new to him. he'd show up at her locker with a bag of doritos, knowing how much she loved them, his smirk saying more than words could. "heard these are your kryptonite," he'd tease, his boston accent thick, but the gesture was pure affection. he'd compliment her vans, not just for the style but for how they seemed to match her personality. "those shoes are as badass as you," he'd say, his tone playful yet sincere, his words carrying a hint of pride for her uniqueness.

he also started learning argentine slang, especially the insults, to surprise y/n. "you're such a boluda, but i like it," he'd say, butchering the pronunciation but making her laugh with his effort. it was his way of showing he cared, of connecting with her culture, the attempt endearing despite the accent.

but right now, they were quite busy.

the gym was a cacophony of squeaking sneakers and the sharp scent of sweat, but for matt, it was all background noise to the sight of y/n stretching in her gym shorts, her shirt riding up to tease him with a glimpse of her skin. His body reacted immediately, a bulge forming under his shorts, a testament to how much she affected him.

when they were paired for partner exercises, every move y/n made was like a magnet pulling him closer, his focus split between the game and her. "fuck, you're killing me," he whispered, his boston accent thick, his voice low with desire.

the moment the coach called for a water break, matt seized the opportunity, his grip firm on y/n's hand as he led her to a secluded bathroom, the air thick with anticipation and the promise of privacy.

"matt, what are we doing here?" y/n asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and the thrill of the forbidden.

"need to feel you, right fuckin' now," he said, his voice husky, his hands immediately finding her waist, pulling her against him so she could feel his hard cock through his shorts. he kissed her, deep and hungry, his tongue exploring her mouth as if he was trying to memorize her taste.

y/n responded, her body pressed against his, her own arousal evident as she moaned into his mouth. matt's hands were everywhere, one sliding up to cup her breast over her shirt, his thumb brushing over her nipple, making it harden under his touch. his other hand ventured down, squeezing her ass, pulling her hips against him, grinding his erection against her.

"i wanna make you mine," he growled, his voice thick with lust, his fingers now slipping under her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, inching towards the waistband of her shorts.

but as his fingers teased at the edge of her shorts, y/n's body stiffened. the intensity of the moment, the rush of going too fast, too public, hit her like a cold splash of water. she pushed his hands away, her breathing ragged, her eyes wide with panic.

"wait, stop," she gasped, her voice trembling, stepping back from him, her heart racing with a mix of desire and fear.

matt was left standing there, his confusion as palpable as his arousal. "what the hell just happened?" he asked, his boston accent making the words sound even more bewildered. his cock was still hard, his body aching for release, but the mood had shifted, leaving him in a state of confusion.

y/n didn't explain. she just shook her head, her cheeks flushed, her eyes avoiding his. "i... i just need some air," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, turning to leave the bathroom without further explanation, leaving matt with his thoughts and his unsatisfied desire.

the walk back to the gym was silent, the air between them charged with an unresolved tension. matt was left grappling with his arousal and the sudden rejection, his mind racing with questions, trying to understand what had just transpired. he respected her space, but the confusion lingered, a question mark hanging over their budding relationship.

back in class, they continued with the drills, but the atmosphere had changed. matt's focus was off, his mind replaying the moment in the bathroom, his body still on edge. y/n was quieter, more reserved, her body language closed off, leaving matt to wonder, to question, to wait for an explanation that never came.

my little starfish: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Indiscretion Advised: A Harry Potter Infidelity Fest

Indiscretion Advised: A Harry Potter Infidelity Fest 2024:

happy in the haze of a drunken hour by Anonymous - E, one-shot - She once called it a dance, this thing she had with Draco: a Viennese waltz, or an Argentine tango, or a pas de deux in a ballet — dizzying and breathtaking, exhausting to its core — yet extremely beautiful, and graceful, and exciting to watch. They were performers on a stage, dancing a carefully choreographed routine of late work nights and orchestrated lies, and it was always a sold-out show. Reality was supremely more convoluted – in truth, they weren’t dancing prodigies or prima ballerinas, they were co-workers who cheated on their partners on the regular, and what they were doing was a great disservice to performers everywhere.

A fire I can’t put out by Anonymous - E, one-shot - The question sat on her. Each night, as she stared at the expanse of bed between her and Viktor, before rolling over onto her side and quietly crying that she'd gone another day without answering it. The question was hers. But the voice, this time, was not. Draco met her gaze, and he asked. “Are you happy?”

Darling, can I be your favorite? by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Hermione finds herself sexually frustrated at work and sends a letter to get the help she needs but the letter is intercepted. Was it a case of mistaken identity or was the cheating intentional?

AU PAIR AFFAIR by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Draco is contractually obligated to stay married to Astoria to keep his son. The only problem is he's in love with their au pair, Hermione. If he's found having an affair, he could lose everything. Can they keep their hands to themselves?

at all costs by Anonymous - E, WIP - Down on her luck, Hermione joins a dating app with Harry's encouragement. She just needed a few extra dollars. She never expected to find herself drawn to the mysterious and charismatic man on the other side of the screen. Meanwhile, Draco finds himself stuck in an unhappy marriage, luckily there's a girl to keep him company.

In the Middle of the Night by Anonymous - E, one-shot - If he didn’t already know she was awake, he does now. “Open your eyes,” rasps a familiar voice and she can’t help but obey. The only light in the room is the moonlight, and she notices the way it mirrors him: both light and dark, gleaming with a magnetic pull that has her almost weeping from the need she has to be held down and thoroughly fucked by him.

Filthy by Anonymous - E, one-shot - When Malfoy arrives at the Ministry Gala in Goyle Manor, he looks forward to dragging Hermione into a dark corner of the manor and letting her have her wicked way with him. But when he finds out she has yet again brought a new boyfriend, he has finally had enough and decides to tell her that their affair is over once and for all.

Happiest Place On Earth by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Disney is a place for families. It's the Happiest Place on Earth, so nothing can go wrong-- right?

As The Lady Wishes by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Today is my wedding day. I’m Hermione Granger, and I’m the bride.

Again by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Hermione plans on throwing Harry the best stag party ever. But the Gryffindors’ adventure in New Orleans has some unexpected guests who bring some complicated feelings with them.

Ronnie Doesn't Know by Anonymous - T, one-shot - “Ronnie doesn't know that Hermione and me Do it in my dorm every Monday She tells him she's in class, but she doesn't go Still, she's on her knees, and Ronnie doesn't know” Or the one where Ron discovers Hermione has been cheating on him with Draco Malfoy.

[madame-fear]

when you get a horrible nightmare and calls fran in the middle of the night because you’re hoping he would stay with you on the phone, but he immediately runs to your place so he could comfort you in person 💗

𐙚 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌.

ೀ amira speaks! : my Queen, please I hope you enjoy this and it was what you expected, it was written with a great deal of love and hopefully I do justice to everything you requested,, mwah mwahhh! 🥺💋 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : request above. ♡ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 833.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : fluff, comfort, drabble. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Francisco Romero x (gn!)Reader

“I can’t even close my eyes, without remembering what I saw in my dreams.”

Dream wasn’t the term you should’ve used— it was a nightmare. A nightmare that hauntingly jolted you awake from your sleep, and the fact that you were all by yourself wasn’t helping. You couldn’t even close your eyes without seeing the things that appeared in the nightmare, repeatedly. It made you feel desperate.

Your voice was frail. Weak, almost. And who else could you call at such late hours of the night, if not your best friend, Fran? His gentle voice and sweet personality was the comfort you so urgently sought for. You didn’t doubt a second in reaching out for him, and you were right in calling him in the middle of the night, as Fran had — very sleepily — picked up the phone the very second you started calling for him.

“I– I’m sorry. I don’t want to bother you,” you excused, quietly. Not as if it bothered him, anyways. “But please, please stay on the phone with me. I need you.” and you didn’t have to ask twice for it. Of course he was going to stay on the phone with, and for you. Your pleading voice seeking for the comfort of his presence made him melt.

But why stay on the line, awaiting for you to calm down & fall asleep once again, knowing you were alone, when he could be right there by you side, holding you tightly against his body giving you the proper care you needed?

And that’s what Fran did. You had insisted several times that you didn’t want to cause him too much trouble by going to your home to comfort you, that having him on the phoneline was enough of a relief, but it’s not like it truly mattered to him what you said— it was obvious by the mere sound of your voice that you were in need of comfort, he wasn’t going to let you alone all by yourself in the still of the night.

Fortunately, you didn’t leave too far away from each other— Fran had reached your own home rather quick... Especially because he had rushed himself a bit. And throughout the entire time he was going to your home, he had stayed on the line. You had to admit, you felt relieved when you opened your front door, and saw him standing there, keen in offering you some warmth & comfort.

It was true, his mere presence — whether on the phone or physically — bought you endless peace. Good thing you called him, and he insisted on going to your place.

The blonde haired Argentine didn’t waste anytime, and here you were— snuggled together on your bed. His arms were tightly wrapped around your body, holding you firmly against his chest. One of his hands caressed your back tenderly, and the other hand cupped your cheek, using his thumb to stroke your skin delicately.

A sheepish smile occupied your lips, being embraced by his soothing warmth, and the blankets that he had placed over your body. His lips were placed briefly on top of your head, smooching it. “Thank you for coming,” you muttered with gratitude, now feeling Fran’s being placed on your forehead. “Hope I wasn’t too much trouble for you, calling you late at night?”

In response, he scoffed. “Why would you? I can’t leave you all frightened by yourself, amor.” softly, his fingers moved under your chin, lifting your face to make you stare at him, being given several small kisses on the tip of your nose, and the near zones. “Well, you weren’t going to leave me by myself, you were on the other side of the line.” his hand continued to rub your back, pressing you closer to his body, trying to give you all the comfort he had to offer.

“It’s not the same. I still felt as if I were leaving you alone.” he continued, “I’ll always be here for you, whenever you need it. You don’t even need to ask me twice, gordis.” your grin grew wider at his words, placing your head in the crook of his neck, while his arms remained embracing you. Your heart could melt at the genuine sweetness, and love Fran constantly showered you with.

“Now, I believe you should be getting back to sleep, no?” the back of his index finger caressed your chin once again, moving softly across your skin. Leaning closer, another affectionate kiss was placed, this time on your temple, pressing his lips for several seconds on that spot. “Everything will be alright. After all, I will be here to shoo away your nightmares, amor. I won’t be going anywhere.”

The warmth and comfort provided was enough to make you feel secured, and sleepy once again. Any bad dream could terrify you, yes, but he immediatly knew how to soothe you from the fear. You were quite lucky indeed to have him in your life.

◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ ` taglist .ᐟ

@luceracastro @castawaycherry @creative-heart @deepinsideyourbeing

[batunatu]

is there a backstory behind ur jeffery art n ur chr.... if there is plllssssss info dump i want to know SO bad im absolutely obsessed w ur work w him

HEHEHE THE MOMENT HAS COME

(yap warning)

It all happens around 2008, a year after Nicole arrived at school. On Nat's side (yes, it's a shameless self insert), she is an Argentine girl who, after her parents experienced the crisis of 2001 (one of the most screwed-up economic crises in the country) had to work outside the country. Nat was taken care of by her grandparents and they saved everything on her education as she was an only child.

When she turned 17 she won a scholarship to be an exchange student in the United States, everything was going well but Nat is naturally shy and somewhat nervous, always closed off so it was a lot of mental and emotional weight for her.

Upon arriving in America, she studied at an ordinary high school until it caught fire and the major damage caused it to be temporarily closed and the students were transferred to nearby schools in the area, so Nat had to go to THAT SCHOOL.

She didn't understand the teenage culture of that country, it was much more complex and Nat's social skills were few. But she didn't know anyone so she was naive, based only on appearances and the way they treated her.

She stayed as a roommate with Karen (kinda gay yk) She met Jeffery in one of the classes, let's say that she was naive and believed that he was just a weird but harmless boy, she felt empathy for him and that she was also kind of geeky and in Argentina it was difficult to find a circle like that in his school, always isolated in the cybercafe.

She began to get closer to him, it was a too casual relationship between friends but Jeffery obviously understood everything as flirting and he began to idealize Nat, she increasingly noticed that Jeff was worrying, at a certain point she just stayed with him for It hurts, believing that he just needed a friend.

Anyway, I have a LOT of concepts about this au, I no longer like shipping both and I certainly distanced myself from the fandom and the game but I still love this story.

This is like a spoiler (? but everything is a game unrelated to class of 09, I mean yes, it is a game in this au but let's imagine that the co09 franchise does not exist.

let's say that jeffery, now a grown ass guy can't get over his loneliness and He decides to create an indie game about him having a girlfriend in his teens.

a typical anime style dating game. Nat is the protagonist but the gameplay shows you something at first very fictional and romanticized but at the same time it plays with the theme of "breaking the game."

What if Nat realized it was all a game? Everything is convenient for her, she wouldn't hang out with a weirdo like him, she couldn't just casually win a scholarship, she feels flat and everything feels artificial.

As if some weird guy in his chair was the god and creator of this entire world.

That is my biggest concept, I have many notes that I should write in another post.

I'm not looking to romanticize anyone, and I like that this "fake game" is a way of showing that you can't fix someone who is broken and that the world teaches you to cut off your empathy in unfair ways. I don't want Jeffery to be the typical cartoon guys Otaku they made in flipside, in fact, I like to think that in this au the adult Jeffery first did flipside as a way to get revenge on Jecka and Nicole.

If you want to know more things you would have to ask specifically since I don't have anything organized, sorry ◉⁠‿⁠◉

my brain rots.

[v1nnys]

Hiii!!! <333

I've made two new oc's (Lynette and Cecil) and I was wondering if you can do Giulia's opinions + interactions with them ^_^

HAI AGAINNN!!! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

Lynette: Giulia is a very peaceful person when no one messes with her or her friends, so at first she didn't care much about the change that Lynette wanted to impose on Bullworth, It was okay all in all, as long as Lynette didn't prohibit her from doing things it was okay. Giulia thinks Lynette is too pretty and young to be so mature and strict, even with herself, reminding her every chance she gets that she doesn't need to work too hard to improve Bullworth, trying to comfort her the wrong way by telling her it would be pointless.

Giulia occasionally affectionately calls Lynette in a very Argentine way "la gorra"(the cops in Argentine slang)

I have a headcannon where Lynette invites Giulia to be part of the student council and Giulia, out of pure social pressure, accepts (she wants to quit the first week)

Cecil: GIULIA IS HEAD OVER HEELS FOR HIS GRUMPY, STUDY FREAK NERD ASS, And that means Cecil is screwed, completely and totally screwed. Obviously at first Giulia leaves him alone, watching him from afar, but threatening any bullie or jock who approaches him in a threatening manner, without him knowing, obviously.

She is very supportive of him being a sort of father figure to his friends and reminding them to study, she is the same and gets frustrated when her friends refuse to study, as she is also a perfectionist when it comes to studying.

When she finds out that he doesn't like spiders, she understands, she doesn't like them either but she got one tattooed anyway, and her loving ass does everything possible to cover up her tattoo. She feels a little offended when she finds out about his dislike of rock, but she's not going to let a small detail like music get in the way.

She doesn't come up to talk much, because every time they look at each other in the library or in class, Cecil is very serious, and Giulia feels like he hates her. She would calmly approach him to flirt, but when it comes to a serious crush, Giulia changes too much and stop being the loud and outgoing girl that she is.

I LOVED WRITING THISS!!! o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

[watashime-ciel]

my personal Rhythm Heaven headcanons

•at the moment i started typing this i had no electricity (12/4/2023 15:29) but ok lol

-DJ Yellow is very good at practically all subjects at school, except for math. he sleeps most of the year, so he has to intensify his grades in 2 weeks before the school year ends, and math is a pain. so while he studies, he asks Blue for help with "Whatever an ecuation is..." (still learning stuff from high school because he never intensified his math grades that much)

-J.J and Cecil live together in an apartment in Tokyo, while DJ Yellow and Blue live together in another apartment somewhere 40 minutes away from Tokyo. this makes both DJs wake up earlier to catch the train to get to school, which is a hard task for Yellow. this man either goes to sleep at 6am or doesn't sleeps at all. how do you want him to be at the train station at 6:10am to catch the train, travel for 40 minutes, get to Tokyo at 6:50am and walk to school to get there at 7:15am? think again mister, that's not a possible action on this dude. better wait until the update comes. /lh

-DJ Yellow dresses up with whatever he wants. this includes skirts, dresses, all kinds of feminine clothes. because why not? it's his gender expression, let him be, brother. don't be surprised if he shows up at a convention dressed up as Rui Kamishiro and in day 2 he is cosplaying Hatsune Miku NT. while he's happy then it's okay, isn't it?

-important headcanon: the school everyone in Rhythm Heaven +my RH ocs go to is an all-in-one school. from primary school to college, university, everything. so yeah, they're technically adults, young adults, that even if they have a job they go to school to learn basics such as math, history, etc, BUT with rhythm. there's an interesting story about this school that is located in, SURPRISE, Tokyo (not really. all fictional), but today is not the day or time to talk about it (my 4g data is limited and so is my battery- plz electricity come back quick)

-DJ Yellow's favourite music artists, groups and bands are: More!More!Jump!, Wonderlands x Showtime, Steampianist, Hello, Happy World!; RAISE A SUILEN, Raychell, Skrillex, Mitchie M, Pastel*Palettes, Nightcord at 25:00, MARETU, DECO*27, Eve, Vivid BAD Squad, Alan Walker, all of the D4DJ groups but specially Happy Around!, all of the Heathers Musical songs, Kawaii Sprite, GHOST And Pals, Banshee, RudyWade, Goreshit and, most importantly, an 80% of remixes of the Monster song (you look up Monster remix and you tell me when you know what i'm talking about)

-Blue's favourites: Cuarteto de Nos, GHOST And Pals, Daisuke-P, Omoi, Kikuo, Jakeneutron, KairikiBear, Roselia, Steampianist, Nayutailen, TOPHAMHAT-KYO, Lemon Demon, FAKE TYPE., girl in red and The Living Tombstone

-J.J and Cecil have similar taste in music, such as last note., wowaka, Wind Rose, Lemon Demon, Afterglow, Roselia, Leo/Need, The GazettE, GOLDEN BOMBER, HACHI... but Cecil is a bit different on his playlists, since he has Bluey music added such as Keepy Uppy and Lollipop Yum Yum Yum, and maybe some Imagination Movers music

-everyone speaks japanese and english, buuuuuut: Yellow speaks spanish (Spanish, Mexican, Colombian, neutral, Chilenian and Argentine accent), he's learning French and is interested in Hawaiian. Blue speaks Indonesian more fluently than Japanese or English, since he was born and raised his first 7 years of life in Indonesia. J.J speaks Italian, which is his 'original' language (?). and Cecil knows a bit of French and Hawaiian. super convenient for Yellow, but he's not talking with "one of those guys". yeaaaah the Rockers vs DJs conflict has been going on for a while now

thats all i can share as for now. i really wish my electricity comes back soon, i cannot live with 4g and less than 80% of battery for a week. remember all of these are headcanons and theres NO NEED to attack or negatively criticize them if you don't like em. tenkius :P

[kevjrr]

Title: Cariño

Summary: Licha gets fouled and Antony confronts the player who hurt him but it doesn’t quite go as planned.

Pairing: Lichantony [Lisandro and Antony]

Tags: fluff, slight mention of blood, protectiveness

A/N: Rowan is my OC who plays for Southampton. It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written bcs it’s two am right now and I’m supposed to be sleeping but hey, I tried!

Third person's POV

Blood. That's all Antony sees when Licha falls to the ground. He does not see his other teammates glancing at him. He does not see his coach waving his arms around, trying to get his attention. He does not hear the roaring of the crowd. All he sees is red. All he hears is Licha whimpering.

He charges.

Anthony takes hold of the player's shirt and harshly drags him away from the Argentine. Rowan struggles against his grip but he only tightens it in response.

Once he deems the distance between them good enough, he pulls the asshole closer to him and growls, "Why did you push him that hard, you fucker?"

"I didn't push him hard enough, clearly." Rowan sneers back while looking over Antony's shoulder.

The rage that surges up the Brazilian's chest in response blinds him for a second and he raises his fist threateniny, "What did you just say?"

The Southampton player laughs, "You heard m-"

"Antony!" Lisandro yells, cutting him off and breaking Antony out of his angry daze. "Stop it!"

Taking advantage of his distraction, Rowan pushes the Brazilian away from him. A tad too hard.

Antony, not being able to grasp something to stop his fall, slams his head against the metal post on his way down. Distantly, over the ringing of his ears, he hears the other player say, "Can't take a little push, princess?" His mocking tone making him want to punch the man but he could not see anything other than pitch black darkness.

He moves to place his hands over his still ringing ears when someone takes them in their own. He almost flinches away until he realizes who's they are. He recognizes the long fingers and rough palms. They are often touching him. Either stroking his hair or squeezing the back of his neck.

"Tony. Tony, are you okay?"

He grunts in response. He wants to say more, to wipe the concerned frown that he knew was etched on the older man's face but finds himself unable to. The pain too intense to allow him to formulate words. He lets out a quiet whimper when the ringing suddenly stops and he starts hearing everything. The crowd, the referee, his teammates and even his coach.

Before Antony knows it, there are fingers in his hair, very gently massaging his scalp. "Antony, cariño, please tell me where it hurts."

Even while in pain, the nickname makes his heart skip a beat and butterflies flutter in his stomach. He pushes through the pain and tries his best to force his lips to move, "M-my head."

He whines when he feels the fingers go still.

"Okay. You're doing great, Tony. Now tell me, where exactly."

The Brazilian smiles at the praise, "Left s-side."

"Left side? Alright." The hand carefully tilts his head to the right. He can almost feel the older man inspecting the area.

"Alright", Licha repeats, "I see a bump already starting to form so I'm going to need you to open your eyes, okay? The medics are on their way but you need to open your eyes. You can't fall asleep. You could have a concussion."

Oh, so that is why he cannot see anything. His eyes are closed. He slowly, cautiously opens them, scared that the light will hurt.

However, he should not have been. Lisandro was hovering over him with his hand placed right above Antony’s eyes, preventing light from directly hitting them. And just like he expected, he has a worried frown on his face. Warmth spreads through Antony's chest, what has he done to deserve to have Lisandro in his life? Wait isn't he-

“Aren't you hurt? Are-are you okay?"

The Argentine chuckles, frown loosening slightly. "Worry about yourself, you idiot. It was just a scratch."

"I saw blood."

"Yes, I did bleed a little but the scratch is superficial, so stop worrying about that." He replies, saying each word slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Oh...that's good." He tries to smile but winces when it makes his headache worse.

Licha's frown returns, "You better not do something like that again, idiot." He says as he starts to stroke the younger man’s hair again, trying to offer him some comfort.

The latter immediately leans against them, relieved to have them back. He swears that Licha has magical hands, they always feel so good.

"Not idiot."

"What?"

"Not 'idiot', 'cariño'."

The older man laughs, shaking his head in amusement, "Okay, okay. You better not do that again, cariño. I can handle myself just fine."

"I know. But-but no promises." His statement making the Argentine chuckle again, this time in disbelief. He does not get the chance to respond as the medics finally arrive and carefully take Antony from the other player to place him on a stretcher.

Lisandro stares at him for a moment before leaning in towards his ear, "Don't worry, I'm going to make sure that fucker leave the pitch limping." He whispers and presses a soft kiss on his forehead. “Cariño."

Antony smiles as he gets carried away, ignoring Ten hag’s disappointed look. Does he regret confronting Rowan? No. Does he regret the fact that he will not witness what Licha just said he will do? Yes.

That’s alright though. He will make him recount everything in detail later.