#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.”

[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.  

[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.

[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

[a-amvryllis]

🧣 Coffee on a Cold Morning + francoscar, please?

(I LITERALLY LOVE YOU FOR DOING RAREPAIRS🥰😭)

[You obviously have free reign to write or ramble whatever you desire with this prompt but just yesterday I was thinking about how Franco gets his caffeine intake from mate, and he offers to share it, -as any good argentine would- but also like, not everyone likes the traditional bitter unsweetened mate that he loves because it can be too intense hhhh so I just wanted to highlight the diversity of mate options, and also mention that mate cocido exists (it's different, I guess, but it comes in teabags and u can prepare it like you would a tea in a mug just for you, and therefore u can discover a way for it to suit your personal taste whether that's sweetened or not, it's like a nice middle ground) anyways sorry for the ramble]

hi hi! 💓 i'm not an expert in mate and never tried it 😭 but yep i wrote smth very short here...

*also this is an au, and they're not drivers here!

francoscar + coffee on a cold morning

(from this prompt list)

Somehow, Franco made his way into Oscar's life with a cup of mate in his hand, smiles, giggles, lovely accent and desire to share everything he had.

It started when Franco moved into his new flat, right next to Oscar's. He was struggling with boxes and some furniture, so Oscar helped him, said a couple of words and it's all that Franco needed to start yapping about his life, London, his study, work, childhood and in a couple of hours Oscar knew everything about this guy.

***

Oscar owns a small coffeehouse and works there. And Franco likes two things: chatting and mate. Well, Oscar disappoints him when he says he doesn't even know what mate is. Oscar has a long lecture from Franco about mate and its types.

They see each other almost every day. Oscar is already used to it: Franco loudly tells him what happened at work today, imitating annoying customers and colleagues; laughs, tries to share his mate with Oscar, and well, Oscar tries it once. He doesn't really get why Franco is so obsessed with this drink. But if it makes him happy – it's good. Maybe it's a magic drink and that's why Franco is so happy and buzzing with energy every day, maybe Oscar should start to drink it too.

It's winter – too cold and Franco comes into the coffee shop every morning to grab something hot if he doesn't have time to make a cup of mate in the morning. Maybe it's just an excuse, because sometimes he forgets about the drink and just tells Oscar hundreds of things in a minute: about his dreams that night, his plans for the day, his work, and Oscar just listens patiently.

One day, when Franco as usual comes to Oscar into his coffeehouse, the latter says he has mate.

"What? Really?" Franco's face lights up. He looks at the menu, trying to find the price. "Where?"

"It's- It's not on the menu. Yet." Oscar's cheeks are a little bit brighter shade of pink than usual. He's not going to say that he learned how to make mate and practiced just for Franco. "Could you please try and say if it's okay- I don't know how to make it like Argentineans make."

"Sure." Franco smiles so brightly, practically lighting up the empty coffeehouse in the late hour.

***

And maybe that's when it all begins. Franco's lessons "how to make perfect mate" end in Oscar's bed – well, Oscar just doesn't have a couch, and of course it was too late for Franco to go to his flat that is next door.

Oscar never felt so comfortable around someone. It just... happened. So simple. Franco just was there all the time, with his endless yapping, smiles, jokes, and well, mate.

That's why when Oscar wakes up alone in his bed in the morning he feels a little disappointed. It's the end of December, it's cold, and Oscar wraps himself in a blanket and closes his eyes again.

His eyes fly open when something drops in the kitchen, Spanish cursing words following the loud sound.

Oscar smiles, when Franco looks into the room worried.

"Sorry! Sorry, I broke your mug, but I'll buy you the new one, I know you liked that mug, but I promise I'll find you the same-"

Oscar laughs softly, and Franco frowns.

"You're not mad at me?" He asks innocently with his huge brown eyes watching every Oscar's reaction.

"No, come here." Oscar pats the empty space next to him.

"Wait, wait!" Franco runs back to the kitchen and Oscar waits patiently.

"Here." Franco gives Oscar another mug, sitting next to him on the bed.

"What's that? Mate?" Oscar looks at the drink.

"Um.. yeah. But the sweet one." Just like you remain unsaid.

"That's... that's good, actually."

Franco sighs with relief and smiles.

"You like it? Really?"

"Really." Oscar says, leaning closer and leaving a soft kiss on Franco's cheek. "Thank you."

Franco looks at him surprised, and Oscar coughs, feeling his cheeks turned red.

"Well, sorry, I shouldn't-" Oscar mumbles.

Franco shuts him up with a kiss.

[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.

[leftistfeminista]

The new book by the Argentine journalist, published by Anagrama, narrates the life of Silvia Labayru, a former Montoneros militant kidnapped by the military, tortured, raped, forced to accompany Astiz in his infiltration into Madres de Plaza de Mayo.

A passage that really stood out to me in the article was-

Each person incorporated into this process was in charge of a responsible soldier who, sometimes, was the same one who had carried out the torture. If it was considered that the recovery process was giving results, the prisoner began to make some sorties. For example, he could stay a few days at his relatives' house. The kidnapped women were forced to dress "femininely" as a demonstration that they were willing to leave behind the unisex life of militancy—all those unsexy shirts and jean pants—and taken out to dinner or to the beach. fashionable bar , Mau Mau, owned by a jet-setting man named José Lata Liste.

It reveals how the forced intimacy between leftist women captives and Junta guards was not just about lust, but was a deliberate plan of systematic control. An intimate relationship between man and woman, would keep her in total control at all times. Also the way in which "unsexy shirts and jean pants" was seen as a problem in leftist women. Being unsexy was part of revolutionary women's gender subversion. The "unisex life of militancy" with equality between mal and female comrades. They had to leave that behind. They were taken out to places the very opposite of unsexy unisex jeans, like beaches and bars. Beaches where they were expected to show off their bodies in bikinis. Bars where they were expected to get drunk, loosen their inhibitions, dress sexy and shake their bodies. And typically it was a club owned by a "jet-setting man". The revenge of the capitalist class on the Marxist women who would have stolen everything from him. Making revolutionary women "sexy" against their will was the key to rehabilitating them. And it was in an everyday ordinary way like a girlfriend going to the beach or club to dance with her boyfriend. It reveals how everyday patriarchy is itself a dictatorship. If we are to understand capitalist patriarchy in its rawest form we must see the tools it used to break Marxist-Feminist women who most challenged it.

The unsexy clothing of Marxist women was seen as a problem that needed to be corrected. In a passage from the book she refers to the sense of protection her jeans gave her. And how her Junta caretaker took her to a fashionable store to get her more feminine attire

Cover photo: Silvia Labayru and her daughter Vera in Madrid in 1978. Wearing jeans again was a way for her to reclaim her political identity from the trauma. Photo by Dani Yako extraday from her book 'Exilio 1976-1983'

From the recollections of Silvia Labayru

"Where are you taking me, Alberto?" I asked authoritatively as I finally turned up my head to face the man sitting next to me. A man who in that moment was dressed in a military uniform with a pistol on his hip, and who put these cuffs on me. His response was a harsh slap on my face.

"That's Lieutenant to you, puta." He responded, laughing heartily. "God, I don't think it'll ever get old knowing that I can finally treat you like you deserve." He added as he leant forward, riding a hand along my thigh and up to my crotch amidst my uncomfortable groaning. I don't think I've never been or ever will be so grateful for the protection that my jeans offered there, and I was even more grateful to hear the car stop. Well, grateful at the time.

As we stopped and the doors opened, I expected to find some horrible torture dungeon on the other side, but instead I saw something far, far worse. A Lingerie store. Rather than whips and nails on the walls, it was panties and lacy bras, and I honestly don't know if I felt relief or even more terror. I got pushed inside, flanked by soldiers and a salesgirl marching forward as if she anticipated our arrival.

"Good morning, Sir! How can I help you today?" The girl asked in a cheery voice as she faced Alberto, her eyes occasionally darting towards me but only to offer disapproving glares rather than the sympathetic eyes I hoped for.

"This little Communist needs a new outfit. Can you help?" He replied, smiling at my misfortune and jumping his gaze between me and the salesgirl.

"Of course! These reds used to cause quite a bit trouble for us, and for my family. I'm very glad to help them reform." She replied back with no hesitation. I had to wonder if this was genuinely how the public felt about us, or if this was just some pre-selected sympathizer. I hoped the latter. "What size is she?"

In response to that question, I immediately felt a tug on my back. "Let's find out!" my captor shouted, before signaling the guards to grip me tightly. I could barely process what was going on as I felt those jeans I valued so much get torn right off of me, before the rest of my clothes quickly followed. With each piece that got thrown onto the floor I hoped it would be the last, but the ravenous hands of Alberto's men never stopped grabbing.

A minute later, I was lying on the floor completely naked, my entire body on view for the whole shop to see. The salesgirl calmly stated my measurements, before walking off to collect her cloth torture device.

"I've always wanted to see that lovely body of yours, slut!" Alberto shouted with glee as his men pulled me to my feet and gripped my arms to deny me even the slightest bit of dignity. "Why did you hide it for so long when you knew it could make me so happy?" He continued, pushing himself against me so that I could feel the hard bulge already growing in his pants.

The salesgirl returned quickly, carrying a handful of outfits that were all equally degrading. One was little more than a few straps that didn't even cover my nipples. Another was a thong so thin that I wondered if it actually covered anything or was just designed to make the user feel uncomfortable. The next was a lacy bikini that you'd see on the front cover of a porn magazine, but never really expect to see in the real world.

"What would you prefer, sir?" The woman asked, facing toward Alberto as he carefully eyed the outfits. The only time that anyone faced towards me was to take a look at my nude body and laugh.

"Give me the bra from that one, and the thong from that one!" He replied as he decided there and then the only clothes I'd be allowed to wear for the next year or so. Moments later both were forced on, and while I appreciated the limited protection that the bra offered, the thong just felt like an insult, which was fitting given how everyone was treating me.

There were at least a dozen eyes on me as I stood there in my new costume dressed as a whore, my old outfit now lying in pieces on the floor. I never saw it again. I did see the inside of that shop about three or four more times after I left though.

After letting me wallow in my humiliation for a few minutes, I was dragged back outside into the freezing wind before being thrown into the back of the car, shortly joined by Alberto. As the door locked itself shut and the car began to move, I felt his fingers land on my thigh yet again.

"Now you finally look like you did in all those fantasies I had about you." He announced, but in a way that made it sound more like he was talking to himself than to me. As his hand rode it's way up my thigh and reached my crotch, there was nothing I could do as his fingers slid underneath and began burying themselves inside of me. I let out a cry, but that only seemed to encourage him.

I locked my eyes shut, but easily heard as his belt fell to the floor of the car. "I'm going to enjoy this. You should try to as well. It'll be happening to you a lot." He explained as that small protection the thong offered was brushed aside, and a painful journey back began…

[obsoleteozymandias]

Hello, I would like to place an order for "Pair with one of the guys from Twisted Wonderland" (Sorry if the words are wrong, I'm not a person who speaks English, so I apologize).

Gender: female

Pronouns: she/her

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

Personality: I am a quite diverse person, I am very sensitive, loving, I always listened to others Even if I get very angry, creative, I am always the one who wants to start something, I worry about others.

Likes: I love dancing, since I was a child I have always danced and my favorite genres to dance are KPOP, JPOP, CPOP, Ballet to Tango, Singing, music in general, fashion, I love wearing dresses or costumes that are inspired by my favorite Kpop groups, I am a fan of KPOP girl groups like TWICE, LOONA, TripleS, GFRIEND, LESSERAFIM, RED VELVET, Etc. I also like magical girl series, anime, sweet food like cakes and Facturas (Argentine sweets with Dulce de leche, Those are my favorites).

Dislikes: I don't like cheese, nor hard things, I don't like changing days, nor humidity, that people make fun of my tastes, that they don't respect me.I am a Spanish-speaking person, a person who was born in Argentina, of Spanish descent, I am a person who uses a lot the words that are used like "Boludo" "Che" "Que fachero" "Que genio", etc.

(I say this because of my culture)

And Reference for the couple can be anyone, personally I am a person who talks about many topics, but if they are about fashion or Korean music, they are one of my favorite talks and I can be talking about them until tomorrow.

I hope that helps, anything say if I should add more, have a nice afternoon/evening/morning.

Gotcha. Also no worries about language, I got what you’re saying.

== Twisted Wonderland ==>

I match you up with…

Rook Hunt 

I think Rook falls in love with your passion, especially about topics you enjoy. He’s a fanboy himself, and so when he hears you talking about groups you enjoy, he’ll quickly join in with his own obsessions or favorite musicians. 

He’ll also do extensive research about everything you’re passionate about just so he can keep up with you. 

He’ll also learn dances with you, whether they’re KPOP inspired or tango. He’s always thrilled to be spending time together with you, but any chance to be close to you is extra fun for him. 

He lovingly teases you while dancing relentlessly. He really just wants to see you flustered. 

He also matches your love for fashion. He’s an appreciator of beauty, after all, and every time he sees you he throws a million compliments filled with genuine love and affection your way. 

You two have fun critiquing other people’s outfits together, and in general just watching the world go about its business. 

He lets you take the initiative in the relationship. He fully believes himself safe and satisfied in your care, and he’s always pleased to do whatever you want to do. 

He also loves that you catch on to things quickly, especially his emotions. Rook is a man shrouded in mystery, but you read him like an open book, and he adores that you can understand him without him needing to speak. 

This goes both ways, of course. He knows exactly what you need before you know. 

[juju-or-anya]

Let's see Anon by Lila Rossi, I'm leaving my Miraculous fics open for you to play your little game, I'm allowing it, I'm having fun with your answers. But I can't take you seriously if I answer Shrek quotes and you don't answer them with Shrek quotes. Which makes me wonder, if I'm talking to a 10-year-old girl or an uncultured person. Because no one over the age of 10 cannot not know Shrek's phrases. It's General Culture. Another thing, I want an Anon by Lila Rossi from Argentina. Everything is fine with Anon now, apart from the fact that she cannot answer Shrek's phrases, but I need someone who, if I say "El Decorado se calla", will understand me, if one is not Argentine, how will one understand the phrases? iconic ones from Moria, or Ricardo or Tinelli, I need you to find me an Argentine Anon, so I won't respond anymore.

OFENDIDISIMA, ME ENCUENTRO!

[guardiolas]

The magic is back, the light is back, the color is back, the happiness is back. I am back, the duchess. I don't know if you heard about the alleged infidelity scandal of several players of the Argentine national soccer team. It was at the party they had after the match against Uruguay. It all started when a model uploaded to her stories a screenshot of a message she received asking for "elegant" models (in the context of Argentina that means a blonde girl with blue eyes, skinny and tall) for a party with the national team, paying for plane tickets and $1500. That girl didn't go but the next day on Twitter, another model, told in a thread everything that happened at the party. She said that she had no proof of that because as is the norm at such parties, the PR people and security took away her cell phone before entering. This girl said that several national team players cheated on their wives at these parties. Among them were Paulo Dybala (who just got engaged), Nicolas Otamendi and Angel Di Maria (he told her not to tell anyone she saw him there). The thing does not end there, another model, commented on the Twitter thread that after the party there was an after party and that there joined Enzo Fernandez (who recently became a father for the second time with his girlfriend) and Leandro Paredes (also Dybala's name reappeared). The girl who was with Leandro Paredes wrote to his wife on Instagram telling her that her husband was unfaithful and she replied that she knew perfectly well what her husband did and did not do. Besides that she was going to defend Leandro if that kind of slander continued. The one who seems to be in the eye of the storm is Paulo Dybala because he got engaged to his girlfriend a few weeks ago after 5 years together. In the Twitter thread many people commented that Dybala is a terrible cheater and womanizer. Because of the party that takes place in Cordoba (Argentine county where Dybala was born) and he is there, party where he ends up having sex with women. Also it was commented in the thread that until a few months ago, he was still looking for his ex-girlfriend. In spite of everything, except for Leandro Paredes' wife, no one involved said anything about it. Anyway, most people don't believe these girls because they have no proof of what they say, even though the message of the party was real and very specific in what kind of women they were looking for for the party, people think they are just looking for fame. As long as they are not Messi and Dibu Martinez, I still believe in love. Thank God their names weren't mentioned once in that Twitter thread. I was late in bringing the gossip because it was only 3 days ago that this whole thing blew up.

—👸🏻

Duchess you've made me sad with this message ☹️ even if it's just rumours/speculation at the moment this is making me so disappointed with these football players.. I'll never understand the logic behind cheating on your partner. If you don't want to be with them, then let them go, there's no need for heartbreak..

[usafphantom2]

USAF: XQ-58A Valkyrie enabled with Artificial Intelligence performs tactical tests

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 09/25/2023 - 16:00 in Military, UAV - UAV

An XQ-58 Valkyrie is launched for a test mission on August 22 at Eglin Air Base, Florida. The mission has successfully tested components that greatly reduce the risk of large-scale manned and unmanned autonomous systems. (Photo: U.S. Air Force/2ª Lt. Rebecca Abordo)

The United States Air Force (USAF) demonstrated air combat capability enabled by artificial intelligence (AI) during the successful launch of a Valkyrie XQ-58A.

This flight helps to develop a trained tactical autonomy algorithm from simulation to flight test in a high-performance unmanned aerial vehicle.

AI algorithms, developed and trained by the Autonomous Air Combat Operations of the Air Force Research Laboratory (AFRL), were integrated into an XQ-58A and flown in the Eglin Gulf Test and Training Range.

Trained through deep reinforcement learning, AI algorithms used neural networks to pilot the real aerial vehicle against simulated opponents using simulated mission systems and simulated weapons.

An XQ-58 Valkyrie is ready to be launched for a test mission on August 22 at Eglin Air Base, Florida. (Photo: US Air Force/Ilka Cole)

"AI testing requires the combination of new and traditional testing and evaluation techniques. The team has learned many lessons that will be used to inform future programs," said Ryan Bowers, chief testing engineer of the effort.

The flight test, performed by the 40º Flight Test Squadron and supported by AFRL and Kratos Unmanned Aerial Systems, was a continuation of the successful test flight on July 25. The previous flight demonstrated an unmanned, high-performance, AI-enabled aerial vehicle for the Department of Defense and demonstrated standard aviation tasks, navigation tasks and safety grids for risk mitigation and increased safety.

"The opportunity to fly alongside this really immutable AI-trained and piloted aerial vehicle, this technology is very real and is here to stay," said Captain Tyler Brown, leader of the test crew. "I feel that we are at an inflection point of an exponential curve for the application of AI. It is imperative that we understand the power of AI, its strengths and weaknesses, and that it is implemented in the right way."

The Pentagon is committed to the responsible use of AI. Achieving the responsible use of AI requires a team of developers and users with AI-enabled autonomy, working in collaboration with procurement experts.

“AI will be a critical element for future combat and for the speed with which we will have to understand the operational framework and make decisions,” Brig said. General Scott Cain, commander of the AFRL. “AI, autonomous operations and human-machine teams continue to evolve at an unprecedented pace and we need the coordinated efforts of our government, academic and industrial partners to keep pace.”

Tags: Military AviationDronesArtificial IntelligenceKratosUSAF - United States Air Force / U.S. Air ForceXQ-58A Valkyrie

Sharing

tweet

Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Daytona Airshow and FIDAE. He has work published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work throughout the world of aviation.

Related news

MILITARY

Kongsberg closes $111.31 million deal for F-35 components

09/25/2023 - 14:00

HELICOPTERS

Argentine Air Force wants U.S. CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters to replace the Russian Mi-171

25/09/2023 - 12:00

MILITARY

IMAGES: RAF typhoons land and take off from a road for the first time

25/09/2023 - 08:58

BRAZILIAN AIR FORCE

Santa Maria Air Base hosted Rotating Wings Meeting 2023

09/25/2023 - 08:27

MILITARY

Everything you need to know about Gripen, Sweden's "unlucky" jet that can help Ukraine

09/24/2023 - 19:35

MILITARY

Iraq acquires Chinese attack drones CH-5

09/24/2023 - 2:00 PM

Client PortalClient PortalClient PortalClient PortalClient PortalClient PortalClient PortalClient PortalhomeMain PageEditorialsINFORMATIONeventsCooperateSpecialitiesadvertiseabout

Cavok Brazil - Digital Tchê Web Creation

Commercial

Executive

Helicopters

HISTORY

Military

Brazilian Air Force

Space

Specialities

Cavok Brazil - Digital Tchê Web Creation