#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.”

[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.

[vettelsvee]

YOU'RE NOT HANNA, AND NEVER WILL BE HER | Sebastian Vettel

history series main masterlist | requests here!

red bull sebastian vettel x reader, nico rosberg x reader

word count: 6588

summary: 2010 german gp post race party has many things in store for seb and y/n, who finally do what they both been willing to do for a long time even they're dating hanna prater and nico rosberg

warnings: everything related to gender-based violence (main trigger warning to physical and mental abuse) from nico to y/n (reminder that everything you read on my blog is fiction), curse words, "cheating", mentions of suicide and cancer

a/n: i'm quite scared and happy at the same time to be posting this fic because it's one of my favourite parts ever on history series, but still has me so worried you might not like it because of all the topics (and because history series was originally posted on wattpad and not many people liked it but don't let anyone know that pls). anyways, let me know your thoughts on this one and request anything you might like if you want pls! i'll probably be posting tomorrow another part since my town is currently on high risk alert of floods and we've been told not to leave home. let me remind you that comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! thank you so much <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

2010 Hockenheim   German Grand Prix  

You paused for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror as Valentina finished your makeup. You leaned forward to get a better look, but the your woman followed your movements with perfect synchronization and, surprisingly, without messing it all up.

Your own reflection was completely unrecognizable to you. In front of you stood a beautiful, self-assured Y/N, looking like someone who possibly had a life that, while not perfect, seemed enviable.

You feared that a simple layer of makeup could make you feel completely different from reality. It was as if all your problems had suddenly vanished, and instead had in front of you a superwoman admired by everyone, not a twenty-something whose life was falling apart.

Valentina Martínez, the girl standing beside you with whom you’d had the opportunity to become closer, was one of the Mercedes catering managers and, also, exactly the complete opposite of you. Valentina had a beauty that everyone could admire and a confidence that many, including yourself, would love to have. She could lift others' spirits with just a smile and a few words that, while not wise, were good enough to make sense.

The Argentine radiated the kind of magic you felt you lacked.

So, when Valentina’s gaze fell on yours as you continued to admire how beautiful you felt.

“Come on, Y/N!” Valentina shouted, stepping away from you and starting to bounce on her feet. “I know this isn’t your thing, but I swear you look incredibly hot.”

“Valentina…”

“None of that,” she interrupted, “you need a bit more confidence. I don’t know how you don’t have it with Nico already. He’s totally worth it!”

As Valentina’s smile grew wider, you sighed and lowered your head. You thanked her as calmly as you could for trying to transfer some of her positivity, though you knew it was somewhat of a show Valentina put on for everyone and wasn’t doing anything particularly special for you.

That was what you liked least about her: Valentina was so well-liked and appreciated by everyone that, somehow, she always played the same role, regardless of who she was with.

“I don’t know why I’m going to a party I definitely don’t want to go to,” you confessed with honesty.

Today’s race had been quite tough, and although the strategies were solid, they didn’t seem to deliver the expected results when Seb only managed to get bronze in his home race. That’s why all you wanted to do at that moment was order a good room-service dinner and eat it under the bed sheets while watching some low-budget TV show before trying to get some sleep.

"You know that stepping out of our comfort zone is the best thing," Valentina said, moving closer to you and gently taking your hands. "Besides, you're doing this for Nico," she insisted. "Remember: he's your boyfriend, and it's your duty to make him happy."

You smiled shyly even though, deep down, you shivered a bit at the tone Valentina seemed to be using with you. It was as if she wanted those last words, it's your duty to make him happy, to penetrate your mind and stay there. You tried to ignore it, as it was probably your own insecurities taking over. And, in some way, you knew Valentina wasn’t wrong. She was aware that you needed to stop being so perfectionistic and rigid, and maybe start letting yourself go a little bit more.

"You're right, yeah," you finally said. "Thanks for everything."

Without saying anything else, you left Valentina’s room to head back to your own, just a couple of doors away, not without first gathering the clothes you had been wearing earlier while your friend continued getting ready.

As you took out your room card from the small purse hanging from your shoulder and swiped it to enter, you started feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. However, the moment Nico Rosberg, your boyfriend, came out to greet you and looked you up and down, hands on his hips, all of it disappeared.

"Are you seriously going out dressed like that?" he asked, completely incredulous, pointing at your dress. "You look like a slut."

You were speechless, though part of you wanted to say everything she was feeling. Once again, fear caused you to shrink back, cautious about your actions and the possible consequences. The tone he had used on you was filled with anger and, above all, disappointment. You knew that nothing good would come from answering, so instead you held back everything you wanted to say to him.

“Nico, it's just a dress…” you tried to explain as calmly as possible, not really knowing how to make him see reason without losing your composure.

He stepped closer, and his eyes filled you with nothing but fear. You could swear that, in his fury, the bluish hue of his eyes had turned an orange-red, like fire; his pupils, fully dilated, were what sent you into internal panic.

“I don’t give a damn fuck if it’s just a dress,” he mocked you. “I don’t want you going out like that. You know there’ll be consequences.”

Be careful how you act with me, he had told you one day when you said you weren't in the mood to go out to have dinner. Since then, though you had realized many things he did to you, you’d also started to act with caution and rationality, knowing that blows could come at any moment.

You’d even considered that there was a remote possibility that you might be the one to end things, especially every time you recalled every single insult he used to hurl at you whenever you misbehaved, which had only increased in frequency in recent weeks, following your father’s death and your trip with Seb to your hometown for the funeral.

But, most especially, when the Red Bull Racing driver stayed a few days with you because he was absolutely worried about your mental health getting worse.

A lump formed in you throat as a few tears began to fall freely down your face, ruining the makeup your friend had taken so much time to apply and had turned out so well.

“If you don’t change your clothes right now and put on something that makes you look like a decent person…” He threatened, moving closer with his hand raised. “Think carefully, Y/N: I don’t want to go crazy, but I think you're forcing me to.”

You couldn’t let fear paralyze you at least, not now, as you felt his hand inching closer to your body. Another physical mark that would eventually fade, but another one that would leave a psychological one permanently.

"Please, Nico, don’t do this…” you begged, completely desperate by this point, but trying not to show it. “You said you loved me just the way I am and…”

“I just can’t believe you’re so stubborn! Don’t you get that I don’t want you going out dressed like some desperate girl who clearly wants to fuck with everyone?!” he yelled, filled with rage.

You backed up as much as you could until your back hit one of the surrounding walls. You had encountered this version of Nico before: no matter how hard you tried to reason with him, he would manipulate you until you ended up thinking it was entirely your own fault.

“Please, Nico, don’t shout. I don’t want anyone to hear us…”

“They’ll hear us if that’s what you deserve for wanting to embarrass me,” he shouted again, even more furious.

You knew the tension had reached its peak and that, from there, things would only worsen. 

Nico kept yelling at you. With your eyes squeezed shut and your hands pressed over your ears, waited for the familiar sensation of one of his limbs landing on any part of your body he fancied at that moment.

“Oh, so now you have the nerve to ignore me?”

When you heard him clearly again and saw his hand raise, you somehow found the courage to turn away and quickly slip into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door in your haste.

“Open up right now!” he screamed.

While he pounded on the door, his yelling relentless, you leaned against the farthest wall, as if he might burst in at any moment. 

It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. 

You gasped for air in a place where there seemed to be none, your hand instinctively clutching your chest as if to shield your heart, which felt like it might burst out at any moment. You had learned to live with anxiety and panic, and both emotions had reached a point where they didn’t control each other but had fused, learning to coexist together with you.

“Nico… I’ll change my clothes,” you said, still crying, your voice choking. “I’m sorry, really,” you lied, trying to sound as convincingly as you could. “But please… don’t hurt me.”

Not again.

Your whispers seemed to have reached him because his pounding and labored breathing quieted. You hoped that the situation had calmed, and it seemed like it had.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead giving you enough time to remove the ruined makeup from your face and apply just a little mascara. A few minutes passed, enough time for you to relax and consider the possible outcomes of what might happen next, before he coldly demanded that you open the door.

You emerged and collided with his chest. Forcing yourself to look up at him, all you could see was contempt.

“Once again, you’ve disappointed me,” he stated without a hint of hesitation. “No wonder why lots of shit happens to you and people treat you so poorly. I was wrong to judge Vettel: he was right to treat you that way, and he should’ve done even more to you.”

All you could do was lower your gaze and head toward your suitcase on the floor, trying to pick something that would be ok with Rosberg’s dress code while reminding yourself that Seb did things quite bad, but he seemed to be truly sorry and apologized many times to you. The beautiful red dress, strapless and embellished across the chest, falling just above your knees, had to be replaced by another dress of the same color, but one that reached your ankles, with a much higher neckline and looser fit, so as not to highlight your nearly nonexistent curves.

“Happy now?” you asked, with as much disdain as you dared, even knowing he might match your face to her outfit.

“If you behaved like a responsible adult, yes,” he muttered as he opened the door and took your hand forcefully. “Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-two and you have a lot to learn about life.”

Did he really know more about life than you did after all you had to go through?

That thought lingered in your mind throughout the journey, from their floor’s hallway to where the party was held, including the elevator ride where they encountered Mark Webber and a journalist from Sky Sports Germany, Eloise Schimdt. During the conversation between the four of them, though you remained silent, you had to pretend that everything was fine, even as your insides felt like they were shattering further.

As they entered the venue, the music, louder than she liked, started to throb in your ears. Your eyes opened wide to adjust to the dim lights from the spotlights, and, as you always did when in a public place with Nico, you began scanning the scene in detail.

There were more people than the space could comfortably hold. The dance floor was packed with people moving energetically, glasses in hand with the sole mission of keeping the alcohol from spilling. The bar was just as crowded, and in the center, across from shelves stocked with every type of liquor imaginable, she spotted Kimi, Fernando and Jenson with their respective partners, chatting animatedly.

But your eyes didn’t seem to waste any time and ended up settling on the guy standing a bit farther away from the others.

Sebastian was leaning back against the bar, tapping his left hand on it to match the rhythm of the song playing. In his other hand he held a glass of what she assumed was, possibly, a Jägerbomb, his favorite drink and, to him, a must-have for parties like this. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans with those Geox trainers he always wore, and his hair was completely tousled.

In that moment, you felt utterly captivated by him, and you were sure you would have dared to talk to him if his eyes hadn’t been fixed on Hanna. The blonde girl was a few steps in front of him, dancing seductively without caring where she was or who might be watching her.

You couldn’t help but wish, at that moment, to be her.

You shook off those conflicting thoughts as soon as Nico grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you, snapping you out of your trance, to head toward the bar.

"Give me a Martini," he said abruptly to the bartender, "and some water for her. She’s a bit dizzy," he lied to stop you from drinking, as he often did every time you went out.

"A Jägerbomb if you can, please," you ended up telling the guy behind the bar with your best smile.

You completely ignored the words and looks Nico was giving you. Instead, you just flashed your best smile at the bartender, who kept looking at you with concern, along with the rest of the people who weren’t too intoxicated yet and had overheard your boyfriend’s words.

"I can’t believe you’re drinking again… Can’t you control yourself or what?" he snapped.

He pulled you aggressively close, and you tried you best to ignore his words, spoken in a threatening tone directly into your ear, while you took your drink from the bar, along with his, and offered it to him.

Surrounded by people, you felt a bit safer than usual. He wouldn’t be able to hurt you, at least not physically, in front of everyone here… His reputation would be ruined, and Nico Rosberg was too proud to allow that.

So you didn’t stay silent.

"Nico, leave me alone for a few hours, please," you replied, ignoring his comments. "I’m here to enjoy the party you were so insistent on coming to, not to get scolded for wanting to have fun with you."

"Damn it, Y/N!" he expressed in frustration. "Do you always have to ruin everything or what?"

You just lifted your glass to avoid spilling your drink and walked towards the dance floor, leaving Rosberg behind, hurling insults you decided to ignore.

As soon as you found yourself among the crowd, greeting familiar faces with a friendly smile, you let yourself get carried away by the rhythm of the music. Tonight your shyness seemed nonexistent, and you could only thank the alcohol for giving you the confidence you had lost. You started to lose track of time as you danced, and though you didn’t know how, each move helped free you from the intrusive thoughts of loneliness and worthlessness, of feeling like nothing more than a mere object, which had crowded your mind at a dizzying speed.

You knew that mixing liquor with the energy drink that funded your lifestyle was only a temporary fix and that, once the effects wore off, your life would return to the completely chaotic state you had come to deserve.

Suddenly, the music stopped, as did the bodies moving on the dance floor. A spotlight focused on the stage, where Seb stood, microphone in hand and swaying. There was no doubt that he was drunk.

His swaying body made it clear that he had no idea what he was doing and that, at some point, he would end up regretting something.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said into the microphone. "But I feel like making a little pause in this party we’ve got going tonight because I want to sing a song to someone I care about a lot."

You began to feel terrible as Vettel gestured to the DJ for the music he wanted. A few seconds later, the first chords of Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars was the only sound echoing in the room.

"Babe, this song is for you, and I want you to know how much you mean to me!"

You could see Hanna smiling broadly and shrugging. You wanted to leave to cry again at the beautiful scene unfolding in front of you, of which you definitely weren’t the main character.

Was it too soon to say that the boy you were in love with dedicating a song to his girlfriend hurt worse than any blow your current boyfriend had ever given you?

Yes, it was clear. Possibly, the alcohol had already taken too strong a hold, and you could no longer control what you said or thought.

You know I'd never ask you to change  

If perfect's what you're searching for  

Then just stay the same  

So don't even bother asking if you look okay

You felt confused and didn’t know what to do, but Sebastian’s voice, trembling and making his English accent sound more German than usual, had you completely captivated.

So did Prater's reaction when the German shifted his gaze from her to you.

“This is for you,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. “I know you know who you are, and I want you to know it’s all for you, and that you deserve the absolute best.”

When I see your face  

There is not a thing that I would change  

'Cause you're amazing  

Just the way you are  

And when you smile  

The whole world stops and stares for a while  

'Cause, girl, you're amazing  

Just the way you are

You noticed Hanna moving to your side, visibly confused and clearly uncomfortable with what was happening.

“Y/N…”

She couldn’t say anything else, nor could you to her. As much as you wished to be Hanna, you couldn’t help feeling sorry for her at the strong possibility that her boyfriend was confessing his feelings to another girl right in front of her.

Or, at least, that’s what the alcohol led you to believe.

“I want you to know that, from the first moment I saw you, you’ve been in my heart,” Seb admitted, his words drawn out, uncaring about the reactions of those around them, especially his girlfriend’s or yours. “Right now, I can’t have what I want most, but I want you to know that being with you is the only wish I’ve made, and the one I’ll keep making on my birthday, until we can finally be together.”

That was the last straw. As quickly as she could, trying in vain to hold back tears and avoid drawing attention, Hanna left, thoroughly embarrassed, muttering something you couldn’t catch. Seb's voice still echoed in your ears, but you tried to ignore it because you couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Lost in thoughts, you moved as far away as you could, trying not to stumble. Then, you made your way to the bar to order another drink, as if that might somehow make you forget what had just happened.

Just before you could exchange words with the bartender who had already served you so many drinks that night, you felt someone take your wrist, though this time much more gently. You knew it wouldn’t be Nico; when you turned around and saw Seb, however, you were even more surprised.

Your eyes met, and butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. Once again, you felt at home and safe, though deep down, you were only afraid.

Without saying a word, he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours.

In that moment, you felt everything fade away. You let yourself go, unafraid of who might be watching or what might happen next. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss… your first kiss. 

Slowly, calmly, and, as you felt, full of affection, you stayed that way until you both needed air.

You felt that you had both been waiting for this moment for so long and, in a way, you deserved it, turning a simple gesture of affection into something unique and special, caring little about your partners or your sobriety.

Seb pulled back, his hands still resting on you, and your gazes shared in complicity about what had just happened. You knew he was happy but confused, just as you were. You didn’t know what to say, and knowing he didn’t either, you simply gave him a shy smile to let him know everything was okay, that he could do that a thousand times more from now on.

“Y/N…”

“What is it, Seb?”

You wanted him to tell you he loved you, that he’d left Hanna, and that he wanted you to be his new girlfriend, the love of his life.

But, instead, Seb looked at you and left you, once again, speechless:

“You’re not Hanna… and never will be her...”

After he said that, you felt nothing but your breath slipping away and the sensation of fainting.

You wanted to tell him everything you felt at that moment, but his words had hit you so hard that they only increased your confusion and pain.

All you could do was stare at him, likely making a fool of yourself with the amount of tears clouding your vision. Silence took over, and when you finally found the strength to speak, trying to hide the pain you knew your voice would show, he turned away without even saying goodbye.

"How the hell could you do that, Y/N?! You have no shame! You humiliated me in front of everyone. Kissing Sebastian like you don't care about your boyfriend... now I see what you're really up to."

You didn't have time to say anything or leave because Rosberg came running towards you, grabbing your arm with a force you'd never seen in him. It hurt, and your scream, which was more of a complaint from the pain than a surprise, was a way of expressing how much you were hurting, not just from the tight grip, but also from the shake he'd just given you.

"Nico, please, calm down..." you tried to calm him, not wanting to embarrass yourself. Some people were already looking at you, and you wished Earth would swallow you up. "It was just..."

"Don't play innocent!" he shouted too loudly. "You thought I wouldn't find out?! I saw you kissing that piece of shit who only wants to fuck you until he's bored of you," he said, referring to Seb. "Now everyone here knows what you really are: a whore! And I'm glad, Y/N… You have no idea how glad I am."

The music suddenly stopped blasting, but your boyfriend's anger didn’t.

"Nico... I love you, really," you tried to speak. "It was just a moment of weakness..."

The moment of weakness was exactly what you were feeling now, making him believe you were truly in love with him when, in fact, you were only staying in the relationship because you were afraid your reputation wouldn’t make it out alive. 

"You say you love me? Don't make me laugh! If you really loved me, you wouldn’t act like this."

You wanted to tell him that you thought the same about him, but you held back, paralyzed again by the fear that your mind was processing all the bad things that could happen.

"Nico, come on. You don’t have to act like this. We can talk about this civilly."

As you saw Edward, Vettel’s personal trainer, appear, and pull Nico a bit away from you, a little peace returned to your body. You gave him a grateful look, to which he just answered by nodding.

"You don’t have to get involved, Eddie!" your boyfriend shouted. "Stay out of our fucking business!"

"You know you don’t have to treat her like this," he said seriously.

"She’s a whore, can't you see it?" Nico spat, pointing at you. "Disgusting little girl..."

"Nico, I understand you're angry," Patterson spoke again, after the German’s words, "but neither of you is in a state to talk about this, and this is not the right place," he said, referring to the curious looks around them.

You could only constantly whisper for them not to fight anymore, while deep down you prayed to take you away from all of this and bring you back to the hotel.

"I don’t care what you say," Eddie started. "I'm taking Y/N. I don’t think being here is the best thing for her."

After saying that, he stood behind you and guided you, putting his hand on your back, toward his car. At that moment, your desperation was so great that you didn’t even think about whether he was in any condition to drive.

The way back to the hotel, less than ten minutes away, felt eternal.You hadn’t drunk much because you didn’t like it, but not being used to it was enough for a couple of curves and a badly taken roundabout to make you gag and feel like vomiting.

Slowly, the shock began to set in, and you started to act on autopilot mode, following the directions of the man accompanying you, except when he told you it would be best for you to sleep in his room that night.

You didn’t know why, but that set off alarms in your confused brain. The last thing you wanted was to add fuel to the fire by sleeping with another man who wasn’t your boyfriend just to protect you.

"Thanks for everything, Eddie, really, but I think it would be best if I went back to my room to sort things out with Nico."

The Brit didn’t seem to agree with you.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but I don’t think it’s best for you to share space with him tonight," he was honest.

"I just want to talk to him and try to put an end to this," you insisted, still knowing you weren't right.

"And I understand you, really, but right now everything is too fresh, and the best thing is for you to rest and let the drunkenness wear off," he said, placing one of your arms over his shoulders. "Come on, I’ll take you to my room."

You decided not to argue anymore because it would be in vain, so you let yourself be guided while he lectured you about how you shouldn’t be intimidated by Nico and how you deserved someone better than him after what had happened at the club that night.

"Edward, Y/N. Good night, guys."

You lifted your gaze and saw another Brit. Jenson was standing in front of you, coming out of the elevator you were about to take. You were greatly surprised that he wasn’t with his girlfriend, but didn’t want to get involved; your alcohol-soaked self, however, wanted to gossip.

"Where are you two going?" he asked, crossing his arms and blocking the elevator doors so they couldn’t pass.

"I’m... taking Y/N to my room," Eddie revealed, stammering a bit for no clear reason. "She’s had a rough time, and it’s best that she doesn’t see Nico’s face tonight."

"And you think the best thing is that you take her to your room?"

Button’s features went from relaxed to a kind of aggression you had never seen in him. It’s not like you had spent much time or had many conversations together, but you knew the situation you were now involved in wasn’t what you had thought it was.

Edward Patterson stayed completely silent.

"Do you want me to call someone to be with you?" Jenson asked you directly, giving you no other option. "Y/N," he insisted again, "who do you want me to call to stay with you tonight?"

"Britta… please," you said as best as you could despite your discomfort.

To your surprise, while Jenson dialed the phone number of the woman you now considered your friend, Eddie let go of you and reluctantly pushed the driver, still leaning against the elevator frame, to leave. He didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to you, something that seemed to upset Button quite a bit.

"Hello, is this Britta?" Jenson began, speaking into the phone. "Great, yes. It’s Jenson. I’m with Y/N, and she asked if you could help her," he started explaining. "I don’t know much about what happened, except that she’s not feeling well and needs help from someone she really trusts," he clarified.

After exchanging a few more words, Jenson led you back to the lobby, where Britta appeared just a few minutes later in a bathrobe, espadrilles, and her hair tied up in a completely unusual way. You had never seen Roeske like that, and all you could do was laugh.

"Come on, let’s go already," Britta said, linking her arm with yours as if you were two old ladies heading to bingo. "This is how I want to see you: laughing, not crying."

When Britta opened the door to her room, you immediately ran and threw yourself onto the bed. Your whole body hurt, and you weren’t sure if it was from the emotions of the night or because the alcohol was hitting its peak.

Whatever it was, you knew perfectly well that lying completely still, face up, and counting the total number of tiles on the ceiling, pointing at them one by one with one eye closed and your tongue sticking out was what was making your hostess laugh.

"Come on, Y/N, get up," Britta asked gently. "Do you mind if I help you get changed? It’s time to put on your pajamas."

You nodded as you sat up and moved to the foot of the bed.

Next, Britta unzipped the dress, and you noticed how she averted her gaze to give you some privacy while offering a nightgown.

"Right now, I’d love for Seb to be the one undressing me to fuck me. God... how I’d love Seb to make me scream now..."

Had you said that out loud?

"What did you just say?"

Britta’s muffled shout and the tone in which she asked, while turning her back without caring whether you had already put the garment on, making you realize that yes, you had said that out loud.

Your first time being drunk was going to be, definitely, a night to remember. Now, you just felt like saying those kinds of things, and you didn’t care at all about having a boyfriend… if he could even be called that.

"Oh…" you said, stretching the last syllable. "Didn’t you know it?"

"Know what?"

By the tone of voice, it seemed Britta thought it was related to the sudden thing you had said.

"Seb and I kissed," you told her, starting to laugh like a lovesick teen.

"This is the alcohol on you, I’m sure of it," Britta said, running to get a wet towel and starting to wipe it across your face. "You mean you and Nico kissed," she tried to correct you. "Seb is dating Hanna, and you’re dating Nico, remember?"

You started shaking your head constantly, about to collapse to the floor. A laugh started escaping you as you couldn’t control it.

"No, no, no, no," you denied while also wagging your finger. "Seb and I kissed. Nico’s an asshole."

"Y/N, you really should go to sleep, you’re not..."

"Of course I’m fine!" you said enthusiastically, getting up from the bed and standing in front of Britta.

The truth was that you only felt fine because of the effect alcohol was having on you. If it wasn’t for that, you would be crawling on the floor crying because you knew you had reached a point where you couldn’t pretend your life was perfect anymore.

"Do you really not believe me when I say that not only did Seb kiss me, but it was the best kiss of my life?"

You knew you were putting Britta in a tough spot, especially considering that the woman was probably closer friends with Hanna than with you.

"And Hanna?" Britta demanded to know. "Was she there, or had she left?"

"Oh, she was there?" you tried to pretend the best you could, using expressions that clearly showed otherwise. "I didn’t know..."

Before you could continue speaking, Britta ran to grab her phone and started making calls. You sat back down, crossing your legs and swaying while watching the blonde desperately cursing in German, since none of the contacts she called were answering.

It was possible that Seb and Hanna were busy, probably having sex. Your drunk self only wished she was in Hanna’s place.

"The only ones who tell the truth are kids and drunks, you know?"

Britta stared at you after those words. It seemed like you needed to say that phrase to make her believe you.

"Are you serious...?" Britta asked.

"What, Britta?" you insisted, urging her to speak.

"Did you really kiss Sebastian?"

You nodded.

"Yes," you confirmed. "Well, I mean, he was the one who took my face and kissed me," you corrected yourself. "Do I owe anyone something, like he owes Hanna?"

You were getting a bit defensive, and you knew it was making Britta nervous.

"Yes! You owe Nico, your boyfriend," Britta replied, giving you a harsh dose of reality.

"I don’t want Nico," you confessed. "At least, not in the way I think I should. He... I don’t know, Britta. I think he’s what I deserve. I try to understand why, but I know that his insults and those things he says to me make me a better person somehow."

You could see Britta go pale. Also, you were starting to feel worse; after all, it was the first time you had opened up about your feelings to someone since the journal Seb gifted you for your birthday last didn’t count as a personal therapist.

Britta usually had words for everything, but that day, you seemed to have left her speechless.

"Y/N..." Britta began, carefully choosing her words. "You’re a good person. You’re just scared."

"Maybe," you replied, trying not to make it a big deal. "And you, are you scared?"

"Of course. Everyone’s afraid of something."

"I’m afraid of being alone," you admitted, lowering your head because you were starting to cry again for the umpteenth time that day. "And I’m afraid of losing Nico. I know no one will ever love me, not better or worse, than he does."

Britta didn’t know what to say, and you felt bad for having to be in her room, drunk, sad, while your “friend” was putting up with you, possibly mediating between her client and her client’s partner.

That’s why you made a move to leave. Fortunately, Britta wouldn’t let you.

"Sit down, Y/N, and let it all out," Britta demanded.

And that’s exactly what you did. You told Britta everything, not just about what had happened since you started dating your current boyfriend, but about your entire life. Living with a mentally sick mother after her accident, her subsequent suicide, their move to Barcelona. Her father’s cancer and how it had worsened in less than two years. All the things Rosberg had said and done to you, even forcing you to do certain stuff you were clearly uncomfortable with.

You cried like you never had before when you told Britta about your first time, reluctantly, on a luxury yacht in Monaco’s seas, and how it gave you nightmares almost every night to the point where she was scared to fall asleep.

You could tell that Britta was truly worried when you started biting your lower lip, and a little tic appeared in your right eye.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"Do you know I’m not Hanna, and I’ll never be her?"

You were fully aware that you had just avoided answering a crucial question, but you didn’t care at all. You were tired of talking about your burdens and your current life; from now on, you would focus entirely on your future and try to solve and finish once and for all all the problems that made your life a mess.

"But what are you saying, Y/N?" Britta asked, desperate.

"That’s exactly what I would have liked to ask Seb, but he left and Nico messed things up," you revealed, stretching your arms out and pointing to the marks, now red, that were the same shape and size as Mercedes’ driver’s fingers. "Great, yeah," you said ironically.

"But..."

"Do you think if I’m not Hanna, and I’ll never be her, I might have a chance to date Seb?"

Your question left Britta speechless again, unable to find the words. As Britta struggled to speak, you started playing with your fingers. Giving up, you laid on the bed, your back to Britta, clutching a pillow with the clear intention of falling asleep.

"Why are you telling me this?" Britta asked in a whisper, almost with... pity.

"Because I want Seb," you revealed, letting out a sob because, at last, you had been able to confront and reveal your confusing feelings for a guy who didn’t love you, and never would. "I’m in love with Seb, and it hurts knowing he’ll never love me back, and I know I’ll have to move on sooner or later."

Britta was about to speak, but you took the words from her before she could.

"Before you say anything else, take advantage of me and ask me anything you want: I’m a bit drunk because I’m not used to drinking."

You could tell Britta sighed, likely having lost all patience with you.

"You know... you know that Seb...?"

But then Britta stopped talking. You stood there for a while, staring at the red curtains that covered the window, waiting for the woman to continue. When she didn’t, you turned around:

"You know exactly what about Seb, Britta?" you asked, adjusting yourself on the bed, still hugging the pillow.

"Seb and you need to talk," Britta told you, leaving you speechless. "And when you do that, I’m convinced that you’re going to live the life you both deserve."

"But..."

Britta started to lie you down on the bed again, tucking you in under the linen sheets. Your yawns became more frequent, and after she kissed your forehead just like her mother used to do before your life was destroyed, your eyelids grew heavy.

"I know you won’t remember this tomorrow," Britta’s voice flooded your ears as you curled up into yourself. "But, to Seb, it’s more than obvious that you’re not Hanna and you’ll never be… And that’s exactly why that stupid, but incredible guy, has fallen truly, madly, deeply, in love with you."

You couldn’t tell if Britta’s words were already a dream, or if Morpheus was pulling you into his arms. 

"The day you stop doubting your worth, the world will be at your feet, Y/N. Sebastian has been telling me that and his closest people since you two spent the night together the day before his maiden win in Monza."

[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.

[blubffsd]

— WORLDS COLLIDE PT. 3

summary: The lie you believed your whole life just fell apart, the person you loved the most let you down once again. Why did you think this time would be different?

previous chapter

note: i really don't know what song to recommend for this part, just play your favorite sad song lol. please pretend that on social media it says "Mia" instead of Y/N, i edited it like 3 times and it never saved so i gave up.

@http-isabela love u 😚💞

Indignation.

That's what Mia feels now.

She has a hard time believing what she sees, but unfortunately it is real.

They backstabbed her in front of miles of people.

It wasn't until she arrived in Argentina that she found out about their tweets, all thanks to Anto, who had found out from Jorgelina Cardoso, Di Maria's wife.

After Mia found out, the players of the Argentina team found out too, Lio told them what happened after Anto told him.

Most are completely outraged by the audacity of her brother-in-law and his wife to make such comments.

All of them are still euphoric for having become world champions less than 2 days ago, and even more so now that they are waiting in Ezeiza to celebrate with the Argentines at the Obelisk.

So right now they do and say things that they wouldn't do at another time.

And Mia too.

Will she regret of this? Yeah.

Does she care now? No.

Obviously people suspect that the tweets are for Melissa and Jirès (especially those of Enzo and Julián).

If Kylian and Mia's names was a trend before, now there are even newspaper articles speculating what happened between them.

And as if that weren't enough, now she has his boyfriend's fans attacking her on twitter, just like when he said he's dating her.

Jirès even had the audacity to reply to her tweet.

Mia knows she were wrong a lot, but is all that necessary?

It's okay that they're mad at her and she understand it. But why increase the hate she is getting?

Why are they treating her like this if two days ago they had dinner with her and told her how grateful they are to have her in their lives?

Did they lie to her or were her attitudes so bad that they changed their opinion drastically?

Even if it hurts Mia keeps seeing the tweets out there about all the drama.

Wonderful.

Now they are relating the songs of her favorite singer with her love dramas.

THEY EVEN MAKE A PLAYLIST. (it's real btw)

Mia lets out a laugh when she saw the songs they chose to "cry over your divorce".

At least they are not criticizing her or judging her actions.

It doesn't make Mia feels better, but she doesn't feel worse. That's okay.

She wants to believe that's okay.

Mia arrives at her father's house hours after arriving in Argentina.

Anto insisted so much that she stays with her and the children but Mia refused, she needs to talk to her dad, she miss him so much.

Mia knocks on the door of the house while she sees the Argentine flag hanging.

Her father opens the door for her in a matter of seconds and when he sees her he smiles and hugs her.

Mia smiled slightly as she felt his arms around her.

It feels good to hug him again. And that he is the one who took the initiative makes her happy.

Although deep down in her heart she knows that he is hugging her because Argentina won the World Cup and not because she came home after 5 years.

He invites her in and she enter his house.

Everything in the house was the same as when she left, but it felt different.

—Sentate si querés (Sit down if you want) –he says pointing to the couch in front of Mia.

She nods and sit back watching him do the same.

There is an awkward silence between the two of them until Mia speak.

—Y... ¿cómo andás? (So... how are you?) –her father turns to look at her and smiles widely.

He's going to talk about football.

—Estoy re bien, hija. Me siento tan feliz, nunca me había sentido así en mi vida, te lo juro. (I'm fine, daughter. I feel so happy, I have never felt like this in my life, I swear.)

He doesn't have to swear for Mia to believe him, she knows he's not lying. He was never this happy.

—Qué alegría, pa. (What a joy, dad) –she smiles slightly not knowing what else to say.

Mia wish she were as happy as her dad, but she can't knowing what she did.

She can't get Kylian out of her mind and how he must be now, a few hours away from his birthday.

She knows she have to explain everything to him but she doesn't have the courage to do it.

What excuse could she make for having abandoned him after not having achieved what he dreamed of all his life?

Mia comes back to reality when she feels her dad's touch on her shoulder.

—¿Eh? ¿Qué pasó, pa? ¿Me dijiste algo? (What happened, dad? Did you say something?)

She hears her dad laugh and sees how he shakes his head.

—Te pregunté qué dice tu noviecito por haber perdido (I asked you what "that guy" you're dating thinks about losing) –a mocking smile appears on his face.

"That guy you're dating"? Is that the way he intends to name her boyfriend?

—No sé, todavía no hablé con él. (I don't, I didn't talk with him yet).

—¿No quiere hablar con vos todavía después de haber perdido? Qué idiota. ¿Cómo se llama? ¿Kyle? ¿Kylan? (He doesn't want to talk to you after losing? What a idiot. What's his name? Kyle? Kylan?)

The mocking smile doesn't leave her father's face and that can't bother Mia anymore.

He doesn't even know his name.

—No es ningún idiota y su nombre es Kylian. Me sorprende que no sepas el nombre de mi novio, con quien estoy hace 4 años. (He's not an idiot and his name is Kylian. I'm surprised you don't know the name of the guy I've been in a relationship with for 4 years.)

Her father laughs mocking Mia's words.

—Kylian, nombre de perdedor en las finales (Kylian, name of a loser in the World Cup finals) –he laugh again.

Mia frowns. He's acting like her boyfriend hasn't hattrick or won a world cup yet.

He's trying to humiliate Kylian and she is not going to allow it.

—Te recuerdo que "ese perdedor" ya ganó un mundial y en su primer intento, y también casi gana su segundo mundial por su cuenta (I remind you that "that loser" has already won a World Cup and in his first attempt, and he also almost won his second World Cup on his own).

Now her father is the one who frowns, surprised by her words.

—Dejá de defender a ese tarado, ese chico no vale la pena, te lo dije millones de veces. Estás haciendo lo mismo que hiciste en 2018. (Stop defending that dumb guy, that boy is not worth it, I told you millions of times. You're doing the same thing you did in 2018.)

Mia takes a deep breath trying to calm down, what is happening cannot be real.

—Te hacías la que querías que ganáramos nosotros para que acá en los medios de comunicación no te dijeran nada, pero seguramente querías que gane ese estúpido que tenés por novio. Y sí, no querías que te pase lo mismo que en 2018, que lo apoyaste a él cuando estaba jugando contra tu país y me hiciste quedar como un tarado. Me traicionaste y me dejaste de lado por tu novio, lo elegiste antes que a mí y no tuviste ni un poco de consideración conmigo (You pretended that you wanted us to win so that here in the media they wouldn't tell you anything, but surely you wanted that stupid boyfriend of yours to win. Of course, you didn't want the same thing to happen to you as in 2018, that you supported him when he was playing against your country and you made me look like a stupid. You betrayed me and dumped me for your boyfriend, you chose him over me and you didn't have one bit of consideration for me).

Mia can't believe what she is hearing.

—Ese chico te va a dejar por la primera chica que encuentre, no sé cómo duró tanto con vos. Todos los futbolistas son iguales. No me sorprendería si me decís que prefiere el fútbol antes que a vos (That boy is going to leave you for the first girl he finds, I don't know how he lasted so long with you. All footballers are the same. I wouldn't be surprised if you tell me that he prefers football over you).

That was the last straw.

—Entonces estás diciendo que Kylian va a hacerle lo mismo que vos me hiciste a mí (So you're saying that Kylian is going to do the same thing to me that you did to me?)

Mia feels her dad's stunned look and her let out a sarcastic laugh.

—Según vos él va a elegir el fútbol antes que a mí ¿no? Y me estás advirtiendo. Qué considerado, no querés que pase por lo mismo que me hiciste pasar vos (According to you, he is going to choose football before me, right? And you're warning me. How thoughtful, you don't want me to go through the same thing you put me through).

Her dad gets up from the couch completely angry.

—¿Qué decís, nena? Si a vos te di todo lo que pude para que no te faltara nada (What do you say? If I gave you everything I could so that you didn't lack anything).

Mia sighed completely frustrated, he doesn't get it.

Obviously he doesn't get it.

—Ya sé y te lo agradezco. Pero siempre hubo algo más importante que yo, no te importaba qué pasaba conmigo ni nada, nunca fui tu prioridad (I know and thank you for that. But there was always something more important than me, you didn't care what happened to me or anything, I was never your priority).

She feels how a lump forms in her throat and tears appear in her eyes.

Her father keeps glaring at her in front of her, as if she just insulted him.

—Siempre había un partido más importante que mi cumpleaños, una práctica más importante que mi graduación. Cuando nací mamá me dijo que te quejaste porque tenías que jugar un partido ese fin de semana y no ibas a poder por tener que cuidarme a mí. Y tenés el descaro de venir a advertirme de Kylian. (There was always a game more important than my birthday, a practice more important than my graduation. When I was born, mom told me that you complained because you had to play a game that weekend and you couldn't make it because you had to take care of me. And you have the nerve to come warn me about Kylian).

Her father does not take his eyes off her.

—Bueno, y decime entonces, ¿dónde está tu noviecito ahora? ¿Te buscó o algo por lo menos o no le importas lo suficiente como para querer saber dónde estás? (Well, and tell me then, where is your boyfriend now? Did he look for you or something at least or does he not care enough to want to know where you are?).

That hurt Mia.

Kylian hasn't called her.

But she didn't call him either and she should have.

—Él al menos no me llamó gritándome que soy una traidora, que no merezco vivir y que dejé de existir para él como tú lo hiciste (He at least didn't call me yelling that I'm a traitor, that I don't deserve to live and that I ceased to exist for him like you did).

There isn't a single hint of regret on his face, her father looks at her seriously, as if telling her that if he had to do it again, he would.

—Estabas apoyando al enemigo (You were supporting the enemy).

Mia remember Hiba's words to her during the match.

"You're wearing Kylian's jersey and sitting next to his family as you clap for the enemy."

This whole situation is so similar to 2018 but feels so different.

—Kylian necesitaba mi apoyo y estuve ahí para él. (Kylian needed my support and I was there for him).

Her father laughs sarcastically.

—¿Y por qué estás acá conmigo y no con él? Si él tanto te necesita (And why are you here with me and not with him? If he needs you so much).

Mia looks at her dad and then at her bags.

He's right, for the first time since she were born.

Why is she there with him if the one who really deserves to talk to her is Kylian?

Why did she think her dad would change this time?

Why is she there with him and not with Kylian? How could she get so carried away?

Mia takes her bags under the stupefied look of her dad and take one last look at his house.

The walls still have the same photos of her dad when he played football, it makes Mia a little sad to remember when she asked him why he hasn't photos of her there.

"It's just that I don't care enough about you".

After saying it, he laughed, implying that it was a joke.

Mia opens the door and walk out of her dad's house.

Maybe it wasn't after all.

note: HELLOWODOWODO

taglist: @nightlockcornucopia @melliflulu @mad-die45 @bifici @woozarts @neymarsrealgf @meanwhilesomewhereelse @psgkm7 @matthiashelvarsgf @krillfromsky @ashley-leclerc @mxgvmiii @like3dbypierregasly @httpspedri26 @aerangi @berryhtrs @lena-03 @gash167 @claaau5 @notanenthucutlet @okayline @noodle81937

[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

[jabeur]

don't you think focusing on the transphobia of one word takes away from the problem which is racism?

hi! thanks for sending me this i wanna assume you're in good faith and i'm always glad to talk about this stuff when that's the case

i see where you're coming from. yes, the main issue with that chant is the racism and more precisely the antiblackness, there's no doubt about it. that said no, i don't think talking about the transphobia also very much present in said chants takes anything away from it. i'm not focusing solely on the transphobia (does it seem like i am? genuine question!) i just wanted to talk about it bc i've seen it brushed over or called with the wrong names when i think it's so so important to learn to recognize transphobia and call it for what it is, and DOUBLE SO with transmisogyny specifically. that word the argentine players used is specifically meant to target trans women and what's worse and what makes it even more important to call out this aspect of the chat is that it targets one specific trans woman. sure, she's not named, and i think in the end the rumor that they were dating wasn't even true, but it's incredibly obvious they're talking about mbappé's rumored ex trans gf ("cometravas like mbappé") and god knows that woman got a shit ton of hate when the rumors came out so it's genuinely dangerous to bring that back up again in such a malicious way.

i also take issue with your wording of "the transphobia of one word" that sounds reductive to me. it's not about one word it's about everything that there's behind it, which is that a cis person (especially a cis man) being attracted to a trans person (especially a trans woman) is seen as shocking and shameful bc we are not seen as people.

basically, i think the transmisogyny of that chant is important to talk about, which doesn't mean talking about the antiblackness any less, and as a trans person i wanted to start the conversation. also, it just made me feel deeply uncomfortable and i needed to get it out of my system, even if no one were to see the post. again, talking about one thing doesn't mean i'm not focusing on the other. hope my answer's clear!

[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

[dnangelic]

tsun tell me abt the wings but like how they work in UR writing

OH BOY.... THE WINGS META..... i mean i've mostly been winging it (lol) myself so i don't think i'll end up with huge paras upon paras of info (lying, i know how i can get,) but sure lets go!! before i lay anything of my own out i'll do canon the favor of itself; in canon usually wiz serves as dark's wings and carries him or daisuke around, but dark also has his own set that can appear/disappear (furl/unfurl) at will as long as dark himself isn't low on (magical) power. (why else would he even be called the black wings right-) there's also the matter of daisuke manifesting dark's wings from his own body all on his own, which, when using the 'wrong emotion,' (negative ones such as hate, fury or sorrow,) becomes actively detrimental to him. within dnangel, magic (and likewise, the case of dark's wings,) will always be a) something within a realm that ordinary human beings should not be capable of (aka "something that should not exist") as well as b) something that, at least in regards to hikari artworks, manifests from powerful human emotions. the wings, if not krad and dark for the hikari and niwa, are both proofs of their respective 'sins' - the hikari for playing god as artists, the niwa for being thieves.

that all being said, i don't usually bring wiz in as an npc to threads just because i don't want them to get too long. in canon wiz is aaaaaalways with or around daisuke. ALWAYS. that's his pet, his best friend, his cute lil obligatory magical girl mascot, wiz who hates water but braves it anyways over and over for daisuke's sake, wiz who always saves him and gets him out of all sorts of pinches!! i'll bring wiz in often for heist situations because it's there he's often truly a necessity, but dark having his own wings means wiz's involvement isn't always necessary for everything. dark/daisuke's own wings > wiz in regards to rate of appearance when i write to save myself and my partners some sanity.

frequency aside, the wings are also Actual Limbs. like. those are Physically Attached, sensations can be felt through them, and they can be cut, wounded, or torn off- hence dark's feathers shedding everywhere all the time and needing to be cleaned up. sugisaki messes around with the wings' physicality a lot because the back of daisuke's shirt isn't usually blown wide open, (more often than not they just kind of magically manifest out of thin air) but she's also had hiwatari's shirt rip and tear from manifesting his wings + daisuke outright bleed from trying to manifest his during argentine arc, and i think the process of Actually Gaining Limbs and growing feathers adds a fun dash of body horror that the series does pretty well with sometimes. when you really stop and think about it, the wings, or rather the process of a 15 yr old's body straight up Changing Like That (alongside, yknow, the other inhuman/monster-y bits like the eyes/teeth/claws,) is genuinely Pretty Horrifying if not at the very least bizarre, but it suits dark well as a (gothic) curse and brings him and daisuke closer overall to the beauty and beast thematic. it's freaky. it's weird. it's fun. normal ppl would be screaming.

daisuke also usually has no usual visible evidence of dark's wings; there aren't any thin slits hiding feathers (so even if you're like riku and scan or run your hand along his back, nothing in particular beyond a lot of faint, assorted scars show up,) but those spaces are there on dark's body when his wings aren't unfurled. (i'll give the anime credit for one thing and that's giving dark's shirts open holes for his wings to go through in concept art. i also think an outfit that has zippers on the back like this is awesome LMAOO) daisuke's also clumsier with his wings than dark is!! which means they'll often flap or flail around in response to his emotions on instinct compared to the way they might normally just smoothly lift, lower, or puff (angy) with dark --- when dai's unfocused and/or panicking that ditziness of his very often translates to Things Breaking all over the place because he can't help but run around and accidentally slap things everywhere. bird stuck in a closed room behavior. he's a danger and a menace indoors to all things fragile but it's all completely unintentional 😂

despite this daisuke also gets phantom limb syndrome very often!!! going from all that wing-weight to suddenly being without it makes him feel strange and overly light/floaty sometimes, which is why when he's particularly restless but doesn't have a heist scheduled, he'll often go on a night flight with dark to calm himself down. he does like flying. he does love his freedom, the moon and the stars and a quiet night. he does, at the bottom line, like being dark and the elation a nighttime flight brings him- he just needs a space like that where his intense social anxiety (or dark's own easily recognized fame/infamy) won't get in the way of his own existence, and it doesn't matter 'who' he is.

using jurassic park logic here (lmao) but assuming he flies as fast as a pterodactyl, (aka a rough equivalent body measure for human beings,) then he's around a steady 60 mph in the air - dark can go from azumano to tokyo in maybe an hour, which he can and will do if he's bored and/or just feels like visiting someone. dark's feathers have a rough and coarse look to them and are more or less pitch black, but when you feel them, they're actually pillowy soft and smooth (even the feathers are tsundere,) and give off a really nice reflective shimmer. given the magic that courses through daisuke's blood, it's possible to imbue some of dark's own power into them, (this is only really useful in verses where dark can actually readily do this without worry over detriment to daisuke's body,) but even if left alone to naturally shed, there'll still be very, very faint traces of the tiniest fraction of the kokuyoku's magic left on them. i figure i should also say that while you can brush/pet/touch his wings or something, dark/dai won't really feel it, or if they do it might just tickle or bother them, so it might not be as intimate as anyone imagines. stick to petting dark gently on the head like a bird he loves that.

i have no idea if i'm missing anything atp?? things i take from canon are daisuke hurting himself if he tries to force dark's wings out and if he ever connects to dark through negative emotion; also too much transforming exhausts him and his body, his heart can only pound for so much / he can only fly for so long before he just straight up gets tired and needs a nap regardless of what appearance he's stuck with. anyways what rlly matters is his wings are pretty af. free my boy let him do all the crime he wants, because hes special and got them gorgeous black fallen angel wings. he deserves it. its his right

[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. 

[schulott]

on principle i hate doing opinion text posts on tumblr because it clogs the tag and no one cares, but i just want to organise my thoughts a little re: the JHR mess at Long Beach. It’s long, and under the cut:

JHR called a bad race

That is the root cause of how the races for both drivers turned out. Pitting and releasing Callum into the path of Canapino in the #78 without clueing Callum in on the situation, nor telling #78 that Helio was not on the lead lap both led to the incident that put the #78 out of the race. The Argentine commentary incited the abuse

On a level you could understand Canapino’s frustration (without knowing Callum was given no info by the team), but the commentator (Martin Ponte) who is supposed to be watching the race, knows how racing works and the driver has little to no input on strategy and pitstops, and have a clue of what’s going on just decided to call on air that Callum is the enemy of the whole of Argentina. Because of something that is of no fault of his own.

Ponte “apologised” on Twitter afterwards, but it was along the lines of “I did not mean to cause hatred and if it is taken this way I apologise”. Which, non-apology really. Callum bore the brunt of the abuse - directly or indirectly

The fact that Callum felt the need to address it at all just about tells you how bad the abuse was. Even if the team’s accounts were on the receiving end of the vitriol, the root cause is the same - they are convinced Callum screwed over his teammate (and the team let it happen, or whatever).

Ricardo Juncos did speak with a journalist to clarify that Callum was not given the information, but even then, the reaction under that tweet was along the lines of it being a weak excuse to help Callum, or that of course JHR would not say a bad word about their number 1 driver. JHR’s silence and obfuscation

Get this - Callum addressed the abuse soon after the race. Even Indycar came out with a statement on Monday addressing the social media mess after Long Beach.

JHR only came out with a post within the last hour or two (on Tuesday after the race) well after everything happened. There is no excuse to such a delay in taking on the very visible storm on social media, that you come out with something well after your driver and the racing series itself said something. It is well overdue.

When you dig into the statement though, it gets more problematic.

It talks about “drivers and the team” receiving abuse. The bulk of the abuse was at Callum, directly. If those comments are found on JHR’s accounts, the target is still Callum. Or along the lines of it’s the team’s fault that Callum is at JHR. Is the “drivers and the team” in the room with us? Call a spade a spade, it is not that hard.

The statement talks about the drivers respecting each other and then goes straight to them in a sport where split second decisions make or break weekends, and they learn, forgive and forget. How does this read to you? My read is this - it did nothing to dispel the misguided belief that Callum was at fault for something the team screwed up, and somehow Callum is to be forgiven. Since, you and I know, the genesis of this statement was the reaction to a situation where the Argentine fanbase believed Callum screwed Canapino over.

Sure, there are things to forgive and forget. Both drivers can “forgive and forget” for whatever happened in the strategy box and on the engineering stand that got us here. But only Callum has the perogative to forgive all the abuse he got.

It is disingenuous to obfuscate the failings as a team on the strategy side with the online abuse that was hurled Callum’s way and then wrap it all up and say we learn, forgive and forget.

Then Ricardo Juncos goes and tells a Motorsport.com journalist that Callum does not understand the passion of Argentine fans which drove the reaction on social media. Bear in mind that Callum got a lot of death threats. Can you really handwave that away as passion? The long term deal, in fact, is just for 2023

Just some final thoughts - Callum was extended on a “multi-year” contract last year when the big teams start coming knocking. However, it emerged that it in fact is only for the 2023 season. I would entirely avoid the discussion on whether Callum enabled the team to grow since they started together in 2021 on his own with no teammates to help him, but I hope the bigger teams are back in for him this year, and that this incident opens his eyes to seriously consider moving on. Cause, as this turn of events tell us, the team does not really have his back.