#I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling very okay at the moment.

[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.”

[pathologicalreid]

falling flat | s.r.

in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to the reaper, car trouble, blood, tetanus vaccine, kindergarten teacher!reader, flirting, protective!spencer, takes place following 5x22 "the internet is forever", hastily edited word count: 1.87k a/n: rahhhh an old prompt from may 2024 that ended up working for a margovember request rahhh.

The absolute last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a flat tire. You weren’t entirely helpless until your tire jack broke, sending metal flying everywhere and cutting your hand open.

You slumped down next to your car, pulling your phone from your pocket before calling the first people you could think of. Every single one of them ended up going to voicemail. Some of them didn’t even let it get past the first ring before declining your call—traitors.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you thought of Spencer. He had a PhD in engineering, but you weren’t entirely sure that would come in handy in this instance. It was late, almost midnight, and you weren’t even sure he’d answer.

At this point, what choice did you have?

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.” 

[vamptizm]

PRETTY LIKE A PRINCESS — p. bueckers

pairing : paige bueckers x fem!reader

synopsis : you’re having a bad day and paige asks to do your makeup for you

warnings : none

word count : 600 (very short sorry)

note : are u guys okay with the small writing size or should i change it to the regular one so that everyone can read it easily?

“Let me do your makeup.” You heard from her familiar voice from where u sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the large mirror that you had been too lazy to hang up yet.

You didn’t have to be anywhere. Quite the opposite. It was a stay at home day but you couldn’t help but want to do something nice for yourself. Doing your makeup wasn’t something solely reserved for outings, it was a form of expression and art to you— something that never failed to cheer you up when having a bad day. And that’s exactly what today was. A bad day.

It had started with you not getting enough sleep on your only day off of the week, while Paige peaceful slept beside you like a baby, the soft snores and her even breathing pattern almost taunting you as you rolled over for the umpteenth time.

Then it continued with your comfort character dying in—according to you— the most unnecessary way possible. It didn’t take much for your mood to sink, the slightest inconvenience was usually enough.

“You wanna do my makeup?” You repeated with a raised brow, almost as if unsure whether you had heard her right or not.

“Well, that’s what I just said, isn’t it?” The blonde grinned from her spot, back leaned against your bed frame and her arms behind her head, unintentionally flexing those arm muscles that pushed you closer to the edge of insanity daily.

You could perfectly see her from the reflection in the mirror, but still you craned your neck to shoot her a look. “Don’t get smart with me, Goldilocks. I’m not the one today.”

That had managed to emit a full chuckle from your girlfriend, arms falling back to her sides as she straightened up. “C’mon, baby, please. You don’t trust me?”

“Now you’re just making me sound bad.” You rolled your eyes with sigh, though not truly annoyed. If anything, the thought of it made you feel somewhat giddy. But you wouldn’t admit that. “Okay… fine.”

And that’s how you ended up sitting on the bed, cross-legged once again as you faced Paige. She started out by finishing the base that you had started, but before you knew it, you already felt her hands snaking around your hips, swiftly pulling you into her lap.

“Much better, baby.” She mumbled, a faint smirk on her face as she adjusted you on top of her.

All you could do was look down at the girl, silently watching as her warm hands left and found your face repeatedly. occasionally cradling it for longer than needed, gently tilting it to the side as if you’d break any moment. All that and more, had you fighting for dear life to bite back a smile.

“All done, baby.” Paige spoke again, finally breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you, her eyes gleaming in adoration and awe. Her hands instinctively found their way to your waist, holding you almost as if to steady you. “Pretty like a princess.”

Your heart warmed at her words, a rosy hue creeping onto your cheeks and you couldn’t help but eventually crack a smile at the girl. The affect she had on you, was anything short of healing and comforting. You tilted your head forward slightly, hands snaking up to delicately cup her face before you placed a soft, lingering kiss on her lips as she looked up at you.

A bright smile formed on her face, lighting her entire face up and you could’ve sworn that right then and there, you fell in love with Paige all over again, as if it had been the first time.

[piastrisun]

unexpected confession.

pairings: lando norris + fem reader.

summary: as the elevator stalls, so does your composure. lando’s sudden, earnest words turn the trapped moment into a delicate dance between panic and possibility.

genre: fluff.⠀word count: 1k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: lando’s birthday!!! a bit short but i hope y’all like it. <3 no use of y/n or any names at all.

you and lando are standing in the elevator, the air uncomfortably still, and the space around you both feels too small. the elevator’s hum seems louder now, echoing in the confined space. the flickering light above does little to calm the rising tension between you two, as your body instinctively shifts to press against the corner.

you’ve never thought much about how close you are to each other—how every small movement feels amplified in this moment. it's as if your very proximity makes the silence heavier. your mind races, trying to distract itself from the fact that you're alone in an elevator, stuck for what feels like forever. it should be mundane, but with lando here, everything suddenly feels too intense.

and then, he breaks the stillness, his voice barely above a whisper but loud enough to shake you out of your thoughts. "i don’t want to die without telling you this."

your heart skips a beat, and a chill runs down your spine. the sudden panic floods you, and you whip your head to face him, your eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. “what?! what are you talking about? are we—are we dying?”

his face goes pale as he stammers, looking more flustered than you've ever seen him. his hands hover over the elevator buttons as though he can fix the situation with the press of a few keys. “no! no, of course not… well, i mean, i don’t think so. but listen, it’s important.” he avoids your gaze, the nervous energy practically crackling between you.

you let out a shaky, almost panicked laugh, trying to control the rapid beat of your heart. “lando, this is not the time for dramatic confessions! you’re freaking me out!”

he shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dart around the elevator. you can tell he’s struggling to keep it together, his body stiff with the weight of whatever he's about to say. “i love you. i always have. and i’m sorry for not saying it sooner.”

you freeze, your body going rigid. the words land with such weight that you can’t process them fast enough. your jaw falls open, and your mouth feels dry as you blink a few times, as if trying to clear the fog in your brain. "wait, what? you love me? you’ve… always loved me?" you can’t quite wrap your mind around it, your voice coming out in a whisper, disbelief taking over. your hands tremble, and your heart is pounding so hard you swear he can hear it. "are you—are you serious right now? do you think we’re going to die in this elevator?"

“no! no, i don’t think we’re dying! i mean, not right now.” lando sighs dramatically, dropping his shoulders in exasperation as he leans back against the elevator wall, seemingly giving up on fixing anything. “but… look, i just needed to say it, okay? i didn’t want to leave with it unsaid. so, if we do die, well… at least you know.”

his words hang in the air like a strange confession, one that doesn't quite make sense given the circumstances. but even then, a knot of warmth stirs in your chest, a strange mix of emotions you’re not ready to confront.

you step back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest as if trying to shield yourself from what’s happening. you narrow your eyes at him, your lips curling into a teasing frown. “so, this is your plan? we get stuck in an elevator for five minutes and suddenly you’ve decided to unload your feelings?”

he groans, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. he slumps against the wall, letting out a breath like he's trying to deflate from the awkwardness. “this wasn’t exactly the moment i planned, okay? but i’ve been holding it in for years, and if you do kill me with that glare, at least i’ll go knowing i said it.”

you bite back a smile, your eyes narrowing in mock judgment. you raise an eyebrow as you lean toward him. “glare? i’m just trying to process this. you’ve have fancied me all this time, and you never said anything?”

his shoulders tense, and he rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as if searching for some way to escape. “i wasn’t sure if you felt the same. i thought maybe you’d think i was, i don’t know, creepy or something.” his voice cracks slightly, a nervous chuckle escaping him. he looks down at his shoes, his embarrassment clear. “but now here we are. stuck in this tiny box together, one awkward cough away from the end of our lives…”

you can’t help but laugh, the sound light and a little shaky as you step forward, your lips curling into a playful smirk. “well, lucky for you, i don’t think you’re creepy. and maybe… just maybe… i’ve had a few feelings too.”

his eyes widen, his mouth slightly agape, disbelief written all over his face. his voice falters for a moment, but it’s full of hope. “wait, what?!”

you laugh softly, the playful edge to your voice not masking the sudden warmth in your chest. "you think i’m just going to throw myself at you after you drop that bomb? i’m not that easy, lando."

his eyes light up, his expression shifting from surprise to sheer delight. he takes a step closer, his grin impossibly wide as he leans in, his voice filled with teasing excitement. “oh, really? because if we do get stuck here a little longer, i can think of a few ways to pass the time…” his gaze flickers down to your lips before meeting your eyes again, mischievous and full of playful challenge.

you roll your eyes dramatically, trying to maintain some semblance of control over your emotions, but the smile you can’t hide betrays you. "you’re unbelievable."

lando shrugs, his grin growing even wider as he leans back, arms crossing in mock defense. his eyes dance with a mix of humor and genuine affection. "i do try."

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[planetpedri]

The story of us — Lamine Yamal.

Pairing: Lamine Yamal x Flick!Reader

Summary: When you and Lamine first met, it was because of a simple mistake. It was sweet and cute, and now you were faced with the task of telling your father about your relationship, or, well, convincing Lamine to agree to it.

Word count: 1.6k+

Disclaimer/s: Outfit read is wearing is in the first pic! Fluff , reader is Hansi Flick’s daughter , teasing , banter , ect.

A/N: Hi! So i’m unfortunately obsessed with the coaches daughter trope. This is ESPECIALLY dedicated to 2/3 @halfwayhearted and 1/3 dedicated to @sakashq . I love you both. Sorry that I gave you towards the end..

When your dad said dress formally… he wasn’t very specific. A dozen dresses and skirts laid out on your bed, each one a different level ranging from casual to fancy. Exhaling a long, annoyed breath, you tap your foot against the wooden floorboard.

Your door clicking open had you groaning. “Dad—“

“This is not.. the bathroom.” A boy’s voice says slowly. Whipping around you are met with a tall, dark, and.. oh lord he was cute.

Your eyebrow lifts teasingly. “Really? What was your first clue?” She recognized him—Lamine. You had known the names of every single Barcelona player, your father made sure of that.

The boy laughs lightly, his head dipping down as a light blush spreads across his cheeks. “Funny.. So—” He trails off, his eyes trailing over the clothes spread across your bed.

“Hold on! I’ll give you directions to the bathroom, but first,“ You step aside, “help me pick? I’m having a bit of trouble choosing.”

Lamine meets your eyes, silently asking for permission to take a closer look. You give him a short nod, your lip curling slightly. He takes a few steps forward, standing at your side and thinks for a moment, taking a few glances at you. “You’re wearing silver jewelry?”

You hum, “yup!”

“Then, the pink top with the white skirt.” He nods to himself. as if to assure himself of the choice.

“Perfect.” You clap your hands together. Grabbing the set, you turn towards him. “Bathroom is literally two doors back, on the left side.”

Lamine laughs, “I overshot?”

“Yes, Lamine, you did.”

His name leaving your lips not only had a weird feeling growing in his stomach, it also had his eyebrows pulling together. “You know my name?”

Your eyes move from side to side, “uh… yeah? My dad is about to be your coach, is he not?”

Lamine stumbles over his words, “well—I—okay. True. He never told us your name, though.” He cocks his head to the side with a grin.

You tell him your name and he tests it out on his tongue, hating the way he loved how it rolled off so easily. “That’s a cool name.” Lamine internally slaps himself. Cool? Seriously?

You clasp a hand over your mouth, hiding the smile that almost accompanied a laugh at the painful look that crossed his face. Removing your hand, you nudge your head to the door. “Bathroom?”

His eyes widen, “uh, yep! Yeah, thank you! Again.”

“You didn’t thank me the first time.”

“Right.”

Lamine gives you two thumbs up, his nervous smile falling instantly. A small giggle bubbles in your throat and he takes that as his cue to leave, fast.

When you finish dressing, you slip on your small heels and exit your bedroom. The dining room was packed full of people when you arrived, taking you a bit by surprise. While you searched the room for your parents, your sisters hadn’t come, too busy with their lives and leaving you all alone—you stumble into the back of someone.

“Oh shit—“ You hiss, “i’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” the mans voice was familiar, as if you heard it only ten minutes ago.

Great.

“Wow! Humiliating ourselves in front of each other twice in ten minutes, good for us.” You pat his shoulder, eyes drifting to the people beside him who were observing the two of you curiously.

Héctor Fort, Alejandro Balde, and Pau Cubarsí. Wow! You just humiliated yourself in front of so many people. Great going.

“Uh, this is Flick’s daughter.” Lamine explains, “long story. Don’t ask.” He adds when he received more questioning looks.

You give them a short wave, introducing yourself. They do the same, although you didn’t need them to. “It was nice to meet you all, but I better go find my dad!”

Scurrying off, you approach your dad. “I just absolutely embarrassed myself in front of so many people. Remind me again just why I had to attend?”

Hansi looks down in your direction, “we already talked about this. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad—where is your mother?”

Huffing, you nod your head in her direction. “Talking to one of the wives.”

“Perfect, now.. go converse.” He waves you in a random direction, “just have fun. Okay?”

“Fun?” You grumble as he places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Fun.” He nods, walking off to find his wife.

When the dinner was finally over and you’d exhausted yourself with bare minimum conversations, you make your way toward the balcony that overlooked your back lawn. The cool night air brushed against your shoulders.

Letting out a long breath, your eyes flutter shut. The moment of peace you’d been wanting all night had finally arrived.

Or not.

“May I join you?”

Opening your eyes, you turn your head to look at Lamine. “Sure, why not.” You say quietly.

Lamine stands beside you, not speaking thankfully—not that you would’ve minded, but it was nice to have some quiet time.

Minutes pass before either of you speak. You initiate it, not looking at him, “so.. thoughts?”

“On what?”

“I dunno, the house, my dad.. anything, I guess.” You shrug, twirling around so your back was leaning against the railing.

Lamine rests his hip against it, giving you an amused smile. “Your house is, well, fancy. And your dad is scary, but funny.” He answers truthfully.

You snicker, finding it funny how everyone who met your dad thought he was scary. Hansi—your father, was quite the opposite. Maybe it was just because you were his daughter, but your dad did have quite the humor when he wanted to.

“My dad is the least scary person in the world. If he was, you wouldn’t be out here alone with me. He would’ve been right behind you.” You nod toward the balcony door. “I promise he’s a chill guy.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s your dad.” Lamine counters. He believed you, but he couldn’t help but doubt it when he saw the mans resting face.

Your name being shouted interrupts your conversation. You glance in the voices direction, seeing your mother’s head pop out of the door. “Your father’s about to make his.. speech.” She looks toward Lamine, eyebrow raising. “You’ll be needed too, Lamine.”

“We’ll be in soon!” You call back, silently begging for her to leave. She does, giving you a knowing look that you scowl at.

“Okay, we should probably go.” You say slowly, taking a few steps away from the railing, “but, hey—“

Lamine pauses mid step, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

“Could I get your number?” Your face grows a bright red, “that was far too direct. I just.. well you seem cool.”

The boy laughs, “yeah, of course. Here.” He reaches for his phone in his back pocket and hands it to you, allowing you to type your number in and save your contact.

“Text me sometime, i’m pretty much always available. New country and all..” You continue walking to the door, Lamine close in tow.

Months had passed, five long months. Lamine had texted you the day after he got your number and you had never stopped talking. You started hanging out regularly, which eventually progressed into his asking you out.

You’d been dating for a few weeks, and in those weeks you’d tried to convince Lamine that it would be okay to tell your dad, that he wouldn’t mind, but he had his doubts.

Sitting on the couch at Lamine’s parent’s house, one of the few places you could be together without the eyes of the public on you. Your head rested on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around you.

“Lamine.” You rub your temples, “he literally adores you! If I’m being honest, he probably likes you more than me. So please, I hate hiding this from him.”

Contemplating for a moment, he finally lets pit a sigh of defeat. “Okay! Okay. Fine, but if he sells me to a different club, it’s your fault.”

Laughing, you tilt your head up. “You’re my dad’s little starboy, he’s not selling you to anyone.” You tease, your lips pulling into a smirk.

Rolling his eyes at you, Lamine tips his head closer, lips inches from yours. “You are so annoying.” He grumbles, pecking your lips sweetly.

“Yeah, well, you love that about me.” You greet his lips in a small kiss, only pulling away to grab your phone. “Diner at parents tonight?”

“Tonight?” Lamine’s eyes widen. “Hell no.”

“Hell, yes! Actually.” You laugh, “dress nicely.”

You forced Lamine through the front door, your hand gripping his tightly. “Get in! You’re acting like you can’t walk.”

“Yeah, well, i’m sort of paralyzed in fear. No thanks to you.” He hisses, scowling when he sees the entertained look on your face.

“Is that you, Engel? [angel]” Your dads voice calls out from the living room.

“Yeah!” You yell back, turning to lamine to whisper, “I may have forgotten to mention you were my boyfriend.”

Lamine has no time to react when your dad walks out of the living room entrance to greet you. A sweat breaks out on the boys forehead when his coaches eyes land on him.

“Lamine? What are you doing here…” He stops speaking slowly, eyes flickering to you with something a little less than surprise, but something near it. “Huh.” He nods. “Well, dinners almost ready. You can go to the dining room.”

Mild reaction, expected reaction.

“Perfect! I’m starving.” You squeeze Lamine’s hand and pull him toward the kitchen, trying not to comment on the absolute fear written across his face.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future lamine posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @sakashq @ar4ujos @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby !

[water-to-drink]

How They Became Attracted to You

(Characters): Al haitham, Ayaka, Kaeya, Chiori

(Synopsis): First meetings with the most popular or influential students at the academy

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, reader is an artist, school au, reader is a transfer student, possible ooc Chiori, (if I missed something lmk)

(Word Count): 1.4k

(A/n): If you all like this then I’ll make a part two, just tell me which characters you want to see

🦅Al haitham🦅

🦅 The first and only one to best him in a test, a geometry test to be specific. He only came in at 99% while you come in at a perfect 100%

🦅 At first refused to believe that a mere art nerd could get a better score than him and so with as much delicacy as a bull in a china shop Al haitham came up to you and asked you how you got your score

🦅 Being randomly approached by the school’s smartest student you were very nervous and told him that you just did what you learned from class. Seeing that you won’t give him the answer he asks for you to tutor him which you agreed to go it, mostly because you were very nervous under his sharp gaze

🦅 While tutoring it became apparent that you sucked at explaining things to him, don’t get him wrong he already knows the material he just wants to know how and why you got a 100. As these sessions went Al haitham saw how your hands would glide across the paper, the delicacy almost amazed him

🦅 Slowly but surely Al haitham realized that there was more to your shy exterior. You were sassy and quick witted, you could even match his intellect on many topics, he finds himself feeling that he on an equal level with you.

🦅 Now he looks forward to your tutoring sessions, recently you two won’t do any tutoring just do your homework and talk about anything on your mind, the same mind that he finds so interesting and beautiful

🪭Ayaka Kamisato 🪭

🪭 The two of you have seen each other in the hallway before and after classes. She would always see you with a sketchbook in your hands or drawing in it. You didn’t take up too much real estate in her mind, the poor girl has too much going on as the daughter of the Kamisato family. That was until one day where Ayaka was leaving cram school and her chauffeur was stuck in traffic, she was approached by an older man

“What’s a girl like you doing out so late?”

“I’m leaving cram school, sir.”

“Cram school? You kids work so hard, I can show you a good time.”

“Uh, no thank you, sir.”

“C’mon, don’t be so stuck up, live a little-”

“What’s the problem?!”

🪭 There you are, yelling at the top of your lungs, she can tell that you’re scared but you still yell drawing more attention to yourself and the creep in question. Once a lot of people are watching the scene the creep walks off leaving you and her alone

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry that you had to step in.” Ayaka bows her head

“Don’t worry, I saw that you were uncomfortable so I decided to step in. See you around.” You waved goodbye as you walked off and her chauffeur pulled up

🪭 Later Ayaka came to learn that you didn’t know of the prestige that came with the Kamisato name. You came up and scared off the guy of your own volition, thinking that she was just an ordinary girl who needed to be rescued and that is what she’ll continue being to you

🪭 It wouldn’t be hard since you two are in different grades, you being her senior by a year. You would both meet up in a quiet cafe you work at, she learned that it was your family’s business and work there to help your family and to earn some pocket money. The two of you got so close that you even let her look through your sketchbook and Ayaka was amazed by your skills

🪭 When you offered to draw a portrait of her she jumped at the offer. So one day at your family’s cafe you presented her a drawing of her. You drew her as a swordswoman dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and armor, she profusely thanked you and framed it the moment she got home

🪭 There are some nights where if she can’t sleep mainly because of nerves she’ll take your drawing and look at it, thinking about you would quell her anxiety and give her the best of dreams. Just don’t tell her brother, she’s afraid he’ll scare you off

❄️Kaeya❄️

❄️ Is the complete opposite of his adopted brother, he’s known as the school’s flirt and a total playboy. He makes girls and guys alike go head over heels for him, and you, the new transfer student, is on his radar

❄️ He lives for making innocent things like you into a flustered little mess. So when he sauntered over to you and threw his usual flirty remarks, he wasn’t met with a sheepish face nor an oblivious one. No he was met with a look of disgust

❄️ Without saying anything you walked away from him, leaving him bewildered. Did he do something wrong? Everyone falls for him. Refusing to take this laying down Kaeya decides to find out why weren’t you under his spell

❄️ And so he began to make an attempt to learn more about you, your likes and your dislikes, or your hobbies. At first you would just ignore him when he would try to strike up a conversation and after a few weeks he decided to make a deal with you

“Are you serious?” You asked

“Dead serious. We’ll act as friends and if you still can’t stand me in 2 months, then we’ll stop. Does that sound good?”

“Only if you promise to leave me alone after?”

“If you still can’t stand me.” Kaeya threw his signature smirk

“Ugh fine! But no flirting!”

“I make no promises~”

❄️ The two of you tried to act as friends, before it was awkward but soon you got used to his presence and you slowly began to come out of your shell, finally showing your true colors after about 3 weeks of “friendship”

❄️ Kaeya finds himself laughing at your jokes, actually laughing and not the fake laugh he would do when he’s trying to fuck somebody. Now Kaeya’s heart thumps whenever you would laugh at something or wave at him in the hallway. Oh gods, is he in love?!

❄️ He wishes he didn’t have the reputation he has, he wants more than your body, he wants your heart

🪡Chiori🪡

🪡 The president of the sewing club. Chiori and her club members have made various designs, many of them for the theater group whenever they’re putting on a performance. However the best designers have their slow movements, not being able to come up with any designs that are up to their standards. That is what plaguing Chiori

🪡 One day she finds a random sketchbook in the sewing club. Curiosity getting the best of the young seamstress she flips through the book, there she sees the most beautiful character designs, the obvious inspiration from big names like Chanel, Gucci, and Thierry Mugler, but the person who made these designs are unique to them. It all gives Chiori a surge of inspiration

🪡 Immediately she opens up her own sketchbook and begins drafting up some designs, some are amazing but others don’t compare to the designs in the mysterious sketchbook she found. She must find the person who made this

🪡 She hears the door opening and when she turns her head, she sees you looking a bit embarrassed.

“Uh, I left my sketchbook here, have you seen it?”

“Yes, I have.” Chiori picks up the book and hands it to you. “I looked through it.”

“Wait, what?!”

“And I like what I saw, can I make the designs in this book?”

🪡 So every Tuesday you would go to the sewing club and let Chiori bring life to your designs, the two of you would talk about various fashion styles and designers. Chiori is very impressed by your vast knowledge on how different styles and cultures arose, she might even say it rivals her knowledge (but she won’t)

🪡 The more time you two spend together the more Chiori likes you, she would look forward to your presence right next to her talking her ear off about your characters as she worked. Normally she would play music but the sound of you rambling is more than enough for her

🪡 In the privacy of her room Chiori would often find herself drawing up designs for wedding garments for her and yours wedding, she can’t wait for the day you to call her “my wife”

[lobveyun]

lost in the melody | sjy

pairing: student!jake x student!reader | genre: fluff, romance, emotional(?)

synopsis: “lost in the melody" follows the journey of two souls brought together by music. when you stumble upon the quiet, talented jake sim in the school music room, a bond begins to from as he lets you into his world of melodies, secrets and dreams. together, you navigate the ups and downs of young love, face challenges, and support each other's aspirations, even when it means facing separation. through distance and time, your connection endures, creating a love story that, like music, is timeless and ever resonant.

! no cw !

[notes] hi guys okay so im doing this jake story and right now im working on a sunghoon story too so pls stay tuned! ive been very busy for the past months so this is like kind of a surprise post . anyways yea , go read

divider by @dollywons

jake sim was the first guy everyone noticed but few knew. tall with messy black hair that fell into his eyes, he often had a guitar case slung over his shoulders and headphones that seemed permanently attached to his ears. he drifted through the halls like a spector, his presence both magnetic and elusive.

you first truly saw him play one afternoon when curiosity led you to the music room after class. the door was slightly ajar, and a soft sound wafted out, pulling you in. inside, the late afternoon sun cast a golden glow around jake as he sat by the window, his fingers moving expertly over the strings. each note filled the room with a haunting melody that sent shivers down your spine.

he hadn’t noticed you at first; his eyes were closed, a serene smile gracing his lips as if he was in another world. you felt like an intruder, a momentary eavesdropper on something deeply personal personal but the music was intoxicating, and you couldn’t tear yourself away.

when he finally stopped, you clapped softly, unable to hold back your admiration.

jake’s eyes flew open, startled, “I didn’t know… I didn’t know anyone was here,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink as he scrambled to put his guitar down.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, a little embarrassed but genuinely impressed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. you play beautifully.”

his shoulders relaxed slightly, though he still looked shy. “thank you. I… I just play to unwind. it’s nothing special.”

“no way, it’s amazing,” you insisted, feeling an unexpected rush of courage. you introduced yourself, and after a moment, he offered a small smile in return, “i’m jake.”

as the bell rang, an awkward silence settled between you. “well, I guess I should go,” you said, shuffling your feet.

“yeah, me too,” he replied, his eyes darting away. but just before leaving, he glanced back at you, a flicker of hope in his gaze. it was as if he wanted to see you again.

in the weeks that followed, you found yourself crossing paths with jake more often. some days, you’d catch him in the music room, and he’d invite you in to listen. other times, you’d pass each other in the hall, exchanging shy smiles that made your heart flutter.

one afternoon, as you walked past the library, you noticed him sitting alone by the window, his head buried in a notebook. curiosity piqued, you stepped closer, but he noticed and quickly closed it, looking flustered.

“sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, feeling slightly guilty for intruding. “no, it’s fine,” he replied, glancing down at his notebook as if it held all his secrets. “I was just… writing.”

“writing what?” you asked, unable to hide your curiosity.

he hesitated, biting his lip. after a moment, he sighed and opened the notebook to reveal a page filled with scribbled lines and music notes. “lyrics. it’s kind of personal. but, uh, it helps me sort out my thoughts.”

you leaned in closer, captivated. “they look beautiful. I’d love to hear some of it sometime.”

jake’s eyes softened, a shy smile forming on his lips, “maybe one day. when it’s finished.”

from that moment, you two grew closer. you often met after school in the music room, discussing everything from your favourite bands to your dreams. jake began to share more of himself, his guarded nature slowly breaking down.

as the school festival approached, jake surprised you by asking for your help with his band’s performance. “I could use someone I can trust,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “you know, to help organise things.”

excited, you agreed without hesitation. during rehearsals, you watched jake transform from the shy boy you knew into a confident musician. his presence on stage was electric; the way he commanded the audience’s attention left you breathless.

finally, the night of the festival arrived. the auditorium buzzed with energy, the scent of popcorn filling the air as students mingled, chatting excitedly. after a successful performance, where jake had poured his heart into every note, he suggested escaping the noise to the rooftop.

under a blanket of stars, jake took a deep breath, his expression serious yet vulnerable. “there’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, his voice almost lost in the night breeze. he fidgeted, glancing away, clearly struggling with words.

encouraging him gently, you said, “you can tell me anything, jake. I promise.”

he looked at you, his eyes searching yours. “I’m not great at talking about my feelings. but being around you feels different. you make me feel like I can be myself.”

a lump formed in your throat as he continued, “I like you. more than I’ve liked anyone. you’ve been my inspiration for so many songs… would you give us a chance?”

you felt your heart race, your mind swirling with emotions. “jake, I feel the same way,” you confessed, your voice steady. “I’d love nothing more.”

a relieved smile broke across his face, his eyes lighting up with joy. “really?” he asked, disbelief mingling with hope.

jake invited you to his favourite spot by a secluded lake, a hidden gem he frequented to find peace. the two of you sat on a grassy hill, the sun setting in vibrant hues of orange and pink. as the cool breeze brushed against your skin, you shared childhood stories and dreams, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you.

“what’s it like to play music?” you asked, glancing at him as he gazed thoughtfully over the water.

“it’s like… he paused, searching for the right words. “it’s like being able to say things that I can’t cope with words. music allows me to show parts of myself that I keep hidden.”

you watched him, captivated. “and what about when you’re with me?”

he turned to you, his gaze softening. “but with you, I don’t feel like I need to hide.” he hesitated before adding, “you make me feel free.”

in that moment, your heart swelled with affection. without thinking, you leaned your head on his shoulder. jake tensed for a moment, then relaxed as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, pointing the sky in deep purples, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging.

as the months passed, your relationship with jake blossomed. you spent lunch together, swapping secrets and laughter. he often brought his guitar to your study sessions, playing soft tunes that filled the air with warmth. “you’re my muse,” he’d tease, making you blush, but you knew he meant it.

for the school’s end-of-year showcase, jake nervously asked you to sing with him. “I wrote a song for us,” he confessed, his cheeks turning a shade darker. “it’s everything I feel about you. I’d love it if we could sing it together.”

the night of the showcase was electric with anticipation. as you stood on stage, fingers intertwined with jake’s, the spotlight felt both exhilarating and terrifying. he began to play, his fingers dancing over the strings with a passion that took your breath away.

as he sang, his voice resonated through the auditorium, filled with emotion that stirred your heart. you joined in, your voices blending harmoniously, weaving a narrative of love and connection that captivated the audience.

when the last note lingered in the air, silence enveloped the room for a heartbeat before the crowd erupted into applause. jake turned to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and love. “thank you,” he whispered, brushing his fingers against yours. “for being the song I never knew I needed.”

tears of joy filled your eyes as you leaned in, meeting him halfway for a soft, tender kiss. the crowd faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own world, a melody playing that only you could hear.

but as your relationship deepened, the challenges began to surface. jake had a habit of retreating into himself whenever stress crept in, especially concerning his music. you noticed the change after a long rehearsal for the upcoming talent show; he seemed distant, his laughter replaced by silence.

“jake, is something bothering you?” you asked one afternoon, lightly touching his shoulder, concern etched on your face.

he looked up, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I… I just need some space right now,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. “it’s hard to explain.”

you nodded, heart heavy with worry. “okay, just… let me know if you need anything.”

days turned into weeks, and you felt him slipping away, a ghost of the boy you had grown to love. you decided you couldn’t stay silent any longer. after class one day, you confronted him, your heart racing. “jake, if there’s something wrong, you can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

his expression softened, but the conflict in his eyes was clear. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly. “scared that I won’t be good enough for you, for the band… for anything. I don’t want to let you down.”

“jake, you’re not just good enough. you’re incredible,” you replied, determination lacing your voice. “you’ve always been enough for me. please, don’t shut me out.”

he looked at you, uncertainty lingering. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“but you already are,” you whispered, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “please, let me in.”

after a long pause, jake finally nodded, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled deeply. “I’ll try. I promise.”

with open communication, the two of you began to navigate the rough patches together. slowly, jake opened up about his fears, his insecurities, and the pressure he felt to succeed. you listened, providing support and encouragement without judgment.

one sunny afternoon, while sitting in the park, jake surprised you with a small gift: a handwritten song. “it’s not perfect, but it’s for you,” he said, handing it over with a shy smile.

as you read the lyrics, your heart swelled with emotion. it spoke of love, vulnerability, and the beauty of sharing one’s soul with someone.

“jake, this is beautiful!” you exclaimed, feeling the tears of joy spill down your cheeks. “I love it!”

he grinned, the warmth of his smile lighting up your world. “I wanted to create something that captured how I feel about you.”

with renewed determination, you both decided to work on a song together for the talent show. you spent countless hours crafting the melody, laughter spilling from your lips as you struggled to hit the right notes, your bond growing stronger with each chord played.

on the night of the talent show, excitement filled the air as students and teachers gathered, eager to witness the performances. as you and jake took the stage, the world outside faded away. the moment felt surreal; the spotlight was bright, but the connection between you two was brighter.

you exchanged glances, and he nodded, a silent promise of support. as the music began, you poured your hearts into the performance, each note resonating with passion and emotion. the audience was captivated, swept away by the magic you created together.

when the final chord rang out, the room erupted in applause, and you could hardly believe the joy that filled your heart. jake turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “we did it!”

you laughed, breathless, and pulled him into a tight embrace. “that was incredible!”

as you stepped off the stage, adrenaline coursing through your veins, you realized how far you had come together. the challenges only deepened your connection, forging a bond that felt unbreakable.

in the weeks that followed, your relationship continued to grow, solidified by the trust you had built. you faced challenges together, celebrating victories and comforting each other in moments of doubt.

jake often played the song you wrote together, filling your days with music that felt like a promise of forever. “I can’t imagine my life without you,” he said one evening, strumming softly in the dim light of the music room.

“and I can’t imagine my life without your music,” you replied, a smile lighting up your face. “It’s our melody now.”

as graduation approached, the future felt uncertain yet thrilling. “whatever happens, we’ll face it together,” jake vowed, his eyes filled with determination.

“together,” you echoed, heart swelling with love. with each note you played, each lyric you sang, you knew that no matter where life took you, your hearts would always be in tune.

if u liked this , pls reblog and like since its hard to make my work known . i hope u enjoyed this !

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hey babe, i love every Nathan fic that you wrote, and if you’re open to request and feeling fluffy would you do the honor to tell us what happen after Need You? I just want to snuggle up with Nathan so badddfdd, Thank You🥰

Awww <3 <3 <3 Of course!

Thank You

Nathan Bateman x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: Nathan is tired.

Warnings: Fluff, cuddles, Nathan being playfully grumpy, teasing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 630

“Hurry the fuck up.” Nathan says from the doorway. He stares at you a little more intensely than he normally would because his glasses are already off and on the bedside table.

You snort and nearly choke to death swallowing toothpaste. You manage to spit it out into the sink. “I’m brushing my teeth?” 

“You’re taking hours.”

“It’s been two minutes.”

“Far too long,” he uncrosses his arms, “You’ll damage your gums, come on.” He moves towards you and you yelp and giggle, brandishing your toothbrush like a weapon.

He pauses and smiles. 

“Let me wash my mouth, then I’ll come to bed. I’m not having you drag me again.” 

“Why?” He grins, pretending to start to move closer. “You liked it last time.” 

“I did n-” You stop yourself, you’re not even going to try to argue with him when he’s in this kind of mood. No matter what you say he’ll throw something else back, playfully of course. And over the top. And incorrect. It wasn’t worth the energy. 

So you poke your tongue out at him quickly before you turn and rinse your mouth with water.

His hands around your waist make you laugh. “Nathan.” 

“What?” He leans his chest onto your back like a baby koala. “You're comfy.” 

“Oh my god.” You mutter, but there’s humour in your voice. “You big baby,”  you tease as you stand. 

“Yes.” He pauses, meeting your eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t make me do the baby voice again.” 

“Okay! You win.” You grin, turning to hug him and he kisses your cheek. 

“Bedtime.” He whispers and you just about manage to jump out of his grasp before he tries to pull you to bed. “Hey.”

“I’m going to bed!” You laugh as you dance out of the room and get under the covers. 

He smiles, turning off the bedside lamp and quickly joining you. He pulls off his t-shirt as you both get comfortable. He quickly urges you onto your side, so he can hug you, being the big spoon. 

The second your head hits the pillow he’s tugging at your top. “Take this off.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why do you want it off?” 

“Want to feel your skin.” He grumbles, “Instead all I can feel is this.” He pulls at your top again, snapping it back a little. 

“Ow.”

“Sorry, also that didn’t hurt.” 

“How do you know it didn’t hurt?” 

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard.” 

“You don’t know what it felt like to me.” You give him a look over your shoulder and he kisses your cheek. 

“I can tell you real ‘ow’, from that fake ‘ooowww’ any day of the week.” 

You poke your tongue out at him again.

“Very mature.” He grins, “If you don’t stop doing that I’m gonna give you something to put in your mouth.” 

“I thought you were tired.” 

“I am.” He pushes his hands up under the bottom of your shirt. “A goodnight blowjob, that sounds great.”

You shake your head and laugh, but help him to take your top off so that he can snuggle you to your back. “You really want a blowjob?” 

“Always, but I don’t think I’d get it up for a billion dollars at the moment,” he yawns, curling up closer to you. “You can try though.” You know his eyes are already shut and he’s just playing, but you still make a show of pretending to try to turn over and paw at his waistband. 

“Nooo,” he mutters softly, rubbing his face and beard into your back. “Sleepy time.” He kisses your skin and breathes deeply, finally able to relax. 

You chuckle and settle back down to go to sleep. 

“Thank you.” You hear him mumble just before he dozes off. “For coming to bed.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[anpanman95]

so I just read a post from @everythingiloveblog and—first of all go check it out it has incredible insights and constructive criticism— I feel OP has made an incredible point which brings me to something that bothers me from episode 10:

Okay. I understand Jack and Joke have a…very unusual relationship. I know they’ve been through hell and back, together and apart, and their bond is stronger than ever.

And, ever since the beginning, they show us a dynamic that doesn’t promise to be all “lovey-dovey” or cute or anything like that.

That’s fine. We’re all here for it. Every relationship is different, and actors Yin and War have made it clear Jack and Joke’s dynamic was going to be different.

But, and this is a big, big but, there are things I do not agree with, and I’ll start by casting light on this moment right here where they say “I love you” for the first time.

Emphasis on the first time.

That was not a first time “I love you”. That’s not how you say I love you for the first time to your lover with whom you’ve been through hell and back.

I mean yes, they’ve shown it plenty, but still. This moment was, and I’m very sorry if I ruffle some feathers, to me, very bro-coded (there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just not very engaging for me)

And as much as I love their dynamic, as much as I love their characters, it felt incredibly underwhelming and lacking of a tenderness I was desperately craving after such a long slow burn. I know I may be coming from a more “romantic” point of view, but what’s wrong with a little romance?

I really would have loved them to be a bit sweeter, or more tender about it.

Another thing is the closing scene at the hospital; sure, Joke later tells Jack he was the one who betrayed, but Jack didn’t know that right away, and the first thing he saw was the man he loves in shambles, bawling his eyes out, visibly in need to be held, and he didn’t take him into his arms nor made any move to get at least physically closer to him.

That put me off, if I’m being honest. Aren’t they supposed to be in love and care for one another? Jack did say “I’ll only focus on you” and, yeah, he’s angry and confused about Save and worried about his daughter but it would have been very human of him to at least seek and give comfort to the person he loves.

They do have their moments, their chemistry is top tier, and that’s undeniable. But there are certain little actions that would be very realistic for them to partake in, and it leaves me a tad unsatisfied when they don’t.

Of course, I’m still eating this up, I’ll take anything. Yin and War did an incredible job with this show, and this is just a bit of criticism, done in my most humble, respectful opinion.

Thanks for reading! I know some will not agree and that’s fine! Let’s just all be respectful about it! ✨🫶🏽

(post from OP)

[bokettochild]

Hey, Uncle Anon again--Okay but say this happens after Yuga attacks...the image of his uncle seeing that hey, someone is home, and meeting Ravio.

Does Ravio have his hood up? Is there any recognition there? Does Ravio know his Lorule counterpart, has he heard the story from Legend? It could go So Many Ways. Ranging from 'awkward' to 'sorry-not-sorry, Mr. Hero, but it was instinct to hit him with the nearest chair'.

Okay, this ask actually inspired me a bit, and this is only part of a bigger project, but have it anyways!

  The cottage hadn’t changed a bit. Standing on the path, apple trees shivering in a slight breeze, he’d almost felt a decade younger, almost tricked himself into thinking he’d need only open the old wood door, the door whose key still sat heavy in his pocket, and a bright little face would whip around to meet him, gap-toothed grin his welcome home as feet would pit-patter across the worn out floors. Maybe it was that image that tricked his feet into walking, following a path altered only by shade of trees grown taller in his absence, their fruit hanging heavy but not yet ready to be plucked.     It’d be cider making season soon, he’d mused to himself, hand digging through his pocket for a key he couldn’t name why he still carried. Absently, he wondered if the old press was still down in the basement, if Link- because it must be Link- had minded to keep it oiled and tended, or if he’d left off using it. After all, the former knight chuckled, the boy couldn’t even turn the handle fully on his own, now could he?    His mind had been so caught in his thoughts he hadn’t been minding his surroundings, pushing the door open after a moment’s struggle (the key stuck more than it once used to) and moving to enter his old home. He hadn’t expected to be immediately whacked over the head, nor, when he’d picked himself up again, to find himself face to… face(?) with a masked figure.    “We aren’t open!” The purple clad individual had declared, mallet in hand, and a small creature with wings- which could in no ways be considered a bird- fluttering about at his shoulders, squawking and hissing something terrible. “And if you thought you could break in, you’re dead wrong!”    Aflon had blinked, slowly, and then started, gaze flying about the house briefly.    It wasn’t changed, not really. Pictures were all taken down and boxes were tucked against the walls, but the couch, the rocking chair, the china cabinet, it was all still there, still in the same places, now with new stains and scuffs, but he could recognize them all the same. Really, the only major difference was the desk near the door scattered over with glittering items and objects, little price tags set before them in poor mimicry of a shop.    He wasn’t sure if the purple clad figure was meant to be here or not, but given that the house still technically belonged to him, he’d been more than slightly caught off guard.    “I’m not here for a shop, I- who are you?”    “Who are you?” The apparent merchant had demanded in answer, face shielded behind a hood that looked like it was meant to resemble a very, very odd face. “And why are you here?” Their voice was trembling slightly, but they stood firm despite.    “I live- or, well…” he’d paused, picking himself up and dusting himself off, “I used to live here. This was my house- still is actually, I’ve just been away.”    Despite not being able to see the merchant’s eyes, he could feel the apprehension in their gaze, weighty as it was as they looked up at him, one hand on their hip and the other holding fast to their oversized mallet. “You must have the wrong house, this one belongs to Mister Hero.”    Oh.    “You mean Link?”    “You know him?” Their head cocked on one side, hood following with a flap of long ear-like attachments.    Aflon had nodded briefly. “Do you?”    “Of course!” And suddenly the mallet was gone, the figure gesturing about with a cheery chirp now entering their tone. “He’s my housemate! Lets me stay here, keep up the shop while he’s gone and all that lovely sort of thing. Didn’t realize he had a landlord himself though! So terribly sorry if he’s been stiffing you on rent, he’s been out of town for forever now, you see.”    He’d nodded. He hadn’t known what better to do.    The stranger had introduced themselves as Ravio, offered to show him their wares, but when asked about Link had firmly insisted that he knew nothing more than that the hero was off on some mission for the crown or something and that he was just keeping the house in order for him. 

[daylesspax]

Favorite transformers ship, favorite mech out of all of them (or a list)

and fic recs? Just because I wanna get to know you

Okay! So sorry it took so long to answer this, lmao

My favorite ships rotate every month depending on what fanfiction I’m reading

Currently, my favorite ship is Jazzprowl!

My favorite character also rotates depending on the fanfictions I’m reading, but Rodimus is a classic for me ;)

For fic recommendations… wow, I have a lot but I obviously can’t name all of them so I’ll give a short list of some good ones (almost all of them are finished)

The Crime in Crystals series by Aard_Rinn, amazing Jazzprowl and exquisite world building and storytelling! Super fun and amazing badass moments!

And I Alone Have Escaped To Tell You by astolat, a time travel fic centering around a G1ish Cyclonus, very fun time with an engaging plot and incredible characterizations! I adore this rendition of the classic Cyclonus!

Echoes of Messatine by MileMusketeer… Ooh boy, this one is a doozy. This fic is a long-term commitment, and it will take you for a ride— Megatron angst and dark topics galore!

The Echo Garden by AltraViolet is a classic in my opinion, a masterpiece in worldbuilding and some truly professional work on Soundwave’s character arc! Some of the most well-done content on the Rodimus/Soundwave ship, on the use of dimension travel, and with the Lost Light in general!

Attack on Prime by melishade! Because of course I’m going to promote it lol, this is an incredible, in-depth crossover story of Attack on Titan and Transformers Prime— I consider this a personal classic and one of the best TF crossovers I’ve had the joy of experiencing :)

I have none-TF recs too but I really don’t feel like listing more… 😅

Read my fic, Exception, too if you want, idk, I think I did okay on it

[glisten-inthedark]

I can’t remember if I’m sent this before but the fact that the only Milkvsn kiss there was in S4 was a greeting kiss at the airport. It feels very S2 Steve and Nancy with their kisses in the car and at Nancy’s locker and Nancy’s sickly sweet but insincere “I love you too”

They had the perfect chance at NINA for Mike to be like, “I’m so glad you’re okay, I-I love you, I love you so much, I’m sorry I haven’t been saying it, I’ve just been so-so scared and—“ and then El kisses him to shut him up and says “I love you so much too,” and then they kiss again and then instead of framing Will between them we cut to a shot of him looking devastated but then when El sees her brothers he still hugs her so tightly to show that he loves and cares for her as her brother

But no<3 they don’t have him say it then<3 when it would’ve made the most sense<3 instead he has to have Will prompt him to say it<3 when he definitely wasn’t going to<3

Hello! I talked about this in one my asks replying to a mil*ven shipper that asked me for evidence of Byler.

That moment would be the best moment possible for them to kiss and for Mike to tell El he loved her. They just had a huge argument about him not telling her he loves her, so you'd think it'd be perfect opportunity for him to do exactly what you said.

They could've found her, Mike could've hold her and kiss her hungrily, and tell her he loves her in the exact words you used. It'd be perfect for the ship and it'd have worked a lot better than whatever that confession was.

But instead they did whatever that was, with Will standing right there in the middle, and Mike couldn't even tell her then.

And also I loved your last paragraph, the lil hearts as your tone changes is so funny.

[jujubeanie]

Okay so I know a lot of people argue that Basil dying a lot in Blackspace means Sunny hates Basil (I think that was what you were referring to by saying Basil was killed constantly? Sorry if I misinterpreted that TvT). HOWEVER, I actually think there’s a lot of evidence to support that it means he cares for Basil a lot, and can be interpreted as repressed (romantic and/or platonic). In Blackspace, you still play as Omori. I’d like to address the spider-room death first. Basil starts being swarmed and covered in spiders, and eventually cries out to Omori for help. Omori backs away from Basil, and Basil disappears as the spiders presumably consume him. Notably, Omori is the one in control here. In the game, we play as Sunny; anytime we lose control of the Omori character, it presumably means that Sunny also does not have conscious control over Omori. Another thing that might be worth mentioning, is that although Omori technically overcame his fear of spiders in headspace, this is no longer headspace. This bit is more up to speculative, but it can be interpreted that Omori was too scared to save Basil from the spiders because he himself was scared of them. In which case, this death could also be interpreted as Sunny’s own fear causing pain for the people he cares about, something that we see at other points in the game.

Another particular Basil death that might be worth addressing, is the one in the glitched Neighbor’s room, where the headspace friends turn on him, and he cries to Omori for help before Aubrey hits him with her bat. To me, this very much doesn’t read as Sunny wanting Basil to die. It feels a lot more like he’s helpless to do anything- Because yet again, at that moment, we cannot control Omori anymore, and neither can Sunny. He doesn’t want Basil to die; he just feels powerless to do anything about it. Also, the many possibly interpretations of Aubrey being the one to unalive Basil here. I do think that Aubrey hitting him with her bat is likely a nod to the fact that she’s been bullying Basil in the real world. Even more fuel that Sunny feels helpless to save Basil from being hurt for Sunny’s own actions (Mari’s death, scribbling out the photos). Another possible interpretation (and one that is, admittedly, a lot less likely), is that it’s Sunny’s idolized crush, that he’s held onto for so long, is trying push down and get rid of the crush he has on Basil. It could possibly be taken as a sign of repressed feelings for Basil, whether that be because he hasn’t accepted his bisexuality (or whatever your personal headcanon may be), or he’s simply scared of letting go of his old crush.

There’s a lot more Blackspace stuff I could go into, but this is really long already aaand I’m in class TvT

TLDR; Blackspace has a lot of evidence of 🏳️‍🌈🌻

every day the Branch Coral line about Sunny and Basil being tied together with a string of fate

like,,, soulmates? your honour? string of fate??? perhaps the,,, red string of fate?

it doesn’t even have to be romantic, it just feels like a soulmate thing! like Sunny and Basil are tied together after this single incident, they will always be intertwined after that day

they may not have been known it, but they are so heavily intertwined together that even Sunny’s subconscious picked up on it. even coping mechanism calls out how the two are connected.

it’s like - sir, the mixed signals of killing Basil constantly but then essentially using soulmate theory? do you hate him or want to kiss him? (/j)

also, with that joke, i do actually ship Sunflower, and this line speaks to the hopeless romantic in me to some degree - because what do you mean Sunny thinks “a string of fate” ties them together? like it’s super dark, but also kinda gay. just slightly.

anyways, the Branch Coral was super cool and i love the slight soulmate implications on Basil and Sunny even though it’s super screwed up!

(also there’s the line - it’s so minor but like dude-?! the sheer gayness of this is amazing /j)

[whereismyhat5678]

Hey.

I’m gonna be off Tumblr for more than a few days. I’m sorry this is so sudden but I think I need a little break from the internet for a while.

I don’t really know when I’ll be back but I think for now I’m just not gonna be active.

I hope everyone is doing well, I just need a break.

[zorosdimples]

knowing i should take a step back from tumblr for my own wellbeing vs. being emotionally attached to this app and the people on it

[rouge-fauna]

I think you’re talking about these posts [here & here], I don’t know if there have been others.

I'm not gonna say what I did was right, you are correct I should probably just not respond to asks getting me to talk about other people. I will say for these two posts those people had already blocked me I’m pretty sure, so it’s kinda hard to talk directly to them in that case. And I was not doing so anonymously and had not blocked them so I wasn’t hiding what I was saying. I did not follow them, I am not part of the innitor community, and not that that makes it right but I do think it is kinda different. Though you make a good point, perhaps we should stop this pattern of responding to asks about other blogs and such.

Still, the biggest thing to me I realized, back in elementary school when I first dealt with this, was that honestly all the time we talk about people behind their back. Talking about people when they aren’t always in the room is kinda just inevitable and part of socializing, however I think the important part is how you are talking about other people. It’s when you are insulting them, talking negatively about them to people they know, spreading false information and so on that it becomes not okay. Hopefully that makes sense.

In these cases I merely focused on the lore. I didn’t insult them or talk shit about them, as a person, as a blog or say their takes were stupid or they are stupid or speculate about their trauma or mental history. I just talked about reasons why I disagreed, or saw things differently and why we might see things differently. They were also not the only ones I saw to say similar things so I think in my mind I was making more of a general discussion, not trying to target them specifically. I didn’t post beyond that about them. But you are right, regardless it was probably not the right way to go about things.

But just to be clear, if I am a hypocrite it is not my intention. I haven’t vague blogged anyone or meant to vague reblog anyone. I think this week is pretty much the first time I’ve ever been not naming, passive aggressively talking about blogs, and even then I’m not trying to insult them, trying to cancel them. I’m just expressing that before you go off about how I’m stupid and unable to have a discussion about it, the very least you could’ve done was give me an opportunity to try.