#She can say she doesn't like my tone of voice and that she doesn't like the way i stress out about things and im not allowed to say

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[rhiannonsknife]

okay, i don't wanna give spoilers, since you said you hadn't finished it, so.. first episode feels safe ??

fucking your cousin's is normal. it's a vault, there's limited selection. nobody blames you. but fucking your best friend.. well, that's a little much for lucy. not because your a girl. no, that's not- that has nothing to do with it, she promises. she just doesn't want to change your bond, that's all.

or super convoluted way to say lucy has a crush on you and refuses to admit it. mayb ?? idk if this makes sense sorry

also first ask i've sent that's not just conversation, so.. should probably put a name to my claim.

- 🦴 ( if possible </3 )

── KISS ME ONCE, THEN KISS ME TWICE, THEN KISS ME ONCE AGAIN

— summary: you and lucy decide to ‘practice’.

— warnings: friends to lovers. mostly fluff with some nsfw-ish content. so mdni.

the hum of the vault’s fluorescent lights buzzes overhead, the sound so constant it’s easy to forget it’s there at all until everything else is silent.

you and lucy are sprawled on the bed in her quarters, your shoulders pressed together as you share the same faded book, its pages worn from years of careful reading. the vault’s limited library doesn’t get restocked, after all.

“you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask suddenly.

lucy doesn’t look up from the pages, though her grip tightens slightly, the paper under her thumb crumbling. “not really,” she lies.

“come on!” you press, nudging her with your elbow. “you’ve never wondered what it’s like? the open sky, fresh air…”

at that, she snorts. “fresh air? you know the stories! it’s nothing but radiation and monsters out there!” lucy flips the page, her eyes fixed on the paragraph in front of her.

you roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow to look at her. “you don’t think everyone out there is bad. you’re too nice for that!”

she finally glances at you, her lips quirking into a small smile. “you think i’m nice?”

“well, of course,” you say, your tone teasing. “i mean, you could just tell me to shut it and read the book, but here we are!”

lucy laughs, a quiet, breathy sound, and looks back down at the book. she doesn’t turn the page.

“okay, maybe i do think about it,” she admits after a moment.

it reminds you of childhood. of sitting in the quiet dark of the quarters, exchanging hushed secrets in the comfort of her presence.

“but not the way you do! you’ve got this whole…” she gestures vaguely, her eyes flicking back to yours. “…adventure thing in your head. like the outside world’s just waiting for you to show up and save it single-handed!”

“and you don’t?”

“nope.” she smiles. “i mean- eventually. once it is safe for all of us to return back. maybe our children will?” she clears her throat and nudges you with her shoulder. “anyway, why would i want to leave when I’ve got you around to drive me crazy?”

you grin, making a point of ignoring the way her words make your heart flutter. “lucky, lucky you!”

“don’t i know it?” she says, rolling her eyes, but her smile lingers, softer now.

the silence settles again, this time heavier with the book no longer her only focus. you don’t notice but lucy’s eyes keep darting your way, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the paper.

she’s fighting a battle in her head. one she’s been losing for weeks, maybe months.

lucy’s been told, more than once and by multiple sources, that making out with your cousin, for example, is normal. perhaps expected, even, just to have some sort experience secured.

but wanting you? her best friend ever since she can remember? that’s something different. something that makes her palms sweat and her stomach twist in ways she can’t explain whenever she tries to picture it.

“hey,” you say suddenly, pulling her out of her spiral. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” she says quickly, her voice too bright. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“you’re fidgeting,” you point out, reaching to still her hand.

the touch is light, casual even. something you’ve done a hundred times before. but it feels different now, with pictures of your lips on hers flashing through her mind. lucy knows it’s not your fault. it’s hers. it’s always hers.

“i’m fine,” she insists, pulling her hand away and crossing her arms. “just…tired, i suppose,”

you don’t look convinced, but you let it go, lying back down and turning your attention to the book. lucy stays sitting up, her eyes on you instead of the page.

she shifts awkwardly, trying not to fidget again. you've started having that effect on her, and it's driving her crazy.

“you know,” you say suddenly as if you'd been reading her mind. “people in the vault are always talking about how it's normal to…y'know, experiment?”

lucy's head jerks toward you so quickly it's a miracle she doesn't pull a muscle.

“experiment?”

“yeah," you hum. “like...with other people…everyone says it's no big deal. ‘limited options,' and all that!”

she swallows hard, her palms suddenly clammy again. “uh...sure,” she says, trying to sound disinterested. “i mean, that's just how it is, right? have to keep the gene pool going or whatever,”

now it’s your turn to snort. “i'm not talking about marriage and babies, lucy. i mean..." you trail off. “practice.”

“practice?” she echoes, her voice an octave too high, the words catching in her throat.

“for when we do get married someday,” you clarify, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. there's a pause before you quickly add: “not to each other, obviously,”

lucy feels like her brain is short-circuiting all over again. you can't just say things like that and expect her to function like a normal person. “right….gee, of course not to each other!” she parrots.

you sit up fully now, visibly excited. “but think about it! vault life does mean limited options, right? most people are already making out with their cousins to 'prepare for marriage!” you pull a face, the very idea making you wrinkle your nose in distaste.. “at least this way, we're...helping each other out. as friends!” “as friends,” lucy repeats, as if saying it out loud will make it true. “you…you’re serious?” her voice wavers, and it’s humiliating. god, why couldn’t she just sound normal?

“why not?” you shrug. “it's not like it has to mean anything!”

she wants to tell you it already does. that it's meant something to her for as long as she can remember. that it could never not, when it’s with you.

but instead, she stammers, “i- i don't think-“

“oh, come on!” you tease, your grin widening. “what? are you scared?”

that does it. lucy always had a stubborn streak, and you’ve learned exactly how to poke it.

“i'm not scared,” she insists, sitting up straighter.

“then prove it!”

lucy freezes. the air between you charged with something she doesn’t quite know how to name. every ounce of logic in her brain is screaming bad idea, but it’s drowned out by the overwhelming desire to close the space between you. just this once. ust for the sake of practice.

“this is...for practice,” she says finally, the words shaky, as if she’s reminding herself more than you.

“exactly.” your voice is soft now, steady. reassuring.

she hesitates for a heartbeat longer, her eyes searching yours for any sign that this is some cruel joke, a trap, a mistake. but all she sees is you: familiar and warm and impossibly close. before she can talk herself out of it, lucy leans in.

the kiss is tentative at first, her lips brushing yours with a softness that surprises even her. it’s careful, until you don’t pull away. when you lean into her instead, it deepens. the warmth of your mouth sends a jolt through her entire body, a shiver that starts at the base of her spine and works its way up.

her hands hover uncertainly in the air before finding your shoulders and holding on for dear life. lucy senses you smiling against her lips, and feeling the curve of your mouth against her own sends her poor heart stumbling in her chest. stumbling, then falling. falling deeper than it ever has before.

your lips taste like the chapstick she applied on them earlier, reasoning that they’d been looking a little too dry when -in reality- all she wanted was an excuse to get to see you from up close.

now, that same gloss smears against lucy’s own, leaving the faint taste of cherry in her mouth. she wants to taste of cherry everywhere, overcome with an unexplainable urge to drown in the flavor altogether: a sweet trail drawn slowly along the zipper of her vault jumpsuit. perhaps even lower, after, so that when you’ll come back up to lucy’s mouth, you’ll taste of her instead of cherries and she’ll get a taste of that, too.

when you are the one to pull back first, heat rushes to her cheeks. you're both breathing a little harder, the space between you buzzing with something electric.

“well,” you begin, your tongue darting out to wet those lips. lucy finds herself watching, mesmerized. “that wasn't so bad, was it?”

her heart is pounding so loudly she's sure you can hear it from where you’re sitting. “uh...no. not bad!”

you grin, leaning back on your hands like nothing monumental just happened.

“we're definitely ready for marriage now,” you conclude, teasing.

later that night, after she’s made sure that the doors to her room are locked, lucy slumps down into the comfort of her bed.

her pillow is still crumpled where you sat earlier.

when lucy presses it between her legs, her face in the bedsheets to stifle her sighs, she smells cherries.

the door to lucy’s quarters hisses shut behind you.

lucy stumbles backward, her lips already pressed to yours, her hands fumbling against the curve of your waist to steady herself. the room feels smaller than usual, the bed barely a few feet away.

“just…practice…” she murmurs between kisses, her voice breathless and a little shaky.

“exactly,” you whisper back, your lips brushing hers again before moving to her jaw.

lucy hums in agreement, though the way her hands tighten on your waist as your lips find her neck suggests she’s not really thinking about marriage prep, potential husbands, or the repopulation anymore.

after that first kiss, something shifted between you. something neither of you could explain but could not resist either. what once was supposed to be casual, a vault-sanctioned form of bonding, a way to keep things ‘normal’ in an environment that was anything but had turned into something way more the moment your lips touched hers that night in her quarters. ‘normal’ went out the window then.

it’s become a familiar pattern over the last few weeks: a fleeting glance across the cafeteria, a brush of hands in the halls, a whispered promise to meet later when no one’s around.

not that you ever talked about it. with all the rules in vault 33, the unspoken one between you both was the most important of all: keep it light, keep it safe. you never pushed further than kisses, never ventured beyond the safety of your blue and yellow vault suits. anything else would be too much, too real.

still, it didn’t matter how many rules you set for yourselves; staying away wasn’t an option. not anymore.

lucy’s back hits the edge of the bed, and she lets out a quiet laugh, her cheeks flushed. “we’re getting really good at this,” she teases.

you grin, leaning down to press another kiss to her lips. “we’re dedicated to the craft,”

her laugh softens into a sigh as you pull back slightly and she can’t chase your mouth with hers, your foreheads touching.

“this isn’t weird, right?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now.

you tilt your head, brushing your nose against hers and drawing another chuckle from her. “weird?”

“yeah.” lucy swallows. “i mean, we’re best friends. and we’re…”

“practicing,” you finish for her.

“right,” she nods quickly. “practicing!”

you don’t say what you’re both thinking: that this doesn’t feel like what it was supposed to be. that it never did, to begin with.

instead, you kiss her again, slow and deliberate, letting the moment stretch. lucy’s hands finally settle on your waist, pulling you closer as her nerves melt away.

all these weeks of making out under the disguise of practicing for a hypothetical marriage neither of you had ever shown any interest in had been good already. great, even. better than anything else you’ve ever known. which truthfully isn’t that much, but it still counts for something that you’re more than willing for lucy to be your first.

the only inconvenience to your little escapades would come later, after sneaking out of her room: the shameful feeling of your arousal, a stubborn reminder that you could not truly be casual about any of this.

still, leaving lucy’s quarters with your wetness pooling between your legs uncomfortably would always be worth having the little of her that you'd been granted.

perhaps one day, it would actually feel like enough. until then, you'll continue with the familiar pattern you've both fallen into. you'll let her touch you through the way too restrictive fabric and say a little prayer that, one of these days, she will go straight for the zipper instead.

[brotherwtf]

Fluffy age gap au?

ughh yes fluffy age gap au I've missed the boys a little bit

this is a little deceiving at first but don't worry!! it is fluff I promise

----

When Gale got the call that John was in the hospital because of an accident on base, he was petrified. He could barely move, hand gripping the phone in shock at the woman's supposedly calm tone.

John had the car so he desperately called Marge, begged her to come pick him up and take him to the hospital, John was hurt, and Marge did it without question.

"I gotta go but please, Gale, call me when you get home and tell me how he's doing," Marge says, squeezing Gale's arm before driving off.

Gale tries not to burst into the hospital like a madman, walks as calmly as he can to the front desk and tries not to let his voice shake as he asks where he is.

"He's right down the hall, now he's just woken up so he's going to be a little out of sorts, don't be alarmed, it's perfectly normal," the nurse cautions, leading Gale to the room.

Gale doesn't know what to expect, doesn't quite want to expect anything, but he doesn't expect John to practically shoot up in his bed when Gale walks into the room.

"Gale!" John shouts, wrestling with the sheets of the hospital bed and the IVs attached to his arm, clearly trying to leap out of the bed and go to Gale.

"Hey, now, Mr. Egan you need to stay in bed, you need to recover," The nurse says, voice as calm as ever.

"I can't stay in bed! That's my boyfriend, I want to go see my boyfriend," John says, voice a little slurred from whatever he was waking up from.

Gale immediately rushes to the bed, putting a gentle hand on John's shoulder and urging him back down. He can't help the smile that creeps onto his face at the almost childish words, his cheeks flushing at John being so candid.

"She's right, John, you need to rest, now come on, tell me what happened," Gale asks, biting his lip to try and hide his grin.

John's eyes are bright and a little watery, his cheeks flushed ruddy as he smiles wide at Gale, arms loose as he tries to grab Gale's hand or tries to wrap them around his shoulders. Gale's not quite sure.

"Aw Gale, Gale I missed you so much, they wouldn't let me call you when it happened, Gale I wanted to call you I did I wanted to call you but they wouldn't let me they wouldn't let me talk-" John starts, rambling from whatever drug-induced haze his mind was still in, eyes welling with tears in a distress that he himself had caused. Gale shushes him and wipes away the tear that falls down his cheek.

"Hey it's okay, John, I'm here now. Can you tell me what happened?" Gale asks, voice steady as John's loose hands try to find his.

John's expression is somewhere between elation and devastation, and Gale's trying desperately hard not to laugh, knows he'll hurt John's feelings because he's not entirely in control right now. But Gale can't help but laugh at how silly anesthesia John was.

His eyes lock in on Gale's and his eyebrows raise, mouth gaping in a slack jawed smile.

"Gale! Oh my God you're here! Nurse, nurse, my boyfriend is here! Can you believe it?" John says, turning back to the nurse who has remained entirely professional this entire time, nodding and placing a hand on John's shoulder.

"Something hit his head pretty bad on base, and he was knocked out cold. We had to put stitches on his forehead but he kept waking up, so we put him on some stronger sedatives and pain killers to stave off the pain. Don't worry, he should be back to normal in a couple of hours," She says, a small grin appearing on her face when John tries to wrap himself around Gale again, and failing to do so with his loose limbs.

Gale nods his thanks and the nurse leaves, hiding a smile behind her hand as she does. He turns back to John and smiles at him, pushing his hair back off of the bandages on his forehead.

"Gave me a right scare, John, I'm glad you're okay, baby," Gale says, running his thumb along the frayed edge of the bandage.

John's lazy smile spreads across his face when he looks back at Gale, leaning into his chest and unsuccessfully wrapping his arms around Gales waist. His eyes light up in recognition again.

"Gale! Oh my God, baby, you're here!"

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 15: It Runs In The Blood

Logan's brother, Victor, has to stay at the apartment for a few days. Things go downhill from here.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, dark background, mentions of abuse.

A/N: hello? anyone here? doesn't seem like anyone's in the mood right now with everything going on💀 I'm definitely not going to talk about Hugh as enough people already do on this app (and because of the rumors and I don't know Hugh personally to judge obviously) so I'll just continue posting my fics about Logan as I only care about this specific fictional character of "his" (well, debatable cause what you're about to read kinda show the opposite...oops). So if you're still here! Enjoy!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The knock at the door was sharp and impatient, echoing through the apartment and drawing Logan’s attention away from the pan he was scrubbing. He stiffened, his grip tightening on the sponge for a fraction of a second before he turned off the faucet.

“He’s here,” Logan muttered, more to himself than to Wade and Y/N, who were seated in the living room.

Wade, sprawled comfortably on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “Let the circus begin,” he quipped, earning a glare from Logan.

Y/N glanced at Logan, noticing the way his jaw clenched as he wiped his hands on a dish towel. He moved to the door with deliberate steps, and she found herself exchanging a look with Wade, who gave her a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

When Logan opened the door, the man on the other side radiated trouble. Victor’s smirk was sharp and mocking, a warning in itself, and his presence seemed to fill the space with an unspoken tension. There was something about him—the way his cold eyes lingered and his confidence bordered on chaos—that immediately set anyone on edge.

“Logan,” Victor drawled, stepping forward without waiting for an invitation. “Long time no see, little brother.”

“Victor,” Logan replied evenly, his tone devoid of emotion. He didn’t step aside until Victor had no choice but to pause, forcing his smirk to falter for a second. Logan’s silent assertion of control didn’t go unnoticed.

Victor’s eyes scanned the room, landing on Wade first. “Well, if it isn’t the comedian,” he remarked with mock amusement. “Still serving beers?”

Wade didn’t miss a beat, leaning back on the couch with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Still making everyone regret inviting you anywhere? Guess we both have our talents.”

Victor chuckled, but the sound was hollow. “Always a smartass.”

Then his gaze shifted to Y/N, and his smile widened. The shift in his expression made her instinctively straighten in her seat.

“And you must be Y/N,” Victor said, his tone warmer but not necessarily kinder. “Logan mentioned you in passing, but he didn’t do you justice.”

Logan stepped in, his voice firm. “Victor.”

Victor held up his hands in mock innocence. “What? I’m just saying hello.”

Y/N stood, forcing a polite smile. “Nice to meet you,” she said, extending a hand.

Victor took it, holding it just a moment too long. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, his voice low.

Logan’s glare was sharp enough to cut glass. “Come on. Let’s get this done with.”

Victor finally let go of Y/N’s hand, following Logan down the hall to the spare room. Wade leaned toward Y/N, his voice low.

“Yeah, he’s a real charmer,” Wade muttered.

Y/N nodded, exhaling the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I can see that.”

In the hallway, Logan pushed open the door to the spare room and gestured for Victor to enter.

“Here. This is where you’ll stay,” Logan said curtly.

Victor glanced around, unimpressed. “Cozy,” he remarked, tossing his duffel bag onto the bed. He turned back to Logan, his smirk returning. “So, how’ve you been, little brother? Still trying to play the good guy?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not doing this.”

Victor’s laugh was sharp. “Oh, come on. You can’t avoid it forever. You invited me here, remember?”

“Because you needed a place to crash,” Logan shot back. “That’s it. Don’t read into it.”

Victor stepped closer, his smirk fading into something harder, more pointed. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same stoic, uptight kid who thought he could fix everything. Newsflash, Logan—you can’t.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Victor standing in the doorway of the spare room.

When Logan returned to the living room, his face was a mask of calm, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders.

“He settled in?” Wade asked, his tone deliberately light.

Logan gave a terse nod. “Yeah.”

“Great,” Wade said with mock enthusiasm. “This is going to be fun.”

Y/N glanced at Logan, whose eyes met hers briefly before he looked away. She wanted to say something, to ask if he was okay, but the set of his jaw made her hesitate.

Victor reappeared moments later, his smirk firmly back in place. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, his tone far too casual.

Logan didn’t answer, heading back to the kitchen instead. Victor’s gaze lingered on Y/N as he sauntered into the living room.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. He dropped onto the couch beside Wade, who leaned as far away as possible.

Victor’s presence was suffocating, his aura of dominance and sarcasm filling every corner of the apartment. Y/N felt her unease growing with each passing second, but she refused to let it show.

Wade, as always, tried to break the tension. “So, Victor, what do you do when you’re not being a professional pain in the ass?”

Victor chuckled darkly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Wade grinned. “Not really, but it seemed like the polite thing to ask.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, though the sound felt out of place in the thick tension. Logan, still in the kitchen, glanced over his shoulder at the sound of her laugh. His eyes softened briefly before he returned to his task, the storm inside him momentarily quelled.

Victor leaned back against the couch, casually tossing an arm over the backrest. “So, Y/N, tell me everything. What do you do? You seem far too composed to be hanging around these two frauds.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but Wade jumped in before she could answer.

“She’s a teacher,” Wade said with exaggerated pride, as if he were announcing a Nobel laureate. “High school, no less. Molding young minds, breaking hearts.”

Victor’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “A teacher? That explains the composure.” His gaze lingered on her, and Y/N felt an uncomfortable heat creep up her neck. “What do you teach?”

“English,” Y/N replied, keeping her tone polite but clipped.

“Ah, literature,” Victor mused, his smirk widening. “All those love stories and tragedies. Let me guess—you’re the kind of teacher who inspires her students to dream big and follow their hearts?”

Logan reappeared from the kitchen, holding a tray of plates. “Victor,” he said sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Victor glanced at him, clearly amused by the interruption. “What? I’m just making conversation.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Logan said, ignoring his brother’s smirk as he set the plates on the table.

The group moved to the dining table, Wade sliding into his chair with a theatrical sigh. “Finally, I’m starving. You know, Victor, you’re lucky Logan’s cooking. If it were up to me, we’d be eating microwave burritos.”

Victor chuckled, sitting down across from Y/N. “Sounds about right. Always relying on Logan to take care of things, huh?”

Wade grinned, unbothered. “Absolutely. Why mess with a winning system?”

Logan’s eyes flicked to Y/N, who was carefully avoiding Victor’s gaze as she picked up her fork. He could see the tension in her posture, the way she sat just a little too straight. His jaw tightened, but he forced himself to sit and start eating, hoping to steer the evening back on track.

For a while, the table was filled with the clink of silverware and the hum of casual conversation. Wade, ever the entertainer, kept the mood light with anecdotes about his gigs and his latest failed attempts at stand-up routines. Y/N found herself smiling despite the unease lingering at the edge of her thoughts.

But Victor, as expected, couldn’t resist.

“You know, Logan,” Victor began, his tone deceptively casual, “this reminds me of that time in…where was it…Kabul?”

Logan froze mid-bite, his knuckles whitening around his fork.

Victor leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. “You remember, don’t you? That look you had back then, the one that could scare the life out of anyone. I bet Y/N’s never seen that side of you.”

The table fell silent.

“Victor,” Logan said, his voice low and warning.

Victor ignored him, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement as he turned to Y/N. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. There was this family, okay? And we were supposed to capture the father, we knew where they were, etc, etc, and when we found them, Logan—”

“Victor.” Logan repeated, this time getting his brother’s attention who just rolled his eyes in response.

“Oh, come on, it’s story time! Anyway, Y/N…the things Logan’s done... the things he’s capable of. Honestly, you’d be terrified.”

“Enough,” Logan snapped, his voice like a whip crack.

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up.”

Wade cleared his throat, clearly sensing the rising tension. “So…Y/N, what’s the funniest thing one of your students has ever done? Bet you’ve got some good stories.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Logan, who was staring daggers at Victor. She forced a smile, grateful for Wade’s attempt to change the subject. “Oh, there are plenty. Teenagers can be... creative.”

The conversation moved forward haltingly, with Victor retreating into a brooding silence for a while. But the unease lingered, like a storm cloud refusing to dissipate.

“…and then,” Wade said, gesturing dramatically, “I told the guy, ‘You’ve got two choices: laugh at my joke or leave the bar.’ And he actually left! Can you believe that?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine anyone walking out on your set. They’ll regret it in the future.”

Victor chuckled darkly, cutting into the conversation. “You know, Wade’s humor is just not for everyone. One wrong joke and you can just make someone flip a table, or something. Or worse!”

Logan’s shoulders tensed. His fork hovered over his plate, unmoving. Wade’s easy grin faltered, and Y/N’s curiosity sparked at Victor’s sudden shift in tone.

“Oh, come on, Victor,” Wade said, trying to steer the conversation back. “I mean, yeah, yeah we know that. It’s not like I’m offensive to anyone in my jokes, I mostly talk about myself—”

Victor ignored him, leaning forward. “For example, I, personally, love dark humor,” he started, smirking, “It’s my thing. Doesn’t mean I think that the jokes are true. I don’t fucking care. Logan and I got enough baggage to survive a few dark jokes, let me tell ya.”

Logan’s chair scraped back as he stood abruptly. “Enough, Victor.” His voice was a low growl, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Victor’s lips curled into a smirk. “What? I’m just saying. The life that we had? Fucking hell.”

“I said enough.” Logan’s tone brooked no argument, but Victor, ever the provocateur, leaned back and shrugged, feigning innocence.

“Alright, alright,” Victor said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t get your claws out.”

The tension at the table was palpable. Y/N’s eyes flicked to Logan, her brows knitting in concern. Wade cleared his throat, desperate to defuse the situation.

“So, Y/N, you were saying about your students…” Wade prompted.

Y/N hesitated but picked up the thread, trying to bring some semblance of normalcy back to the evening. For a while, Victor stayed quiet, sipping his drink with a detached amusement that only made Logan’s jaw tighten further. But then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Victor struck again.

“You know,” Victor began, his tone deceptively casual, “it’s funny, talking about childhoods. Logan and I had a real piece of work for a father. Mean bastard. Used to take a swing at anything that moved, but Logan here…oh, he was the favorite target.”

Logan’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his fork. “Don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Victor ignored him, leaning in as if sharing a secret. “There was this one time,” he continued, “Dad came home drunk, yelling about something or other. Logan, being the hero he always thought he was, tried to step in. Didn’t end well for him.”

“Shut up,” Logan growled, but Victor plowed on.

“I remember the sound of it,” Victor said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “The way Logan hit the floor. Didn’t cry, though. Not my brother. Just sat there, staring up at him like he wanted to rip his throat out.”

The air in the room grew heavy. Y/N’s stomach twisted, and she glanced at Logan, who looked like he was barely holding himself together. Wade’s hand gripped his glass so tightly it seemed it might shatter.

“I said shut the fuck up,” Logan snapped, his voice like thunder.

Victor’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his chair. “Hey, no need to get all worked up. Just reminiscing.”

Logan pushed back his chair and stood, towering over the table. “I’m done.”

Victor leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. I need a smoke anyway.” He pushed his chair back and strolled toward the balcony, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

As Victor strolled out to the balcony, Wade and Y/N remained seated, both unsure of what to say. Logan’s hands were trembling, and his chest heaved with barely-contained fury. Y/N tentatively reached out to touch his arm, but he flinched away, muttering something under his breath.

Victor’s laugh drifted in from the balcony, a cruel, echoing sound that lingered like a bad memory. Y/N and Wade exchanged a worried glance but said nothing, the silence speaking volumes about the storm that had just passed—and the one that was still brewing.

Logan, jaw tight and fists clenched, remained standing by the table, pacing silently across the room. His movements were measured, like he was trying to keep something contained. Wade’s gaze followed Logan, his usual humor absent, replaced by a rare seriousness.

Y/N watched Logan too, her chest aching at the sight of him. She’d never seen him like this—so raw, so visibly on edge. He looked as though he was carrying the weight of the world, every step weighed down by something unspeakable.

Finally, Logan stopped, shaking his head before walking toward the balcony door. He paused for a second, almost as if he were reconsidering, but then pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.

Wade turned to Y/N, his voice low and soft for once. “You okay?”

She blinked, startled by the question, and let out a shaky laugh that held no humor. “You’re asking if I’m okay?” Her voice cracked slightly as she glanced toward the balcony. Logan was out there with Victor now, his posture tense even from this distance. “I’m worried about him, Wade. He doesn’t deserve this... any of it. Why does Victor treat him like this? Why does he let him?”

Wade sighed, his usual smirk replaced by a somber expression. “Victor’s always been like that. Ever since Logan left the army, he’s made it his personal mission to remind him of all the crap he’s trying to forget. It’s... messed up, yeah. But that’s Victor for you. He gets off on digging into wounds, making them bleed again.”

“That’s horrible,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes burned, and she blinked rapidly to hold back tears. “Logan doesn’t deserve that. He’s... he’s a good person. Why does he let Victor treat him like this? It’s like—” She paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s like he thinks he deserves it.”

Wade’s expression softened as he reached out, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, listen to me. Victor’s poison, but Logan? He’s strong. He’s been dealing with this crap for years. He’s gotten through worse. And trust me, he’ll get through this too.”

“But it’s not fair,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “It’s not fair for him to carry this alone.”

“I know.” Wade nodded, his own voice quieter now. “But with Victor? Best thing to do is not give him an opening. You saw how he is—if you engage, he’ll just twist the knife deeper. Logan knows that, which is why he’s out there instead of... well, doing what I’m sure he wants to do.”

Y/N glanced back toward the balcony, where Logan stood stiffly, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the dim city lights. Her heart clenched at the sight. “He’s out there alone with him. Should we—”

“No,” Wade interrupted, shaking his head firmly. “Let him handle it. We’ll talk to him later, when things are calmer. Right now, it’s best if we stay cool. For his sake.”

Y/N nodded reluctantly, though her hands tightened into fists beneath the table.

———

Victor leaned casually against the railing, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He looked utterly relaxed, as if the chaos he left inside didn’t exist. Logan stepped onto the balcony, the chill of the night air doing nothing to cool the fire in his veins.

“You couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Logan’s voice was low, a dangerous edge cutting through the quiet.

Victor glanced at him, feigning surprise. “Help myself with what? Sharing a few memories? Come on, little brother, lighten up. They’re just stories.”

Logan took a step closer, his hands gripping the railing until his knuckles turned white. “They’re not just stories, Victor. They’re my life. My past. And you have no right to bring it up—especially not like that.”

Victor chuckled, exhaling a puff of smoke. “You’re so sensitive these days, Logan. What happened to you? You used to be... tougher.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his voice dropping even lower. “ I’ve spent every day trying to make peace with what I’ve done. What they made me do. You? You haven’t changed a damn bit.”

Victor smirked, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Why would I change? The world’s a jungle, Logan. Always has been. Only the strongest survive. You know that better than anyone.”

Logan’s hands tightened around the railing, his entire body coiled with barely restrained anger. “Is that why you’re here? To remind me of that? Or is there another reason?”

Victor shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Maybe I missed my baby brother. Or maybe I just wanted to see what kind of life you’ve built for yourself.” His gaze flicked toward the apartment window, where Y/N and Wade were still visible inside. “Speaking of which... she’s cute. The girl. Y/N, right?”

Logan froze, his blood running cold. “Don’t.”

Victor’s smirk widened. “Don’t what? Ask if she’s single? Wonder if you’re keeping her to yourself? Come on, Logan, don’t be selfish. She seems like the kind of girl who deserves to have a little fun.”

Logan’s rage boiled over, and he stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I swear—”

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Relax, brother. I haven’t done anything. Yet.”

Logan’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he considered throwing Victor off the balcony. Instead, he took a step back, his voice trembling with barely controlled fury. “Get out of my life, Victor. I’m done with you.”

Victor flicked his cigarette away, the embers glowing briefly before disappearing into the night. “You’ve been saying that for years. But here we are.” He clapped Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Good talk, little brother.”

Logan stood there, staring out at the city, his chest heaving as he fought to calm the storm raging inside him.

———

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft clinking of dishes as Y/N and Wade worked together to clear the remnants of dinner. Victor lingered nearby, leaning against the doorway with the same insufferable air of casual dominance that had hung over him all evening.

“So, Y/N,” Victor began, his tone light but probing, “what’s your story? How’d you end up living with these two?”

Y/N shot Wade a glance, silently asking for backup, but he was focused on drying a plate. She forced a polite smile. “It’s not much of a story, really. I needed a place to stay, and they were kind enough to let me move in.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully, his gaze lingering. “Bet it’s interesting with those two.”

“It is,” Y/N replied curtly, turning back to the sink. Her tone made it clear she wasn’t interested in elaborating.

Wade finally broke the tension, setting the plate down with a loud clatter. “Hey, Victor, since you’re so interested, how about you grab a towel and help us out?”

Victor chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Nah, I wouldn’t want to ruin your rhythm. You two seem to have it under control.”

“Shocking,” Wade muttered, rolling his eyes as he handed Y/N another dish to dry.

By the time the kitchen was spotless, the air between them felt lighter, though Victor’s presence lingered like a bad smell. Logan returned to the living room after a few minutes, his expression still tense but more composed than before. He made a point of ignoring Victor entirely as he crossed the room, his focus shifting to Y/N and Wade.

“You two should get some sleep. It’s late,” he said, his tone firm but lacking its usual warmth.

Victor smirked. “Ah, the silent treatment. Classic. Always knew you’d be a master of communication, little brother.”

Logan didn’t even glance his way, his jaw tightening as he waited for Y/N and Wade to respond.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Logan. He looked exhausted, not just physically but emotionally, the events of the evening weighing heavily on him. Still, she nodded. “Goodnight, Logan.”

“Yeah,” Wade added, clapping Logan on the shoulder as he passed. “Try not to kill him in his sleep.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

———

Y/N tossed and turned in her bed, the events of the evening replaying in her mind. Victor’s cutting remarks, Logan’s barely concealed anger, the heaviness in his eyes—it all left a bitter taste in her mouth. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Logan needed someone, someone who could shoulder even a fraction of the burden he carried.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she slipped out of bed. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. As she made her way toward Logan’s door, her heart pounded in her chest. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering just inches from the wood. What if he didn’t want to talk? What if he just wanted to be left alone? 

Summoning her courage, she knocked softly.

The door opened a moment later, Logan standing there in a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly disheveled. 

“You couldn’t sleep either,” she guessed softly.

Logan shook his head, a wry, tired smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That obvious?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Logan froze for a moment, caught off guard. Then, slowly, his arms came up, encircling her in a warm, protective embrace. He held her tightly, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. Neither of them spoke, the silence between them saying more than words ever could.

Minutes passed—maybe more, maybe less. Time seemed to stretch and blur as they stood there, holding onto each other like lifelines in the dark.

Eventually, Y/N pulled back, looking up at him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan exhaled, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding releasing all at once. “I’m better now,” he admitted, his voice hoarse.

A small, comforting smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “Good. Try to get some sleep, okay? And... if you need anything, you can knock on my door. Anytime.”

Logan nodded, a rare flicker of something warm and genuine crossing his features. “Thanks, Y/N. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” she replied, giving him one last smile—one of those radiant, unguarded smiles that secretly made his heart ache in the best way.

As she turned and disappeared down the hallway, Logan closed the door quietly behind her, leaning against it for a moment. For the first time that night, he felt a small measure of peace.

In her room, Y/N climbed back into bed, her worry for Logan still lingering but softened by the memory of their embrace. She drifted off to sleep with the faint hope that, somehow, things would get better.

———

The next morning, the apartment was quiet as Y/N stepped out of her room, fully dressed for work. She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and made her way to the kitchen, expecting to find Logan already awake and brooding over his coffee like usual. Instead, she found Victor—alone.

Her steps faltered, but she quickly forced herself to move forward, unwilling to show any hesitation. Victor, seated at the kitchen table with a mug in hand, looked up and smiled—a slow, predatory curve of his lips that sent a chill down her spine.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice smooth, almost mocking.

“Morning,” she replied curtly, keeping her tone neutral. She busied herself at the counter, pouring a cup of coffee and grabbing a piece of toast, hoping to make her breakfast quickly and escape the room.

“You’re up early,” Victor commented, his gaze sweeping over her. “I guess being a teacher means no sleeping in, huh?”

Y/N gave a noncommittal hum, biting into her toast.

Victor’s eyes lingered as she turned slightly to grab a napkin. “You look good,” he said casually, his tone laced with something that made her skin crawl. “Really good. That dress suits you.”

“Thanks,” Y/N muttered, not looking at him.

He didn’t take the hint. Instead, he stood, closing the distance between them. “I mean it,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned against the counter beside her. “You’re stunning. Logan’s lucky to have you around.”

Her pulse quickened. She sidestepped slightly, but he followed, his movements uncomfortably close.

“Victor,” she said, her voice firm, “I need to get ready for work.”

“You’ve got time,” he replied smoothly, stepping behind her. Before she could react, he caged her against the counter, his hands bracing on either side of her.

Panic surged through her. She tried to step back, but his body was too close, his presence suffocating.

“Victor, let me go,” she demanded, her voice sharp.

But he didn’t. His hands slid along her sides, his touch invasive and unwelcome. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’m just admiring you.”

“Get off me!” she snapped, her voice rising as she tried to push him away.

Before she could say anything else, a thunderous roar echoed through the apartment.

“VICTOR!”

The sheer power in Logan’s voice made the walls vibrate.

Victor barely had time to look up before Logan stormed into the kitchen, his fury palpable. He grabbed Victor by the collar and yanked him away from Y/N, sending him stumbling backward.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Victor smirked, straightening his shirt. “Relax, little brother. I was just—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan cut him off, his voice trembling with rage. He pushed Victor again, forcing him into the living room. Victor tripped over the coffee table, landing hard against the sofa.

“Take your stuff and get out,” Logan barked, his chest heaving. “You’re done here. Don’t call, don’t text, don’t even think about me. If I ever see you again, I swear to God, I’ll ruin you so thoroughly you’ll wish you’d never been born.”

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk still firmly in place. “Always so dramatic, Logan. No wonder you’re such a mess.”

“Get. Out.” Logan’s voice was a growl, his fists clenched at his sides.

Victor shrugged, grabbing his jacket from the couch. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave. You’ve always been so sensitive.”

As he walked toward the door, he glanced back at Y/N, who was still frozen in the kitchen. “See you around, sweetheart.”

That was the last straw.

Before Victor could take another step, Logan closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the doorframe. Victor’s smirk faltered for the first time, his cocky confidence slipping as Logan’s fist hovered threateningly close to his face.

For a moment, Logan saw it—fear. Real, unguarded fear in Victor’s eyes.

The sight made Victor swallow hard, and without another word, he tore himself free from Logan’s grip, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he stumbled out the door. He didn’t look back.

The slam of the door reverberated through the apartment, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Logan stood there for a moment, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths, his fists still trembling with restrained anger.

When he finally turned around, his expression shifted entirely. Gone was the storm of rage—replaced by something softer, more concerned. His gaze immediately sought out Y/N. He crossed the room in a few long strides, his hands hovering as if unsure where to start.

“Did he hurt you?” Logan asked, his voice low and trembling. “Tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, but Logan didn’t seem convinced. His eyes roamed over her, checking for any sign of harm. He muttered something under his breath, too quiet for her to catch.

“Logan,” she said softly, reaching up to cup his face with both hands. The contact stilled him, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m okay. Thank you for what you did.”

Their eyes met, the intensity of the moment making it impossible to look away.

Before either could say anything more, Wade’s voice broke the silence.

“Did you finally kick that asshole to the curb?” Wade drawled, shuffling into the room in his pajamas, his hair sticking up at odd angles. “What was his problem anyway? Did he wake up this morning and decide to be a human dumpster fire?”

Logan and Y/N quickly stepped away from each other. Logan cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s gone.”

“Good,” Wade muttered, grabbing a coffee mug. “He was really ruining my morning vibe. Honestly, if dumpster diving was a personality, it’d be Victor. Trash and all.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension in the room easing slightly. Logan shot her a small, grateful smile before turning away, the weight of what had just happened still hanging heavy in the air.

XXX

[katerinaaqu]

Again I agree and as I said i can see where people come from but I am also dropping some more stuff on the table. I never said you did excuse it I only say that even for THAT culture certain things were considered assault. I mean in their actual legal books and such.

(Oh I won't hahaha I don't wanna get started either)

I know there is a lot of misconception in regards to that and indeed many toning down voices to say the very least but I am explaining how it was presented in many sources. And what you say "good" or "bad" is in the ears of the beholder even in antiquity. If you read Odysseus in Homer and if you read Odysseus in Euripides is like reading two different characters because clearly Euripedes wanted to depict him as much more rotten of a fellow, for once. So the "good" and "bad" is not something new here either which is interesting to think. I usually get furious when peolle use as you say fandom to characterize the figures of the sources

No but you said often women=bad and you brought up misogyny and again I contested that because as I said we have some amazing work that depicts women so again I simply slightly disagreed to that saying that the inequalities were indeed serious but it wasn't the same as to write "women=bad" in fact more men commit atrocities in Greek mythology than women. And I disagreed because again we keep ringing "misogynistic written by men" and then you have people even in the 19th century say "oh gosh women are depicted so well in this story! It must have been written by a woman!" Which actually shows how probably is us modern humans who are looking for misogyny "written by men" and we do not look at the complexity of the texts. Like is Clytemnestra a misogynistic character "written by men"? In my opinion no. Her drama is depicted in such a wah that you do not agree with her actions but you see her reasoning and Orestes calling her wicked? Like come on the kid was exiled because of her. Surely she wouldn't have had a positive description by her son. Is Helen a "misogynistic character written by men"? How? Because men speak badly about her in the texts? Especially in later tragedies? Doesn't that say more about the men than the woman herself? Or the Trojan women speak badly of her? How not to? The war happened in her name. They project their fury to a sacrificial lamb. That sounds more like human psychology to me than "misogyny written by men". Was Penelope misogynistic written by men? Penelope who held at bay 108 drunks with her seer will and brain? Why are we saying "misogynistic written by men" every time a woman is portrayed as antagonistic? Like Medea for example. For every Medea we also have a Helen or a Hecuba etc. Antagonists being female is just another form of writing antagonists to me. Like so many others. Both men and women are depicted as antagonists in greek mythology. If we speak "ha ha misogyny" every time we have a female antagonist then how is that equality or good? Quite frankly like I said we have more men being antagonists or violent or murderers than we have women (locrian Ajax, Thyestes, Atreus, Minus with his blood offering, Odysseus with the taking of Troy, Agamemnon with his behavior against Achilles and Chryses, Neoptolemus and the violent murder of Priam and Astyanax, Orestes and his violent killing of little Helen or the plotting of murder of Helen and the taking hostage of Hermione etc) why isn't anyone looking at those and say "ha! Misandry" but every time someone sees Medea or Clytemnestra they scream misogyny?

But I would agree on some aspects of ancient greek literature for example the acceptance of their husband or master etc even if they have no reason to (although I would argue we do see that in men as well but is more frequent in women) see for example Briseis being in cold acceptance of Achilles even if he killed her family. But then you have Euripides in Iphigenia in Aulis making Clytemnestra speak up and he even inserts a story of his own that Agamemnon killed her husband to claim her as his wife and she speaks out against him and accuses him so even for that we have amazing writing examples

Were some writers misogynistic writing some twisted versions of myths? Of course. The same way that there were misandrists too that write twisted versions of men in antiquity etc. Just food for thought. Was it a perfect society? Absolutely not. Are we perhaps looking way too hard to accuse the writing "of men" every time we disagree with a portrayal of a character? In my opinion yes. But that is just me. I usually look for individual examples rather than say "misogyny written by men" because honestly we have writers who are good and those who are bad those who are detailed with what they write and those who are not etc. And I do not see a consistent undermining of women in ancient greek literature to excuse the generalization of misogyny in the totality of Greek literature as many people say. No more than characterize misandry either.

I agree greek mythology has amazing characters in them of all types of modalities and thoughts so yeah. I absolutely agree.

Not at all. Homer is a valuable source and is great to look through him. But arguably Homer is one of the sources that REALLY knew how yo write female characters such as Helen with her brilliant mind and speaking up nature also Penelope and of course Circe a goddess living by herself making her own choices etc.

i’m so sick of the “odysseus cheated” debate… because it’s always “odysseus was loyal, circe and calypso assaulted him” vs “odysseus cheated because he slept with circe and calypso”. YOU CAN’T APPLY MODERN MORALS TO A STORY WRITTEN THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO…. what odysseus did with circe and calypso wasn’t considered assault OR cheating….he was loyal to penelope either way…..tell me you understand that

[yassbishimvintage]

You

MDNI!!

Warnings: Fluff, smut

Banner by @cafekitsune

Aaron stood by the window, looking out as the morning light filled the room. His smile lingered as he glanced back at Cleo, still peacefully asleep in their bed. The sight of her, relaxed and unaware of the world, made him feel grateful for their life together. He carefully dressed, taking care not to disturb her slumber.

He made his way to the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee, hoping to get a quiet moment before his day began. There was still a sense of calm in the house, a rare and cherished thing amidst the busyness of their lives. He took a deep breath, ready to face whatever challenges the day would bring, knowing that his family was his anchor.

Aaron’s heart skipped a beat as he turned to see Cleo standing behind him, her body bathed in the soft light of the morning. Her figure was still a vision of beauty, even without the adornment of clothing. Her presence, so familiar yet so enticing, filled the room with warmth. 

His smile deepened as he met her gaze. “Good morning, my love,” he murmured, his voice soft but full of affection.

Cleo stepped closer, her fingers brushing lightly against his back, the subtle contact sending a ripple of warmth through him. “Morning, love,” she replied, her voice laced with sleep, but still full of that familiar playful tone. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

He turned to face her fully, taking in the sight of her with an appreciation that never seemed to fade. “You’re absolutely stunning,” he whispered, unable to resist touching her face, tracing the outline of her jaw with the pad of his thumb.

Cleo smiled, her eyes soft and full of love. “I could say the same about you,” she teased, her fingers gently trailing down his chest.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world outside seemed to fade away as they stood there, lost in each other’s presence.

Aaron looks at his girlfriend.  “Damn. What did I do to deserve you?” He asks kissing her hand. 

Cleo smiled softly, her fingers grazing his jawline as she met his gaze. "I could ask you the same thing," she whispered, her voice warm and affectionate. "But I'm lucky, too."

Aaron chuckled, his eyes lighting up with affection. "Lucky doesn't even begin to cover it," he murmured, leaning in for a slow, tender kiss. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression filled with admiration. "Every day with you feels like a blessing."

Cleo laughed lightly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, we make a good team." She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him, feeling the warmth of their bond. "And I wouldn't want it any other way."

They shared a quiet, intimate moment before the bustle of the day began to call them both back to reality. But for now, in this fleeting moment, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

“You better get going. Trust me I’ll be naked when you get home.” She says. He smiles and kisses her softly on the lips.

Aaron’s lips lingered on hers for a moment longer, his smile deepening. "I look forward to that," he murmured, his voice low and filled with promise. He pulled back, his eyes darkening with desire as he scanned her once more. "But don't get too comfortable. I’ll be home before you know it."

Cleo smirked playfully, her fingers trailing lightly down his chest. "I can wait," she teased, her voice sultry as she gave him a wink. "But make sure you're not too late."

With a final lingering kiss, Aaron stepped back, heading toward the door with a grin on his face. "I won't keep you waiting long, love" he called over his shoulder, the promise of their reunion hanging in the air as he left for work.

That night when he comes home he sees Cleo in their shared bedroom. She’s in a lingerie set with a silk robe over it. The dim lighting from the bedside lamp cast a soft glow over the room as Aaron stood in front of Cleo, his hands resting gently on her hips.

He knelt before her, brushing his lips across the delicate fabric of her silk robe before parting it slightly to expose her stomach. His eyes softened as he kissed her skin tenderly, his lips lingering as if he were savoring the moment.

Cleo’s breath hitched as his kisses became slower, more deliberate. Each press of his lips seemed to carry unspoken promises, unspoken dreams.

Each kiss was soft, deliberate, and filled with unspoken emotion. His fingers splayed out, holding her steady as he lingered there, his warm breath grazing her skin.

Cleo’s fingers slipped into Armando’s hair, her nails gently grazing his scalp as he continued to press soft kisses to her stomach. He hummed in response, the vibration sending a shiver up her spine. His hands remained firm on her waist, grounding her, as if he never wanted to let go.

"Aaron," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, a mix of affection and desire.

He paused for a moment, tilting his head back to look up at her. His dark eyes were soft, yet intense, like they held every promise he’d ever made to her. "Yes, my love?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

Her lips curved into a tender smile as she lightly tugged on his hair. "You always know how to make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world."

"That’s because you are," he said without hesitation, his tone unwavering. His hands moved to her hips, his thumbs brushing against the fabric of her dress. "There’s no one else, Cleo. There never will be."

Her heart swelled at his words, and she leaned forward, her forehead resting against his. "You have no idea how much I love you," she murmured.

"Oh, I know," he replied with a soft laugh, his hands sliding around her waist to pull her closer. "But I’ll never get tired of hearing it."

Cleo chuckled, her fingers tightening in his hair as she kissed the top of his head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, his lips curving against her skin. "Only for you."

Cleo gracefully lowered herself to her knees, settling into her submission pose with practiced ease. Her back was straight, her hands resting lightly on her thighs, and her head tilted slightly downward in deference. The gesture was quiet but powerful, a silent acknowledgment of trust and surrender.

Aaron’s breath hitched at the sight. He took a step closer, his hand gently lifting her chin so their eyes met. His gaze was dark and filled with a mixture of tenderness and control. “My love,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her cheek, “you never fail to take my breath away.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, her voice steady but filled with devotion. “I’m yours, Aaron. Always.”

His jaw tightened, and he exhaled slowly, his fingers trailing down the side of her face. “You have no idea what you do to me, Cleo,” he said, his tone both reverent and commanding. “But tonight, I want you to feel just how much you mean to me.”

She nodded, her posture unwavering. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice steady but brimming with anticipation.

Aaron took a moment to drink in the sight of her before leaning down, his hand threading through her hair as he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Good girl,” he said softly, his voice laced with pride.

The connection between them was palpable, a perfect harmony of love, trust, and passion. For a moment, the world outside their bubble ceased to exist, leaving only them and the bond they shared.

Aaron  reached over to the bedside table, where Cleo’s custom gold chains lay gleaming in the low light. Each link shimmered as he picked them up with care, his fingers brushing over the delicate design that he had chosen specifically for her. The chains were more than just jewelry; they symbolized their bond, a blend of elegance and strength that mirrored their relationship.

He stepped behind her, his movements deliberate and reverent. "Stay still, love," he instructed, his voice soft yet commanding. Cleo obeyed, her posture unwavering, her breath shallow as she felt the cool metal against her skin.

With practiced ease, he draped the first chain around her neck, the clasp clicking into place with a satisfying sound. His fingers lingered at her collarbone, tracing the line of the chain as if to ensure it sat perfectly. "This," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, "reminds me of your strength."

He moved on to the second chain, this one more intricate, adorned with a small pendant that rested just above her heart. As he fastened it, his lips brushed against her ear. "And this," he whispered, "is for your beauty—inside and out."

Finally, he secured the last chain around her wrist, a dainty bracelet that glinted in the light. He kissed her wrist, his lips warm against her skin. "This one," he said, his tone filled with meaning, "is for your loyalty. For always standing by me."

Cleo glanced down at the chains adorning her body, feeling the weight of his devotion in every piece. She turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Aaron. For everything."

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. "You’re mine, Cleo. And I’ll never let you forget it."

Her chains now in place, she felt both adorned and empowered, a perfect balance of his love and her own strength.

Aaron circled Cleo slowly, his eyes taking in every detail of her as though committing her to memory. The glint of her chains caught the light, accentuating the smooth contours of her skin. His smirk widened, equal parts admiration and mischief, as he deliberately let the moment linger.

"Now, love," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, "how should I take you?" He stopped in front of her, tilting her chin up with a gentle yet possessive hand, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Cleo's breath hitched, the weight of his question and the intensity in his eyes making her pulse quicken. She knew this game, and she loved the thrill of it. Slowly, she tilted her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. "However you want, Aaron," she replied, her voice soft but laced with challenge.

He chuckled, a deep sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Such a tempting answer," he said, running his fingers lightly down her arm. "But I think I’ll make you work for it."

Aaron stepped back, his hands sliding into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his stance one of pure control. "Show me," he commanded, his voice firm yet velvet-soft. "How much you want me."

Cleo’s movements were deliberate, her eyes locked on Aaron’s as she reached for the waistband of her panties. With a slow, calculated step, she let them slide down her legs, pooling on the floor at her feet. She straightened, her confidence radiating, and reached behind her back to unhook her bra. The straps slipped down her shoulders, her hands never breaking their sensual rhythm, until it too fell to the floor.

Aaron’s eyes darkened, his gaze tracing every curve as she stood before him, bare and unguarded. His smirk turned into something more primal, his control slipping just enough for her to see the raw hunger underneath.

Cleo tilted her head, her lips curving into a soft smile as she whispered, “Is this enough, or do I need to beg you to touch me?”

Aaron stepped forward, closing the distance between them in an instant. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing over her collarbone before sliding up to cradle her jaw. “You don’t need to beg, my love,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But I want to hear you say it anyway.”

She soon moans out a please. Aaron's voice was low and commanding, his words laced with both authority and desire. "You want me to fuck you, don't you?" he asked, his gaze locking onto Cleo's with an intensity that made her breath catch.

She nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, Daddy," she said, the words trembling with anticipation.

He tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I want to hear you say it properly, princess," he said, his tone daring her to resist.

Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze, her voice steady this time. "I want you to fuck me, Daddy. Please."

His smirk deepened as he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, teasingly soft. "Good girl," he murmured. "Now, let me show you how much I love hearing you beg."

The next morning, Cleo woke up with a contented smile on her face, her body still tingling from the night before. She stretched slowly, wincing slightly at the soreness in her muscles, a reminder of the passion they’d shared.

Aaron was already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a satisfied smirk. "Morning, love," he said, his voice warm and teasing. "You look happy."

She rolled her eyes playfully and reached over to smack his chest lightly. "I wonder whose fault that is," she replied with a soft laugh, the glow on her face undeniable.

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You didn’t seem to mind last night," he said, his voice low and full of pride. "And you were perfect, as always."

Cleo chuckled, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Well, I won’t argue with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "But next time, maybe give me a warning before you decide to ruin me completely."

Aaron grinned, pulling her close. "No promises, princess," he murmured. "But I’ll always make sure you’re happy."

That night Aaron was out late at a table read. When he got in bed, Cleo shifted restlessly in bed, her mind unable to settle. The glow of the moonlight spilled through the curtains, casting soft shadows over their room. She turned slightly, her gaze falling on Aaron’s peaceful expression as he slept.

"He's going to kill me for this," she murmured with a faint smile before lightly running her fingers over his chest.

Aaron stirred, cracking one eye open. "Couldn't sleep, love?" he asked in a deep, sleep-laden voice, pulling her closer.

She nodded, her lips pressing into a pout. "My mind won't shut off."

A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You know the rule," he said, his voice a seductive rumble. "Wake me up, and I'll take care of you."

Before she could respond, Aaron shifted, rolling her onto her back. His hands moved with practiced ease, tracing her body with a familiarity that sent shivers down her spine. "I'll fuck you to sleep, princess," he promised, his lips brushing against her neck.

And true to his word, by the time his ministrations were done, Cleo was curled up in his arms, her breathing soft and even, finally succumbing to the peaceful rest she'd been chasing.

Cleo stirred awake, the morning light filtering through the curtains. She blinked a few times before her gaze landed on Aaron. He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, wearing a pair of grey sweats that hung low on his hips. His eyes were fixed on her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"You going to tell me why you couldn’t sleep last night?" he asked, his voice low and smooth. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "I can’t remember the last time you asked me to fuck you to sleep."

She sat up, adjusting the sheets around her as a small smile tugged at her lips. "I don’t know," she started, her voice soft. "Maybe I just needed you close. My mind was racing, and I knew you’d know how to quiet it."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the bed. "You’re not usually one to let your mind run wild, Cleo. What’s been bothering you?"

Cleo shrugged, trying to deflect. "Just... life. Work. All of it. Sometimes it’s hard to shut it off."

He knelt on the bed, placing a hand on her chin to tilt her face toward his. "Next time, just talk to me, mi reina. You don’t always have to let me fuck the stress out of you," he teased, though his tone held a seriousness that showed his concern.

She chuckled softly, leaning into his touch. "Talking doesn’t feel as good, though," she said playfully, earning a low laugh from him.

"Fair enough," he replied, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "But I’m here for all of it, Cleo. Always."

Cleo sighed, leaning back against the headboard as Aaron settled beside her, his hand resting gently on her thigh. His steady gaze never left hers, and she could feel the weight of his concern.

"And you don’t have to work, remember?" he reminded her, his voice calm but firm. "I told you, you’ve done enough for a lifetime. You don’t need to carry it all."

“Now.” He says. “Do you want me to sex you into a nap or should we start our day?” He asks.

Cleo let out a soft laugh, her fingers lightly tracing over the back of Aaron’s hand. "You make it sound like such a tough choice," she teased, tilting her head to look at him with a playful glint in her eyes.

Aaron smirked, his hand moving to rest on her hip. "Well, it’s an important decision, princess," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I’m happy to start our day... but if you’d rather stay right here and let me help you relax, you know I’d be more than willing."

She bit her bottom lip, pretending to ponder the question as his hand slid along her side, his touch deliberate and slow. "You’re making a very strong argument for staying in bed," she said with a grin.

"I always do," he replied, leaning closer, his lips brushing against her ear. "So what’s it gonna be, my love? Start the day—or let me make you forget about everything else for a little while?"

Cleo sighed dramatically, pretending to give in as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Fine," she said, her voice dripping with mock exasperation. "You win, Mr. Pierre. Put me back to sleep."

Aaron chuckled, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he shifted to hover over her. "Smart choice," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her lips. "Now let me take care of you."

Her laughter melted into a contented sigh as he kissed her again, his hands already moving with a practiced ease that promised she wouldn’t be thinking about anything else for quite some time.

Tags 🏷️

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar @kenshisluvrgirl @planetblaque @pocketsizedpanther @bimbosnbutterflies2026 @chewingmy3xtragum @easybrezzy @blowmymbackout

[flower-zombie-rob]

Welcome to day one of how many times can my mother tear me down and destroy my confidence in one go. How many days will this go on? Im not sure! Tune in next time for a brand new episode of Taking Advantage Of My Kids Rejection Sensitivity, youre watching the disney channel.

[teakoodrawz]

if you dont mind with hc asks. What are your voice hcs with scc? I'd like to know your takes in them

[Mic test mic test!!! Full script undercut!!! ]

[ ❤️ || Sweet -> Revtrosity - you already knew how it sounded if you ever watched this video on youtube and heard his voice acting of sweet cap'n cakes. i tried to find any specific artists with song associations that fits their tone but so far i didn't got it right so i think from revtrosity seemed sm better and fitting bcuz he voice acted them really good imo. With Sweet sounding deep and their voice being raspy (and also quite robotic buzz sound with all the editing) was the perfect voice for them (he's the best ut/dr voice actor with hilarious humors screaming over his mic he was once my fav) ]

[ 💙 || Cap'n -> Lin-Manuel Miranda - oh boi let me tell you about this one..i LOVE associating Cap'n with lin-manuel ESPECIALLY from the netflix animated movie Vivo because those two characters reminded me alot of each other and because this talented kinkajou, Vivo was...a coward. but also passionate and funny (a bit more..exaggerated). Also did his very best to do the right thing for his friend because its the last thing he could do for him. really reminded me alot of cap'n with his bandmates so I BEG of you to try listening to some lin-Manuel songs especially the Hamilton. and imagine it'scap'en I luv it sm or else I'd drag your noodle legs into my hole-- /j/j]

[ 💚 || Cakes (k_k) -> Revtrosity- his voice acting of k_k did fit really well too so I'd choosed this one bcuz I dont know where to actually find the best voice tone for k_k (I also almost associated Cakes with Tanjiro Kamado for many reasons) also I do have an alternative voice hc from the song Role-playing Game by SoraMafuUraSaka with the member named MafuMafu almost sounded like k_k to me if you listen to their song parts. ]

[salemoleander]

"Grian, my friend," Cub says, with the pleasantly blank tone usually reserved for people waking up from anesthesia, "Not to be rude, but I think you have the wrong idea. False is part vex. No idea where you're getting the bird thing."

Nodding enthusiastically in affirmation, Scar withers not-at-all at the glare Grian shoots his way. "What, she is! We've- well, I don't want to be sharing what other hermits get up to in their spare time, but there was munching and crunching and bones involved, Grian. Bones! Not a bird thing."

"I could name five non-vex Hermits off the top of my head who would eat someone. You're being- deterministic, about what bird hybrids might do!" Grian says, sharply adding, "Scar, it's your turn to draw."

Constructing a log cabin out of pretzel sticks, Ren says, "I'm pretty sure she's a latent werewolf or something close to it. But before I argue my case, I want to hear what proof G has for Falsie being part bird?"

Cub mutters "A latent werewolf?" incredulously.

Scar draws a card, sighs dramatically, and then passes his turn. Everyone ignores this; he has sighed dramatically at almost every card the entire night, and won easily half the rounds anyways.

Leaning his chair back on two legs in exactly the way that had required them to set up a bed for respawn earlier in the evening, Grian insists, "She's an avian! Sure she doesn't have wings, but whenever she drops by she'll help herself to my dried grasshoppers and birdseed. You're not telling me vex, or- or wolves, would eat that stuff?"

Pearl, who has been sitting on a couch in the corner drawing up plans for an observatory and unsuccessfully ignoring them all, pipes up. "Hey, I eat that stuff!" She feigns shock, raising an arm against her forehead. "Why did no one tell me I was a bird?"

"You're an alien, it's different. You'll eat anything."

She tucks her notebook back into her inventory and crosses her arms. "Well Mr. Smartypants, how do you know False isn't an alien?"

"Usually when this many people have a different story, it means there's intentional bamboozlement afoot," Scar suggests brightly.

Ren raises his hand, and all eyes (or lack thereof, in Grian's case) look in his direction. "I figured, why not just ask her!" he says. "Just got a message back. Apparently, she really is a regular human. So with that burning question answered, would you fine gentlemen- and Pearl, if you want to join- like to get back to the game?"

Pearl, Cub, and Grian look at each other.

Grian says, "Well, that can't be true."

"It's too easy," says Cub, shaking his head.

"Bet I can figure it out before you two," Pearl says, shrugging on her elytra.

Voices echo as they bicker their way out of the room and down the hall. Ren turns with chagrin to Scar. "We may need to add to the banned topics board for next week."

The current list is over a dozen items long; game nights had only restarted three weeks before.

"Maybe even replacing Star Wars?" Scar suggests.

Ren strokes his chin. "Maybe," he says, meaning no.

My favourite headcannon is that False is completely human and everything weird that she does is on her own volition, no animal instincts, no hybrid perks, no wings no tails, she’s just a sinister ill human freak

[medicinemane]

Few things piss me off more than when I'm researching something, and I find someone asking the question I want answered, and the response is just "you shouldn't want that, just do this instead"

Today, it's me trying to look up a build for this witch farm concept that uses raid captains to manipulate the witches ai instead of using redstone

"Just use the shifting floors farms, they're just about as good" people respond... you stupid prick, that's not an answer to the question actually asked. I don't know about these guys, but me, I want it cause it's novel and there's no redstone, and I like putting bespoke prestige projects on my server... you might have noticed I tend to do form over function on a lot of my farms... so this is about form, the function is just a bonus

Second example, I wanted to see if there was any way to make Terra Invicta load faster, "just don't save scum"... you idiot, one that's just stupid advice, people can play games however they want, but two this once again doesn't answer the question

Like yeah, how dare people want to know if there's a way to make a game load saves faster when loading takes like 1 minute

If they at least phrased stuff like "sorry, I don't know how to do that, he's an alternative you might try", it's not helpful but it's at least polite

But man... I just get tired of people not answering the question being asked and instead answering the one they've decided was asked

(Actually, a legit real problem in the real world such as... with doctors who don't listen to their patient and decide they know what's really being asked. Don't do it, answer the asked question, or at least ask questions to confirm what's being asked before going off pig headed)

[autisticdoomslayer]

The Babadook is very important to me because I was the weird annoying autistic kid who wanted to help but didn't see that I was the problem

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.

[shotmrmiller]

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

[harrysfolklore]

labyrinth - fc43

summary: as the only female driver on the grid, everything in yn's life was planned like a perfect qualifying lap. then franco colapinto had to show up. first, he was just that annoying new guy who took her best friend's seat. then he became the driver she absolutely couldn't stand (or at least that's what she kept telling herself) word count: over 13k + social media posts

folkie radio: GUYYYYSSS SHE'S HERE! i started writing this fic in september and it's finally her time to shine!! this is my first time writing driver!reader so please be gentle with me. also, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! may all of your wishes come true

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,027,537 others

yourinstagram p6 in zandvoort ! happy to see max on the podium for his home race. see you soon monza 🇮🇹

view all comments

username1 LEGEND

username2 p6 with that tractor feels like a podium finish fr

username3 give your seat to danny already

oscarpiastri Well done stinks 👊

↳ logansargeant Don’t praise her, her ego gets inflated

↳ username2 BEST TRIO ON THE GRID

↳ yourinstagram you’re both so jealous of me

redbullracing Keep pushing ! 💙

↳ username1 FIX HER FUCKING CAR

username4 p6 in a redbull? just hand the seat to someone more deserving

francolapinto Amazing 🙌🙌

↳ username2 franco is such a fannn

danielricciardo Proud of you 👌👌

↳ username1 haters want to create this beef between yn and danny for the seat but him adores her

maxverstappen1 Look she’s a nice teammate

↳ yourinstagram you adore me 😤

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

A knot forms in your stomach as you read the messages. Something about the tone doesn't sit right with you. You quickly head towards Logan's motorhome, your mind racing and your axiety creeping in.

When you arrive, Oscar is already there, leaning against the wall with a concerned expression. Logan sits on the couch, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the floor.

"Logan?" you ask softly, stepping into the room. "What's going on?"

He looks up at you, then at Oscar, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and resignation. "I… I'm not coming back for the next race," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You feel like you've been punched in the gut. Deep down, a part of you had known this was coming. Rumors in the paddock spread faster than a Formula 1 car on a straight, and there had been whispers about Logan's seat for weeks. But you hadn't wanted to believe it. You'd pushed those thoughts aside, convinced that if you just ignored them, they wouldn't come true.

"What? What do you mean you're not coming back?"

Oscar pushes off the wall, his brow furrowed. "Mate, what happened?"

Logan takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "Williams… they're replacing me. I'm out."

The room falls silent for a moment as the news sinks in. Then, all at once, you feel a surge of anger coursing through your veins.

"They can't do that!" you exclaim, your voice rising. "It's mid-season! You've been improving, you've been working so hard. How can they just… just throw you away like this?"

Logan shrugs, a bitter smile on his face. "Apparently, they can. And they have."

A wave of emotions come crashing to you. Anger at Williams for their decision, frustration at the ruthless nature of the sport, and an overwhelming sadness for Logan.

Oscar moves to sit beside Logan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry, mate. This is bullshit."

You start pacing the room, your anger building with each step. "Who are they replacing you with? Some pay driver? Some rookie who's never even touched an F1 car?"

"Franco Colapinto," Logan says quietly.

You stop in your tracks, whirling to face him. "Colapinto? The F2 kid? Are they out of their minds?"

Oscar tries to interject, his voice calm. "YN, maybe we should-"

But you're too fired up to listen. "No, Oscar! This is wrong. It's so wrong. Logan deserves better than this. He deserves a chance to prove himself. How is he supposed to do that if they don't even give him a full season?"

Logan looks up at you, a mix of gratitude and sadness in his eyes. "I appreciate you having my back, stinks. But it's done. There's nothing we can do about it now."

You shake your head. "No, there has to be something. They can't just replace you with some F2 kid like that. They're out of their minds."

"YN," Oscar cuts in firmly. "I know you're angry. We all are. But right now, we need to be here for Logan. This isn't about us or what we think is fair. It's about supporting our friend."

As Oscar's words sink in, you feel a wave of guilt wash over you. He's right, of course. This isn't about your anger or your sense of injustice. It's about Logan, your friend who's just had his dream ripped away from him.

The three of you have been racing together since you were kids, climbing through the ranks side by side. You've shared victories and defeats, laughter and tears. You've pushed each other to be better, to chase your dreams relentlessly. And now, one of you is being left behind.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I just… I can't believe this is happening."

Logan manages a small smile. "It's okay, stinks. I appreciate your passion. It's one of the things I've always admired about you."

"Remember when we were in karting, and YN nearly got into a fist fight with that kid who tried to push Logan off the track?" Oscar says with a small smile, trying to light up the mood.

"How could I forget?" +

Logan chuckles softly, "She was like a tiny ball of fury."

You feel a smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. "Hey, nobody messes with my boys and gets away with it."

"And nothing's changed," Oscar adds, giving you a fond look. "We've always had each other's backs, through everything. This is not the exception."

Without another word, the three of you come together in a tight group hug, a physical representation of the bond you've shared for so many years.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 2,017,697 others

yourinstagram logan, you’re more than just a friend — you’re family. we’ve raced together since we were kids, dreaming of f1. to see that dream cut short for you is heartbreaking

your talent, dedication and kindness have always shone through. you deserved better than this mid-season swap. this sport can be cruel, but this feels especially unfair and i’m angry that my friend’s journey has been interrupted

but i’m also incredibly proud of you, logan. you have handled this with grace and strength and this isn’t the end for you — it’s just a detour. love you, stinks 🥲

view all comments

username1 IM SOBBING

username2 i still can’t believe this

username3 well hold your tears because you’re next

pierregasly Chin up, mate @/logansargeant you’re a champ 👊

alex_albon You will always be family @/logansargeant, It’s so sad to see you go

username4 that was cute now hand your seat to daniel or yuki

username5 THE FIRST PIC 🥺🥺 IM NOT OKAY

username6 oh she’s PISSED

username7 this is so unfair for logan

username8 colapinto has an enemy on track already and it’s her 😭

username9 the best trio will be incomplete now i’m not okay

username10 YOU NEXT BYE BYE

logansargeant Thank you for everything, go make me proud 💙

↳ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

liked by francolapinto, landonorris and 410,764 others

williamsracing Franco Colapinto to race for the remainder of the 2024 season.

username1 VAMOOOS

username2 hello?? hes cute

username3 OKAY I SEE

username4 good thing for the team, sargeant was just not it

alex_albon Welcome to the fam @/francolapinto 👊

username5 KIIING

username6 an f1 kid who's not even top 5 right now in the championship? risky move

yourinstagram not even giving logan a proper goodbye? yall suck

THIS COMMENT HAS BEEN DETELED

username1 OMFG YN WE SAW THAT

username2 YN 😭😭

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Monza is always a race to look forward no matter what team you drive for, but today, your excitement is just not there.

The paddock feels different without Logan's presence, you have always raced alongside him, and not seeing his face during a race weekend feels wrong.

As you make your way through the bustling crowd, you can't help but feel a pang of sadness and anger. Inside the Red Bull hospitality area, you find Max already settled in, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, a sympathetic smile on his face.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you holding up?" he asks, gesturing for you to take a seat next to him.

"As well as can be expected, I guess," you slump into the chair, running a hand through your hair. "It just feels wrong, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it," Max nods, his expression thoughtful, "How's Logan doing? Have you talked to him?"

The mention of Logan's name ignites that spark of anger inside you again. "He's… he's putting on a brave face, but I know he's hurting. This whole situation is such bullshit, Max. Williams made a huge mistake."

Max raises an eyebrow, sensing the storm brewing beneath your calm exterior. "You want to talk about it?"

That's all the invitation you need. The words start pouring out of you, your voice rising with each sentence.

"It's just so unfair! Logan was improving every race. He was working his ass off, putting in the hours, doing everything the team asked of him. And for what? To be tossed aside mid-season for some rookie?"

Max tries to interject, "Well, Colapinto has been pretty impressive in F2-"

But you're on a roll now, barely registering his words. "Impressive in F2? So what? F1 is a whole different ball game. Logan was just starting to get comfortable, to really show what he could do. And now they've brought in this Colapinto kid who's never even driven an F1 car, who's probably a paid driver who's just going to waste everyone's times. What kind of message does that send?"

You stand up, pacing back and forth as you continue your rant. "Williams is making a huge mistake. They're throwing away all the work Logan put in, all the data they've gathered. For what? A gamble on some unproven talent? And don't even get me started on how they handled it. No warning, no real explanation. Just 'Thanks for your service, now get out.' It's disrespectful, it's short-sighted, and it's everything that's wrong with this sport sometimes."

Max watches you, a mix of concern and surprise on his face. He's never seen you this fired up before. "YN, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, Max!" you interrupt him, "You don't understand because you'll never have the fear of having your seat taken from you out of nowhere. You're Max Verstappen. You're safe. But for the rest of us… we're always one bad weekend away from losing everything."

Max's brow furrows, clearly taken aback by your statement. "YN, that's not true. I worked hard to get where I am-"

"I know you did," you interrupt again, your voice softer now. "I'm not saying you didn't. But you have to admit, your position is different. You're a world champion. You're untouchable. But for drivers like Logan, like me… we're always looking over our shoulders, always wondering if this race will be our last."

Max is silent for a moment, processing your words. "I guess you're right, I've been in a secure position for so long, I forgot what it's like to worry about your seat." He pauses, then adds, "But you know, you're in a unique position too. You're the only woman driving a Formula 1 car. That's pretty special. You should feel-"

You cut him off, your frustration flaring up again. "Exactly! I'm the only woman here, Max. Do you have any idea how much more pressure that puts on me? Every move I make is scrutinized. Every-"

Before you can continue, you spot Franco Colapinto walking past the Red Bull area, chatting animatedly with his new race engineer. The sight of him in Williams colors sends another wave of resentment through you, and you turn away abruptly.

"I need some air," you mutter, storming out of the hospitality area, leaving a bewildered Max in your wake.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The sun beats down as you stand next to Oscar on the flatbed truck, waiting for the drivers' parade to begin. The usual buzz of excitement surrounding Monza feels muted to you, overshadowed still by Logan's absence and the presence of his replacement.

"Oi, what's with the long face?" Oscar nudges you playfully with his elbow. "You look like someone stole your last Tim Tam."

"Oh shut up, you dork," you can't help but crack a small smile, "As if I'd ever let anyone near my precious Tim Tams."

"Too right," Oscar grins. "But seriously, how are you holding up?"

You shrug, trying to keep your expression neutral for the cameras. "Oh, you know, just peachy. Nothing like a bit of midseason drama to spice things up, right?"

"Always the optimist, aren't you?" Oscar rolls his eyes, "Come on, I bet you twenty quid you can't name all the Italian F1 circuits without googling."

"You're on, Piastri," you say, grateful for the distraction. "Monza, Imola, Mugello…"

As you're racking your brain for more, you notice Franco Colapinto approaching. Your playful mood evaporates instantly.

Franco's eyes widen as he gets closer, clearly starstruck. "Uh, hi," he says nervously. "I'm Franco. I just wanted to introduce myself."

Oscar, ever the diplomat, smiles and extends his hand. "Hey mate, welcome to F1. I'm Oscar."

Franco shakes his hand before turning to you, his expression one of barely contained awe. "And you're YN. I… I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're such an inspiration. The way you've broken barriers in this sport, it's incredible. I've followed your career since your F3 days and-"

You cut him off, your voice cool. "Thanks. Welcome to the grid."

Franco's smile falters, but he presses on. "I just wanted to say how much I admire what you've accomplished. You've paved the way for so many young drivers, especially women in motorsport. It's an honor to be racing alongside you."

You nod stiffly. "Thanks," you repeat, your tone making it clear that you're not interested in continuing the conversation.

An awkward silence falls over the group. Oscar, sensing the tension, tries to smooth things over. "So, Franco, how are you finding the step up to F1 so far?"

As Franco turns to answer Oscar, you take the opportunity to step away, moving to the other side of the truck. You can feel Oscar's gaze following you, but you can't bring yourself to engage in small talk with Logan's replacement, no matter how well-intentioned he might be.

As you're standing alone, Alex approaches, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Hey, mind if I join you?"

You shrug. "Free country, Albon. Or free truck, I guess."

Alex chuckles softly. "How are you doing? I know this can't be easy for you."

You sigh, your guard dropping slightly with Alex. "It's… complicated. I'm angry for Logan, but I know it's not Franco's fault. It's just…"

"It's the reality of the sport we're in," Alex finishes for you. "Trust me, I get it. Been there, done that, got the Red Bull rejection t-shirt."

Your stomach twists at the mention of that, suddenly remembering the endless conversations and warnings from your team. And how despite having a contract for next season, there's threats about your seat being take away after every race weekend. But you push the thought away.

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

"Someone's got to keep the mood light around here," Alex grins. "But seriously, I know it's tough. Franco's a good kid, though. He's been working really hard, trying to learn as much as he can."

You nod, not quite ready to let go of your resentment but appreciating Alex's perspective. "How's he settling in?"

"As well as can be expected," Alex says. "He's got a lot to learn, but he's eager. It's a big step up from F2, but he's handling the pressure well so far."

You're about to respond when the parade starts moving. Alex gives you a supportive pat on the shoulder before moving back to his spot. As the truck rolls down the straight, the cheers of the Tifosi wash over you. You lift your hand to wave, a mix of emotions swirling inside you that go beyond just Logan's replacement.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,638,578 others

yourinstagram p8. it is what it is. ciao monza 👋

view all comments

username1 you will always be the moment

username2 FIX THE FUCKING CAR ALREADY

username3 ouu shes DONEEE

username4 most undeserved seat on the grid i swear

username5 anyway RICBULL IS COMING

francolapinto Such a pleasure to race alongside you!

↳ username1 franco respects and admires her so much i love it

↳ username2 im pretty sure yn hates him tho

username6 the constructors championship is gone thanks to her

logansargeant Chin up, love you 💙

↳ username2 i miss them so much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,739 others

f1gossip YN arriving at Red Bull HQ in Milton Keynes

Tensions running high as rumors swirl about potential driver shake-ups. Sources say YN’s recent performance has bosses considering options

Is the Honey Badger eyeing a comeback or could young Liam Lawson be making the leap to F1? 🤔

view all comments

username1 bro...

username2 they better fix her car NOW

username3 RICBULL RICBULL

username4 honestly the best thing for the team would be her getting replaced

username5 YAAAS SHE'S OUT FINALLY

username6 oscar is the only 2023 rookie who actually puts in the work

username7 some people need to start putting some respect on yn's name bc yall keep forgetting she was third in the championship and got her first win during her ROOKIE SEASON and the reason she's struggling rn is bc redbull is not getting their shit together

↳ username1 right??? they're just saying shit

↳ username4 you said it yourself, she has a championship winning car and she's not delivering. she should be out

username8 YN GET BEHIND ME

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,638,538 others

yourinstagram great quali, we should have some fun tomorrow 😚

view all comments

username1 SLAYYY

username2 p4 after all the nonsense surrounding her seat? feels right

username3 THE QUEEN OF BAKU FOR REAL

lilyzneimer my favorite supergirl 💙

username4 she got lucky

username5 don't care, we still want danny or liam in that seat

username6 enjoy the race bc it might be your last

username7 watch her on that podium tomorrow

logansargeant Super proud always

↳ username2 LOGAN WE MISSS YOUUUU

francolapinto 🤩

liked by username1, logansargeant and 270,847 others

redbullracing Solid race and a bunch of points for the team 👊

Result 🏁PIA, LEC, YN P3, NOR, Max P5, ALO, ALB, COL, HAM, BEA

#F1 #RedBullRacing #AzerbaijanGP

view all comments

username1 SO DAMN TRUE

username2 yn back on the podium FINALLY

username3 yn saw the rumors about her seat and decided to shut them up

username4 SHES BEATING MAX FINALLY

username5 did they finally fix the car

username6 i don't want anyone commenting on her seat anymore

username7 i knew she got into that care absolutely PISSED

username8 QUEEN OF BAKU

liked by oscarpiastri, francolapinto and 1,764,933 others

yourinstagram was that entertaining? 😙 so happy to be on the podium for osco's second win, i love you so muuuch you diva

view all comments

username1 LEGEND

username2 she's so smug

username3 TELL THEM QUEEEN

landonorris The third pic is definitely your best @/oscarpiastri

↳ yourinstagram IKR

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM

logansargeant Congrats to both of you @/oscarpiastri @/yourinstagram I'm always proud of everything you achieve ❤️

↳ username2 logan should be there too i'm sad now

↳ oscarpiastri Love you mate

↳ yourinstagram this paddock will never be the same without you

maxvertsappen1 🙌🙌 So proud of you little sister

oscarpiastri Love you stinks

francolapinto Congrats! Always an honor to race alongside you

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The drivers' briefing has just concluded, and you find yourself lingering in the room, chatting with your friends.

"I swear, I almost peed my pants at that press conference!," Lando says, his eyes widening as he recalls, "When Max and YN just sat there in silence, staring down the journalists… I thought I was going to lose it!"

Pierre chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "I knew YN was the mastermind behind that. It has her written all over it."

"Well, someone had to make a point about these ridiculous penalties," you can't help but grin.

The group's laughter is interrupted as Franco approaches, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey guys, mind if I join?"

The others welcome him warmly, and you feel a knot forming in your stomach. You force a tight smile, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"Franco, mate!" George exclaims, patting him on the back. "That was some impressive driving in practice. You're settling in well."

Alex nods in agreement. "Yeah, you're really holding your own out there. Williams made a good choice."

You feel your jaw clench at Alex's words, but you remain silent, watching as Franco's face lights up with pride and gratitude.

"Thanks, guys," Franco says, his voice humble. "I still have a lot to learn, but I'm giving it my all."

"Well, it's paying off," Lando chimes in, "Points in just your second race? You're pushing that Williams harder than we've seen in a while."

As the conversation continues, with each driver offering praise and encouragement to Franco, you feel your frustration and anger building.

The memory of Logan's disappointment and unfairness of it all, mixed with the ever present threat of you seat having the same fate, bubbles up inside you until you can't contain it anymore.

"And what about Logan?" you snap, your voice cutting through the friendly chatter like a knife. The group falls silent, all eyes turning to you in surprise. Franco's smile fades, replaced by a look of discomfort and guilt.

"YN…" Oscar starts, his tone cautionary.

But you're too fired up to stop now. "No, seriously. Everyone's so quick to praise him, but what about Logan? He was improving every race, working his ass off, and for what? To be tossed aside mid-season?"

The atmosphere in the room becomes tense. George and Alex exchange uncomfortable glances, while Pierre shifts uneasily.

Franco, looking distressed, speaks up. "I never meant for Logan to lose his seat. I just took the opportunity when it was offered to me. Any driver would have done the same."

"Oh, so that makes it okay?" his words only fuel your anger. "You just 'took the opportunity'? Do you have any idea how hard Logan worked for that seat? How much he sacrificed?"

"YN, that's enough," Oscar says firmly, placing a hand on your arm.

But you shrug him off, your eyes blazing as you face Franco. "You waltz in here, taking a seat you didn't earn, and everyone's falling over themselves to congratulate you. It's not right. It's not fair."

The room falls into a shocked silence. Franco looks like he's been slapped, his earlier excitement completely deflated. The other drivers are staring at you with a mix of surprise and disapproval.

It's George who finally breaks the tension. "YN, I think we all understand you're upset about Logan. We all are. But this isn't Franco's fault. He's just trying to make the most of his chance, like any of us would."

You feel a flush of shame creeping up your neck, but your anger is still simmering. "You don't understand," you mutter, but the fight has gone out of your voice.

Franco, looking genuinely distressed, takes a step towards you. "I'm sorry about what happened to Logan. I really am. I have nothing but respect for him, and for you. I never wanted to cause any problems."

His sincerity catches you off guard, and for a moment, you see not the driver who replaced your friend, but a young, talented kid trying to navigate a difficult situation. However, your anger and frustration gets the best of you.

"Whatever," you mumble, pushing past the group and out of the room, leaving a stunned silence as you disappear.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon and 709,639 others

francolapinto still buzzing from singapore 🇸🇬growing up watching Lewis battle in marina bay and now getting to race wheel to wheel with him... surreal doesn't even begin to cover it 🤯 and that fight with YN for position was proper racing - those last few laps were intense! thank you to the team for giving me a car that could fight at the front. vamos 💪

view all comments

username1 he’s an f1 driver now but he’ll always be a fanboy

lewishamilton Good racing kid, you've got a bright future ahead 👊🏾

williamsracing Our boy! 💙

username3 Did anyone else notice how aggressive YN was when overtaking Franco? Almost pushed him into the wall...

↳ username1 fr she looked like she wanted to crash him

↳ username4 they were racing for position, that's what racing drivers do 🙄

username5 the way he always mentions YN in his posts but she never acknowledges him 👀

username6 that move from YN was unnecessarily aggressive, could've ended badly

landonorris Great drive mate!

liked by yourinstagram, maxverstappen1 and 2,370,739 others

f1 BREAKING: Daniel Ricciardo to leave RB, the team have announced. Liam Lawson will race in place of Ricciardo for the remaining six races of the season for the team.

view all comments

username1 DANNY NOOOO

username2 this sucks man

danielricciardo Been a hell of a ride! Thank you RB family ❤️

maxverstappen1 Going to miss you mate!

username3 Wrong driver leaving... YN should be the one out

↳ username1 exactly! she's been underperforming all season

yourinstagram always grateful for everything you taught me DR. more than a driver - you've been a big brother, mentor, and friend since day one. going to miss our pre-race dance parties 🥺🤍

↳ username3 now give him your seat

↳ username1 it's no annoying to see that drivers like her have an undeserved contract extension and talented drivers get left out

↳ danielricciardo Love you kiddo! Make me proud

username5 Gutted to see Danny Ric go 💔

landonorris Won't be the same without you mate!

username7 @/yourinstagram Maybe focus more on racing than dancing 🙄

↳ username8 she's literally P5 in the championship, shut up

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

As you step off the plane in Florida, the warm air envelops you, a stark contrast to the crisp autumn weather you left behind in Europe. Your heart lightens as you spot Logan waiting for you, his familiar grin a welcome sight after weeks of tension and stress. You missed your best friend so much.

You rush towards him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. "I missed you so much," you say, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "That paddock sucks without you."

Logan chuckles, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm. "I missed you too, stinks." He pulls back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Now, let's grab a beer since you're out of race cars for a while."

You nod eagerly, letting him lead the way. He drives you to a nearby bar, one you've learned over the years of knowing him was the one he used to go to during his teenage years. The casual atmosphere is a refreshing change from the high-pressure environment of the paddock. As you settle into a booth with cold beers in hand, you feel some of the tension from the past few months start to melt away.

"So, how's life outside the F1 bubble?" you ask, taking a sip of beer.

Logan grins, leaning back in his seat. "It's… different. But not all bad. Actually, I've got some news." He pauses for dramatic effect. "I've been in talks with a few IndyCar teams."

Your eyes widen with excitement. "Logan, that's fantastic! Tell me everything!"

For the next hour, Logan animatedly describes his meetings with IndyCar team principals, the tracks he's excited to race on, and the new challenges he's looking forward to. You listen intently, genuinely happy for your friend's potential new chapter.

"It's not F1," Logan admits, "but it's a hell of a racing series. And who knows? Maybe it'll lead me back to F1 someday."

"I have no doubt," you assure him, raising your bottle in a toast. "To new beginnings!"

As the conversation flows, you find yourself relaxing more than you have in months. You chat about mutual friends, swap funny stories from your junior racing days, and discuss the latest paddock gossip.

Eventually, Logan's expression turns a bit more serious. "So, Oscar's been keeping me updated on what's been going on in F1. Sounds like things have been… tense with Franco."

You feel your mood shift at the mention of Franco's name. "Yeah, you could say that," you mutter, taking a long swig of your beer.

Logan leans forward, his voice gentle but firm. "YN, I know you're upset on my behalf, but you can't keep this grudge going forever. Franco's just a kid trying to make his way in the sport, like we all were not too long ago."

"I know, I know. It's just," you sigh heavily, "Every time I see him in the garage, in your overalls, talking to your engineers… it feels wrong, Logan. Like he's stolen something that belongs to you."

"But he didn't steal anything," Logan counters. "The team made a decision. It sucks for me, yeah, but that's not on Franco. He just took an opportunity that was offered to him. Can you honestly say you wouldn't have done the same in his position?"

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. Logan has a point, and you know it.

"Look," Logan continues, "I've had some time to process all this, and I've come to terms with it. It's a cutthroat sport, YN. We all know that. Franco's not the villain here."

"But the way it happened," you protest, "mid-season, with no warning. It wasn't fair to you."

"Fair doesn't always come into it in F1. It just happens," Logan shrugs, "Besides," he adds with a hint of a smile, "I hear he's doing a decent job. The kid's got talent."

"He's alright," you grudgingly admit. "But he's not you."

Logan laughs. "No one's me, stinks. I'm one of a kind."

You can't help but crack a smile at that. "True enough."

"So," Logan says, his tone turning serious again, "can you promise me you'll try to ease up on Franco? Give him a fair shot? For me?"

You sigh deeply, considering his words. "I'll try," you finally concede. "But I'm not promising to be his best friend or anything."

"That's all I ask," Logan says, looking relieved. "Now, is this just about Franco replacing me, or is there something else going on? You seem… I don't know, more on edge than usual."

For a moment, you consider telling him about the talks with Red Bull, about the uncertainty surrounding your own seat. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but something holds you back. Maybe it's not wanting to burden Logan with your problems, or maybe it's not being ready to voice your fears out loud.

"No, nothing else," you lie, forcing a smile. "Just the usual F1 stress, you know how it is."

Logan nods, though he doesn't look entirely convinced. "Well, if there ever is anything, you know you can talk to me, right? Even if I'm not in the paddock anymore."

"I know," you say, feeling a pang of guilt. "Thanks, Logan. Really."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 1,289,673 others

yourinstagram florida !!! is one hell of a drug

view all comments

username1 AHHH she visited logan

logansargeant Next time we're doing the gator tour 🐊

↳ username2 i love them sm

oscarpiastri No invite for your favourite Aussie? Rude

↳ username2 we need the iconic trio together again

username3 they've been friends since forever, love how they support each other

username4 Logan and YN's friendship >>>>>

username5 Why is she on holiday when she should be working on her driving?

username6 the way logan always has her back 🥺

username7 surely there are better uses of time with 4 races left and her seat under threat?

francolapinto Amazing 🙌

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You arrive at the Red Bull hospitality area in Austin, the excitement of being back after the break palpable in the air. As you walk in, you spot Max lounging on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Max grins, looking up from his device. "Did you get lost in the Texas wilderness?"

You roll your eyes playfully, dropping your bag on a nearby chair. "Oh, I'm sorry, Your Highness. Did I keep you waiting? I was busy signing autographs for all my adoring fans. You know how it is… oh wait, you don't."

"Ouch, that hurt," Max clutches his chest in mock pain, "And here I was, about to show you something interesting, but now I'm not so sure you deserve it."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. The banter with Max always helps you relax before a race weekend, and you've missed this during the break. "Oh come on, spill it, Verstappen. You know you want to. Don't make me steal your phone."

Max chuckles and pats the seat next to him. "Alright, alright. Sit down before you hurt yourself trying to reach my phone."

As you sit down, he pulls up a video on his phone. "Check this out. It's an interview with your biggest fan."

It's an interview with Franco. Your initial instinct is to look away, a mix of guilt and stubbornness rising in your chest. But something in Max's expression makes you watch.

"Lewis Hamilton and YN are my biggest idols in F1," Franco is saying, his face earnest. "The way YN races, her dedication and skill, it's truly inspiring. She's broken so many barriers and shown that talent knows no gender. I feel honored just to be on the same grid as her."

As the interview continues, Franco heaps more praise on you, his admiration clear in every word. You feel a twinge of guilt, remembering how cold you've been towards him. The genuine respect in his voice makes you uncomfortable, forcing you to confront your own prejudices.

"Her overtake on Leclerc in Interlagos last year? That was pure brilliance," Franco continues. "I've watched that move countless times, trying to learn from it. YN's not just a great driver, she's changing the face of the sport. I hope one day I can race wheel-to-wheel with her and show her the respect she deserves on track."

Max turns off the video and looks at you expectantly. "I think you owe someone an apology," he says, his tone gentle but firm.

You nod slowly, the realization sinking in. A wave of shame washes over you as you remember your cold behavior towards Franco. "I think I do," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Hey, we all make mistakes. What matters is how we fix them. Franco's a good kid, and he really looks up to you. Maybe it's time to give him a chance?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "I actually talked to Logan last week," you confess, watching Max's eyebrows rise in surprise. "He's doing well, actually - focusing on IndyCar now. But we talked a lot about… everything."

"Yeah?" Max shifts in his seat, clearly intrigued. It's not often you open up about these things.

"He basically told me I needed to stop fighting battles that weren't mine to fight. Said he appreciates me having his back, but Franco isn't the enemy here. He's just chasing his dream, like we all did. Logan said he remembers how it felt, getting his first chance - we all do."

Max nods thoughtfully. "Logan's right, you know. We've all been there at some point - getting an opportunity because someone else lost theirs. It's just how F1 works sometimes."

"I know," you admit, standing up. "And I've been unfair to Franco. He's actually doing a really good job with Williams, fighting in the midfield with a car that's not the easiest to drive. And here I am, making him feel unwelcome when I should be supporting talent. Some role model I am, right?"

"So what are you going to do about it?" Max asks, though his smile suggests he already knows.

You spot Franco heading towards the Williams hospitality area. "I'm going to make it right."

Walking over to Williams, you feel your heart pounding a little faster with each step. You find Franco sitting at one of the tables, going through data on his laptop with his race engineer.

"Franco?" you call out. "Could I steal you for a moment?"

He looks up, surprise evident on his face. "YN? Hi… yeah, of course." He glances at his engineer, who nods and excuses himself.

"Mind if I sit?" you ask, gesturing to the empty chair. When he nods, you take a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. A proper one."

Franco starts to shake his head, but you hold up a hand. "Please, let me finish. I've been unfair to you, and it wasn't right. I let my loyalty to Logan blind me to the fact that you're just a talented driver making the most of your opportunity. I've been cold, sometimes even hostile, and you didn't deserve any of that."

"I… thank you," Franco says quietly. "That means a lot. I want you to know, I reached out to Logan when-"

"I know," you interrupt gently. "He told me. That's partly why I'm here. You showed real class doing that, Franco. And you're doing a great job with the car. That P8 in Baku? That was proper racing."

A genuine smile breaks across his face. "Coming from you, that really means a lot. You know, I've watched your races since I was in F3. The way you fought through all the doubters, proved everyone wrong… you're really an inspiration."

You feel your throat tighten unexpectedly. "I had no idea."

"That's why your opinion means so much," Franco admits, fiddling with his water bottle. "When you seemed disappointed in me being here… it hurt, you know?"

"I'm sorry," you say again, meaning it more than ever. "How about we start fresh? Maybe you can talk me through that overtake in Baku - I noticed you used a similar line to what I did in Interlagos last year."

Franco's eyes light up. "You caught that? I actually studied your move while preparing for the race! The way you positioned the car on entry…"

You spend the next twenty minutes discussing racing lines and overtaking techniques, the earlier tension completely dissolved. Franco's enthusiasm is infectious, reminding you of your own early days in F1.

When you finally walk back to Max, you feel lighter than you have in months. He greets you with a knowing smile. "Feel better?"

"Much better," you admit. "Sometimes you need a kick in the right direction So thank you, I needed that wake-up call."

"Anytime," he smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders, "Can't have my teammate being the paddock villain, can I? That's my job."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,667,459 others

yourinstagram rookies keeping us on our toes 😤 good battles today @/francolapinto

view all comments

username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 franco is going to piss his pants

williamsracing Our rookie giving the Red Bull a run for their money 💙

username4 she shouldn’t be acknowledging that a rookie in a williams is making it hard for her… embarrasing

username5 the start of YN and Franco's friendship? 👀

username7 the tension between these two was getting old, glad they're friends now

username8 HANDLE YOUR SEAT

username8 MY DUO 😭❤️

francolapinto Next time I won’t make it easy for you!

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The private jet hums quietly through the night sky towards Mexico City. Most of the other drivers are asleep, exhausted from the intense Austin weekend. You find yourself unable to sleep, your mind still racing from the events of the day. Glancing around the dimly lit cabin, you notice Franco is also awake, absently flipping through a magazine.

Catching your eye, he gives you a warm smile and moves to the empty seat across from you. "Can't sleep either?"

"Too much adrenaline still," you admit, adjusting your position to face him better. "Great drive today, by the way. That point was well-deserved."

Franco's face lights up at the compliment. "Thanks! Though it's nothing compared to your battle with Lando. I was watching it from behind and thought 'there's no way she's going to make that stick' but then you just… did. It was incredible."

You laugh softly, careful not to wake the others. "There was a moment there where I wasn't sure either. But sometimes you just have to go for it, you know?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Franco grins. "Like that time in F3 when I tried to go around the outside at Spa and ended up practically in another timezone."

"Please tell me there's video of that," you snicker.

"Unfortunately for my dignity, yes. I think my engineer still uses it as an example of what not to do."

The conversation flows naturally, jumping from racing stories to childhood memories. You find yourself genuinely enjoying his company, something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

"So what made you want to be a racing driver?" you ask, genuinely curious.

As Franco launches into how he found his passion for the sport, you find yourself really looking at him properly for the first time. The soft cabin lighting catches the angles of his face, and you notice details you'd overlooked before. His eyes are warm with flecks of gold, crinkling slightly at the corners when he smiles. There's a small scar above his right eyebrow, barely noticeable unless you're paying attention. His dark hair is slightly disheveled from the long race day, a few strands falling across his forehead.

You catch yourself thinking how handsome he actually is, in that classic way. His animated expressions as he talks about racing make him even more attractive, his passion for the sport evident in every gesture.

"...and that's when I knew I wanted to do this forever," he finishes, then looks slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm rambling. I tend to get carried away when talking about racing."

"No, don't apologize," you say quickly. "It's refreshing to see that kind of enthusiasm. Some of the guys get so jaded after a while."

Franco's smile turns a bit shy. "Speaking of enthusiasm, I'm really excited about racing in Mexico this weekend. It's one of my favorite cities - the atmosphere is just incredible."

"The fans are amazing there," you agree. "Though I still haven't found a really good place to eat in Mexico City. The hotel restaurant gets old pretty quickly."

Franco's eyes light up. "Oh, you have to let me help with that! I know a couple of amazing restaurants in the city. There's this incredible place that serves the best traditional dishes you've ever tasted, and another one in that does contemporary Mexican cuisine that would blow your mind."

You find yourself intrigued, both by the suggestion and the eager way he's describing it. "That sounds way better than room service."

"We could..." he hesitates for a moment, then continues with determination, "we could go together, if you'd like? After Thursday's media duties maybe? I'd love to show you my favorite spots."

There's something endearing about the way he's trying to sound casual while clearly being nervous about asking. You feel a flutter in your stomach that you definitely weren't expecting.

"You know what? That sounds great," you say, surprised by how much you mean it. "It's about time I experienced proper Mexican cuisine."

Franco's face breaks into a brilliant smile. "Perfect! I'll make a reservation for Thursday evening then. Trust me, you won't regret it."

As the conversation continues, you can't help but notice how natural it feels now, how easily you're laughing at his jokes and sharing stories. It's hard to believe this is the same person you were avoiding just a few weeks ago.

As other drivers start stirring from their sleep, Franco returns to his original seat, but not before confirming your dinner plans one more time.

Watching him walk away, you find yourself looking forward to Thursday evening more than you probably should. It's just dinner with a colleague, you tell yourself, even as you catch yourself smiling at the thought of it.

"Just dinner," you whisper to yourself, but somehow, you're not entirely convinced.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourinstagram has added to their close friends stories

replies:

georgerussell63 So that was all the giggling I heard during the flight

oscarpiastri I’m so telling Logan

maxverstappen1 Can I say “I told you so” now?

francolapinto close friends privileges already? wow

↳ yourinstagram don’t push it colapinto

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The hotel lobby is relatively quiet as you wait for Franco, having agreed to meet there before heading to the restaurant. You've opted for casual - a simple black dress that makes you feel confident but not overdressed.

"Ready to have your mind blown by the best food in Mexico City?" Franco's voice makes you turn. He's wearing dark jeans and a well-fitted navy button-down, and you try not to notice how good he looks.

"Big claims require big proof," you tease, falling into step beside him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lando's familiar accent cuts through the lobby. He's just coming in from what looks like a gym session, and his surprised smirk makes you want to roll your eyes. "Interesting dinner plans?"

"Just showing YN the local cuisine," Franco says smoothly, though you notice his ears turning slightly pink.

"Right, right," Lando drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The local cuisine. In your nice shirt. At that fancy place you've been talking about for weeks-"

"Goodbye, Lando," you cut him off, grabbing Franco's arm and steering him toward the exit, trying to ignore Lando's knowing chuckle behind you. You knew it was a matter of time before the entire grid finds out you went out with Franco.

The restaurant is everything Franco promised and more. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself charmed by the way he seamlessly switches between Spanish and English while ordering, the way he leans in slightly when you're talking, the way his hand occasionally brushes yours across the table.

"No way," you laugh, taking another sip of wine. "You did not challenge your friend to a dance-off."

"I absolutely did," Franco grins. "And I won, by the way. Though there might have been some tequila involved."

"I would pay good money to see that."

"Play your cards right," he says with a playful wink, "and maybe you'll get a private demonstration."

The flirtatious comment catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. Franco seems pleased with this reaction, his confidence growing throughout the evening.

The evening continues, warm and comfortable. Franco insists on ordering dessert - "You haven't lived until you've tried their churros con chocolate" - and you find yourself sharing stories between bites of perfectly crispy churros.

"So," Franco says, wiping chocolate from his lip with a napkin, "you, Oscar, and Logan - that's quite the trio. How did that happen?"

You laugh, fondly remembering those early days. "We practically grew up together in karting. I was this tiny kid trying to prove myself, Oscar was already sassy even at eight years old, and Logan… well, Logan was Logan."

"Let me guess - immediate chaos?" Franco grins.

"Oh, absolutely. We used to drive our parents and coaches crazy. These three kids who wouldn't stop racing each other even after practice was over." You smile at the memory. "We've been inseparable ever since. Though now Logan's living his best life in Florida."

Franco's eyes soften. "You really miss having him in the paddock, don't you?"

"Yeah," you admit quietly. "I do. But he's happy, and that's what matters. Plus, he texts me stupid memes at least twenty times a day, so it's like he never left."

After asking for the bill — one that Franco didn't let you pay no matter how much you insisted — you decided to walk back to the hotel. You were aware that his hand was close to yours as you walked side by side, almost brushing your fingers, but you didn't dare to take that step, and neither did he.

You reach the hotel, but instead of heading straight for the elevators, Franco suggests taking the scenic route through the garden. The night is too nice to end just yet.

"I have to say," he remarks as you walk, "you look beautiful tonight. That dress is…" he makes an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture, making you laugh.

"Smooth, Colapinto. Very smooth."

"I try," he winks, and you roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

The walk to your room comes too quickly. Outside your door, Franco turns to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you for tonight," he says. "It was… nice. Really nice."

"It was," you agree, finding yourself meaning it completely. "Thank you for showing me your favorite spot."

There's a moment where you both just look at each other, the air charged with something unspoken. Franco takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it.

"Goodnight, YN," he says softly, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

"Goodnight, Franco," you reply, watching him head down the hallway.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it, smiling to yourself. You can already hear Max's smug "I told you so" tomorrow, but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 14,892 users

f1gossip🚨 Franco Colapinto and YN spotted having dinner together in Mexico City. They spent over two hours at the restaurant according to witnesses.

view all comments

username2 This is getting interesting... 👀

username3 STOP I'M CRYING 😭❤️

username4 they're just friends guys, calm down

username4 the way he makes her laugh though!!!

username5 watch how they'll deny everything tomorrow

username6 MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS

username8 this has to be more than just friendship...

username10 I MANIFESTED THIS

username12 focus on racing instead of dating maybe?

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The Brazilian rain hammers down relentlessly on the Interlagos circuit. It's barely 6 AM, but the paddock is already buzzing with nervous energy for the early sprint qualifying. You stifle a yawn as you check your phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning. Another message from Franco pops up - a picture of himself looking comically miserable in the rain with the caption "Maybe if we all pretend we didn't see the rain, they'll cancel quali?"

The past week has been unexpected in the best way possible. After that dinner in Mexico, something shifted. What started as sharing breakfast in the hotel turned into spending every free moment together. During the long flight to São Paulo, George had dramatically sighed and switched seats with Franco, muttering something about "not being able to take the longing looks across the plane anymore."

"Someone's cheerful for 6 AM," Max comments, walking into the garage as you quickly type a response to Franco. "Let me guess - Argetinian company keeping you entertained?"

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. "Shut up and focus on qualifying."

"Oh, I'm focused," he grins. "Unlike someone who keeps looking at their phone every two minutes."

"I'm just-"

"YN," Max interrupts, counting off on his fingers, "he waited outside our debrief yesterday just to walk you to dinner. He somehow always knows your coffee order. And don't think I didn't notice him giving you his jacket yesterday."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "We're just friends."

"Right," Max smirks. "Friends. Like how Charles and I are 'just friends' when we're trying to punt each other off track."

"Shut up, as if you weren't secretly in love with each other."

A few hours later, as you prepare for the drivers' parade, Oscar sidles up next to you with his trademark grin.

"Well, well, if it isn't the stranger," he says dramatically. "Remember me? One of your best friends? Though I suppose you wouldn't know, being attached at the hip with a certain Williams driver these days."

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Miss me that much, Piastri?"

"Just saying, used to be we'd get coffee before parade, now it's all 'Sorry Oscar, Franco already got me coffee,'" he mimics your voice terribly.

You're about to retort when Franco appears, and Oscar's grin widens. "And that's my cue. Have fun, kids!" He winks before sauntering off.

"Ignore him," you say when you notice a small smile in Franco's face, "He's the perpetual pain in my ass."

"He's okay," Franco says, standing closer to you. You're trying to get your hair in order when you realize something's missing.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your pockets. "I forgot my hair tie."

"You always braid it before races, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh, still searching. "I'm stupidly superstitious about it. Haven't gotten into the car without a perfect braid since F3."

"Here," Franco pulls a hair tie from his wrist. At your surprised look, he shrugs. "I started carrying one after Mexico. Just in case," he shrugs, as if he was saying the most obvious thing ever, "Turn around."

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Sisters, remember? I'm practically a professional." His fingers are gentle as they work through your hair. "Besides, can't have you breaking your streak because of a missing hair tie."

You're acutely aware of the other drivers watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lewis gives you a knowing wink as he passes, while Charles not-so-subtly elbows Oscar and gestures toward you two.

"There," he says finally, securing the end with your hair tie. "Perfect braid for perfect racing."

You reach back to feel it - it is indeed perfect. When you turn to thank him, you find him much closer than expected, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Show off," you manage to say, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, and you hear what sounds suspiciously like Alex whispering "Just kiss already" to George.

The moment is broken by the announcement for drivers to take their places on the parade truck. As you climb aboard, you catch Oscar making exaggerated swooning gestures at you, while Max simply mouths "Just friends?" with a knowing smirk.

Franco takes his place beside you on the truck, close enough that your shoulders touch, and somehow you find you don't really care who's watching.

"Nice braid, by the way," Charles calls out teasingly from behind you. "Franco, think you could do mine next time?"

"Get your own hair stylist, Leclerc," you call back, and Franco's laugh next to you makes everything - the bad qualifying, the rain, the teasing - worth it.

The truck starts moving, and Franco's hand finds yours, hidden from view between you. You intertwine your fingers with his, and neither of you let go for the entire parade.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 21,765 others

f1_insider🚨 Christian Horner spotted leaving Williams hospitality after a 2-hour meeting in Brazil. This comes amid increasing speculation about driver changes for 2025.

view all comments

username1 They're not even trying to be subtle anymore…

username2 leave YN alone challenge

username3 Franco to Red Bull confirmed? 👀

username5 WAIT WHAT

username7 the timing of this… right before quali 😬

username8 everyone acting surprised like this hasn't been brewing for weeks username11 They're trying to destabilize her before the race

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,093,032 others

yourinstagram brazil never disappoints. p15 ➡️ p2. proud of this one.

view all comments

username1 IM STILL CRYING

username2 MIC DROP

maxverstappen1 Proper racing today 💪🏻 That defense in the last 10 laps 🔥Love you kiddo, couldn't ask for a better teammate

↳ username1 max said SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE

danielricciardo THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! That's my girl!

username3 EVERYONE'S PRIDE AND JOY

username4 she got lucky and still no win this season

landonorris Absolute monster in the wet

logansargeant THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND

username5 this is why she deserves that seat

username6 where are all the haters now? 🤫

username7 that battle through the midfield was masterclass

username8 Silencing critics in the best way possible

liked by username1, username2 and 14,088 others

f1gossip YN's radio messages during Franco's crash show a different side to their "rivalry." Listen to how her voice changes when she finds out it's him. Sometimes the real feelings come through in moments like these.

view all comments

username2 this doesn't sound like someone who "hates" him

username3 top I'm crying 😭

username4 "tell me he's okay" broke me

username6 forget the rivalry narrative, that's genuine concern

username7 MY DRIVERS STOOOOP

username8 this is the most emotion we've heard from her all season

username9 notice how she's been cold towards him for weeks but the second he's in danger…

username10 SOMETHING SHIFTED

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The easy banter has become your normal over the past week. Ever since Brazil, where you fought your way from P15 to P2 in treacherous conditions, something has shifted between you. The walls you'd carefully maintained started crumbling during that rain-soaked weekend.

Your phone buzzes again - this time it's Christian Horner requesting a meeting. Your stomach tightens instinctively. These meetings have become more frequent throughout the season, always with subtle undertones about your future with the team.

Franco: "Meeting with James in 10. Wish me luck not falling asleep in the sim debrief. Call you after?"

You: "Sure, good luck x"

The 'x' slips out before you can stop it - you've never added that before. Your finger hovers over the delete button, but he's already seen it.

Franco: "Did THE YN just send me a kiss? Screenshots being taken. This is historic

You're still smiling about your early interaction with Franco when you walk into Christian Horner's office, but his expression is serious enough to make your smile fade. You've been here before - these "casual meetings" that could determine your future.

"YN, thanks for making time," he gives a polite smile, "Please, take a seat."

You sit, trying to read his expression. Last week's podium trophy sits on a shelf behind him - your trophy, earned after fighting through half the grid.

"As you're aware, your contract includes certain performance clauses. While your recent results, particularly Brazil, have been impressive, we need to consider all options for the team's future."

That familiar knot in your stomach returns. "What kind of options?"

"I was at Williams recently," Christian says carefully, "discussing various possibilities, including Franco Colapinto."

The world seems to tilt slightly. Franco. At Williams. Meeting about possibilities. Just like with Logan.

"I got P2 in Brazil," you say, hating how defensive your voice sounds. "Started P15. In the rain. I battled with the entire grid while also defending for Max to secure a double podium."

"Yes, and it was an exceptional drive-"

"I'm fifth in the championship. I've scored podiums consistently despite the car being a nightmare to drive most of the times. What more do I need to do?"

Christian's expression remains neutral. "This isn't about any single result, YN. We need to evaluate all potential scenarios for the team's future."

"So you're considering replacing me," you say flatly. "With Franco."

"I trust you understand this is just business, YN," Christian says as you stand to leave. "We have to explore every option."

You pause at the door, turning back slightly. "Of course. Business." Your voice is perfectly controlled. "Just like my P2 in Brazil was business. My podiums were business. Everything I've given to this team has been business."

"YN-"

"No, I get it. Really." You manage a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have some sim work to review."

It hits you as you drive back to your apartment - every friendly conversation, every shared coffee, every late-night text… none of it was real. Franco isn't your friend. He's just another driver who sees you as an obstacle to overcome, a seat to claim. Just like everyone else since you entered F1, smiling to your face while plotting to take what's yours.

Back in your apartment, your phone keeps lighting up with Franco's messages, each one making your chest tighter. You can't bring yourself to block him - that feels too much like acknowledging how much this hurts. Instead, you just... stop responding. Set the phone aside. Focus on your laptop, on race data, on anything else.

Your phone rings - Oscar's familiar face popping up on the screen.

"Finally!" he exclaims when you answer. "I've been trying to reach you all day. You missed the most hilarious thing - Lando tried to make vegemite pasta."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. "Please tell me someone filmed it."

The conversation flows easily, almost making you forget about everything else. Almost.

"Oh yeah," Oscar adds casually, "ran into Franco at paddle today. He seemed pretty worried-"

"He better focus on preparing for his Red Bull seat instead."

"His what?" Oscar sounds confused. "Stinks, what are you on about?"

"Horner had meetings at Williams. About Franco. About possibilities. Sound familiar?"

"Hang on, hang on. Did you even talk to Franco about this? Because he genuinely seemed concerned-"

"Of course he seemed concerned, Os. That's the whole point."

"YN, I know you. You're doing that thing where you push people away before they can hurt you. But stinks, I really don't think-"

"I have to go. Sim data to review."

"At least talk to him-"

You end the call, turning back to your laptop. Three races left. Three chances to prove everyone wrong. No more distractions, no more letting your guard down.

You'll do it the only way that matters in F1 - on track, where lap times speak louder than friendly texts, and championship points mean more than shared coffee breaks.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You've managed three weeks. Three weeks of perfectly crafted indifference, of calling him "the Williams driver" in interviews, of taking different routes through the paddock just to avoid those chance encounters that used to make your heart skip. Three weeks of pretending you don't miss his stupid sparkle messages, or the way he always saves you a coffee during early practice sessions.

But now your hands won't stop shaking as you stare at your dark phone screen, trying to ignore the screens showing the mangled Williams in the Las Vegas Strip. You've watched the replay seventeen times without meaning to, each time feeling your heart stop at the impact.

"This is getting ridiculous," Max's voice is quiet beside you, making you jump. You didn't even hear him approach. "Stop with this nonsense."

"I'm fine," you respond automatically, thumb still pretending to scroll on your black screen. "Just checking the timing sheets."

"Your phone isn't even on." Max's hand appears, gently taking the phone from your trembling grip. "They've taken him to UMC. Just go."

"I can't," you whisper, finally looking up at your teammate. You hate how your voice catches. "Everyone will—"

"Who cares what everyone will say?" Max interrupts, already reaching for your bag. "Hannah's got a car waiting. Go."

"I don't want to," you protest weakly, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "I don't need to—"

"Stop," Max's voice is firm but gentle. "You're not going back to this. Not after everything. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."

You take a shaky breath, then nod once. You're out of the garage before you can change your mind and rebuild those walls you've spent three weeks perfecting. Because Max is right – you do care. You care so much it terrifies you. And right now, nothing else matters except knowing he's okay.

You hate hospitals. You've spent too many hours in them after your own crashes, but somehow this is worse. Standing outside his room, you're suddenly unsure of everything. Three weeks of carefully constructed distance seems ridiculous now.

"You can come in instead of hovering at the door," Franco's voice carries from inside, slightly hoarse but still holding that hint of amusement that always used to drive you crazy. "Unless you're planning to run away again."

You step inside, trying to maintain some composure even as your heart clenches at the sight of him. "I wasn't running away," you say automatically, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"No?" He raises an eyebrow, wincing slightly at the movement. "So you just happened to take different paddock routes?"

"Franco—"

"It's back to Franco now? Not 'the Williams driver'?" There's hurt beneath his teasing tone, and it makes your chest tight. "That last interview was particularly cold, by the way. Very convincing."

You stay by the door, arms crossed. "I thought that's what everyone wanted. Space. Distance. Rivalry."

"You're here now though."

"Max made me come," you lie.

"Sure he did." Franco's small smile tells you he sees right through you. "Nothing to do with how many times you asked if I was okay over the radio?"

You feel your cheeks heat up. Of course he's heard the radio already. "I would have asked about any driver."

"YN," his voice softens, and it breaks something in you. "Stop pretending. Please. I miss my friend."

The last words hit you hard, and you finally let your arms drop, taking a step closer. "I miss you too," you whisper, and it feels like admitting defeat and victory all at once. "I was so scared when I saw the crash."

"Come here," he says quietly, patting the edge of the bed.

You hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room, carefully sitting beside him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "For these past weeks. For being harsh. For—"

"I know," he interrupts, his hand finding yours. "I know. But you're here now."

You squeeze his hand gently, feeling the walls you've built crumbling completely. "You could have died today and I would have never—" you stop yourself, running your thumb over his knuckles without thinking. "All because of this stupid seat."

Franco's quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh that turns into a wince. "Is that what you think? That I'm after your seat?"

"Aren't you?" You try to pull your hand away but he holds on. "The meetings with Christian, the—"

"YN," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him. "I never got any offers from RedBull.”

You freeze. "What?"

"I'm not taking your seat," he says softly. "In fact, I still don't have a seat."

"But...the meetings with Horner?" You're struggling to process this. "He basically told me they were considering options for next season, and those options were you in my seat."

"Sounds to me that he was pressuring you." His eyes hold yours. "My team had meetings with RedBull, yes. But we never got a solid offer, not even for VCARB."

You feel slightly dizzy. Three weeks of avoiding him, of building up walls, of convincing yourself he was just another driver trying to take your seat...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" you finally manage.

"Well, you've taken the long way through the paddock just to avoid me," he teases, then becomes serious. "I wouldn't hurt you like that. You know that. Or at least, you used to."

"I got scared," you admit quietly. "When I heard about the meetings, I just... it was easier to push you away than to admit that I care about you."

The silence that follows feels heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Franco squeezes your hand gently.

"Well," he says softly, "nearly dying seems to have worked out well for me then."

"That's not funny," but you're fighting a smile.

"Made you come see me though, didn't it?"

"I hate you," but there's no heat in it.

"No, you don't," he says confidently. "You just admitted you care about me. No taking it back now."

You roll your eyes but don't deny it. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Like I crashed a car at 200mph," he grins, then softens. "Better now though."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,908,479 others

yourinstagram champion x4 🏆so proud to be part of this journey. no one deserves it more than you @/maxverstappen1. thank you for being the best teammate anyone could ask for, on and off track.

view all comments

username1 IM CRYINGGGGG

username2 this is my family

maxverstappen1 Couldn't ask for a better teammate and bonus little sister. Thanks for having my back all season 💪🏻

↳ username1 HE SAID SHE'LL ALWAYS BE MY TEAMMATE

danielricciardo Look at my kids making me proud 🥹

christianhorner Fantastic team effort all year. Proud of both of you.

↳ username1 FIX HER CAR AND STOP FEEDING HER TO THE PRESS!!

username5 the way max waited to celebrate until she crossed the finish line

username6 remember when they said they wouldn't get along

username7 brother sister energy we love to see it

francolapinto Amazing work 🙌

↳ username8 bro ready to take her seat

username9 their relationship is too pure. max adores her like she's his little sister and yn would take a murder charge for him pretty much

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

After showering and changing post-race, you're walking back to your hotel room when your phone buzzes. Franco's name lights up the screen: "Hey... could you come to my room? Need to get my mind off today. Room 412."

You hesitate only briefly before responding. After everything that's happened - the crash, the hospital, the conversations that followed - things between you have felt different.

Qatar had been grueling, you managed to score a solid P4 but the story for Franco had been different. He was part of a collision during turn one that ended his race right there. You heard it on the radio and your heart couldn't help but ache for him.

When you knock, Franco opens the door looking drained, his usual spark dimmed by the day's events. He's changed into soft sweatpants and a team shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

"That bad, huh?" you say softly, following him into the room.

He drops onto the bed with a sigh. "First lap incidents are the worst. All that preparation, all those hours in the sim… gone in seconds."

You settle into the armchair across from him. "I saw the replay. That wasn't your fault - Hulkenberg came across way too aggressively."

"Doesn't matter whose fault it was. Points are points, and I need them." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to recognize as stress. "The pressure's getting intense. Everyone keeps asking about next year's plans, and I just… I don't know."

"Hey," you say gently, moving to sit beside him. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there. Everyone sees it."

"Do they?" His voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Because right now it feels like every mistake is being magnified. One DNF and suddenly everyone's questioning if I deserve the seat."

"I know that feeling too well," you admit. "I mean, I spent three weeks avoiding you because I thought you were after my seat."

That draws a small laugh from him. "Not my finest moment in the hospital, guilt-tripping you about it."

"It worked though, didn't it?" you nudge his shoulder playfully, "Plus, I guilt tripped you about Logan's seat for the longest time, it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, I was desperate. Do you know how hard it was watching you take different routes through the paddock just to avoid me?"

"About as hard as it was taking those routes," you say softly. "I missed you."

"You did manage to find some creative paths though," he teases, his mood lightening slightly. "I particularly enjoyed watching you duck behind Lando in the airport."

"I did not duck!"

"You absolutely did. Practically dove behind him. Poor guy had no idea why you suddenly needed an urgent conversation about sim settings."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "Well, what about you? Mr. 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there' when we literally made eye contact in the media pen?"

"That was Oscar's fault! He told me my hair looked weird and I got distracted."

"Your hair always looks weird."

He gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! This hair has its own fan accounts."

"Yeah, horror fan accounts maybe," you tease.

"Says the person who needed my expert braiding skills before races."

"Which you learned from your sisters, if I remember correctly?"

His expression softens. "Actually… I might have YouTube'd it after Mexico."

That catches you off guard. "You… what?"

"Yeah," he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Spent like three hours practicing on a rope I found in the gym. Alex caught me and wouldn't stop laughing."

"That's…" you feel something warm bloom in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"Don't tell anyone," he grins. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Oh yeah? What reputation is that?"

"You know, cool, mysterious, definitely not the type to watch hair braiding tutorials."

You laugh. "Hate to break it to you, but anyone who's seen you try to work the coffee machine knows you're not mysterious."

"That machine is complicated!"

"It has three buttons!"

"Three very confusing buttons," he protests. "Besides, you're the one who always shows up right when I'm struggling with it."

"Pure coincidence."

"Right," he smirks. "Just like how you 'coincidentally' started showing up earlier to breakfast after I mentioned that's when I usually go?"

You feel your cheeks warm again. "I just… wanted to beat the rush."

"The rush of exactly two other drivers who eat that early?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

The air between you changes, becomes charged with everything unsaid. You're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting, how his eyes have dropped to your lips.

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he leans forward and kisses you, soft and careful, like he's afraid you might pull away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you feel yourself melting into the touch.

When he pulls back, you blink at him, slightly dazed. "You kissed me."

His familiar smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft. "Well done, Sherlock."

You roll your eyes at his sass, but can't help smiling. This time, you're the one who leans in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is deeper, more certain. His hand slides into your hair as you press closer, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"You know," he says softly, playing with a strand of your hair, "besides being one of my racing idols, you've also always been my crush."

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," he grins.

"Oh my god," you laugh. "You were such a fan! Did you have posters too?"

He groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I'm never telling you anything again."

"No, no, this is great," you tease. "I'm just a year and a half older than you, Colapinto, and you completely idolized me."

"I hate you," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"No you don't," you say confidently. "You just admitted you had a crush on me."

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Still do, actually. Although the real you is much more annoying than poster you."

"Poster me didn't call you out on your coffee machine struggles."

"Poster you was much nicer," he agrees, but he's smiling as he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with everything you've both been holding back. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his.

"Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits softly.

"Even when I was avoiding you? Or giving you crap to defend my best friend's honor?"

"Especially then. Do you know how adorable you looked trying to pretend you didn't see me in the paddock?"

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Never," he grins, pulling you closer. "I have years of fan stories to make up for."

You kiss him again just to shut him up, but you can feel him smiling against your lips, and you think maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you're meant to be.

"You're never going to let me live down the fan thing, are you?" he asks when you break apart.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "I bet Alex has pictures of you practicing those braids too."

"Don't you dare!"

But you're already reaching for your phone, laughing as he tries to grab it from you, and somehow you end up tangled together on the bed, both laughing too hard to care about anything else.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're halfway through your coffee when Franco appears, wearing his team polo and that signature grin that used to irritate you but now makes your stomach flutter. It's still surreal how much has changed - from despising him for taking Logan's seat, to avoiding him over your seat rumors, to… whatever this is now. He slides into the seat next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You quickly place a hand on his chest, pushing him back playfully.

"Easy there, hotshot," you tease. "Let's keep it professional."

"Professional?" He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't be shy now. Not after last week."

You feel your cheeks warm at the memory. "Last week was different. We were alone."

"Oh, so that's the rule? Only when we're alone?" He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Should we discuss what else happened when we were alone?"

"Franco!" You swat his arm, but you're fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, for someone who used to avoid me like I had the plague, you sure changed your tune."

"Yeah, well," you stir your coffee, trying to maintain your composure, "turns out you're not as annoying as I thought."

"High praise," he chuckles. "Remember when you wouldn't even look at me in driver briefings?"

"Remember when you replaced my best friend and then tried to steal my seat?"

"I didn't try to steal your seat!" he protests. "That was all media speculation."

Before you can respond, Max drops into the seat across from you, already looking amused at finding you two together.

"Well, well," he says, reaching for the coffee pot. "If it isn't my favorite teammate and her… what are we calling this now?"

You roll your eyes. "We're calling it none of Max's business."

"Everything is Max's business," Max says cheerfully. "Especially when said business involves my teammate getting cozy with the competition."

Franco's phone buzzes and his expression shifts slightly as he reads the message, and you catch that flicker of worry he's been trying to hide all weekend. The weight of it being potentially his last race in F1 has been hanging over both of you.

"Engineers?" you ask softly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Last pre-race meeting of the season. Hopefully not my last ever," he adds, attempting a joke that falls flat.

You reach for his hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "Hey, you've shown what you can do this year. The pace is there, the talent is there-"

"The results aren't," he cuts in, running his free hand through his hair. "DNF and crashes don't exactly scream 'keep me for next year.'"

"The car's been shit though," Max speaks up, "Everyone knows that. You've outqualified your teammate and scored points."

"Try telling that to the team principals," Franco says, attempting a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, better go before they add 'chronically late' to my resume." He stands, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "See you later?"

"Of course," you say softly. "Good luck in the meeting."

Once Franco leaves, Max leans forward, "Okay, spill. Everything. Now."

"There's nothing to spill."

"Nothing to spill?" Max scoffs. "Last month you were convinced he was plotting to take your seat, and now he's kissing you goodbye at breakfast? That's not nothing."

"You don't need to know everything about my life, Max," you try to busy yourself with your coffee, that's pretty much cold by now.

"I'm the older brother you never wanted but got stuck with anyway, so I do need to know about these things."

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "Fine. After Qatar, things changed. We… spent time together."

"Spent time together?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Not like that!" you protest, then lower your voice. "Well, not just like that. We talked a lot. About everything again - the rumors, the misunderstandings, why I was so angry about Logan, and… I don't know. It's different now. Good different. When I'm with him, everything just feels…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

"Right?" Max supplies, his teasing tone softening.

"Yeah," you admit. "Which makes this whole situation even harder. If he doesn't get a seat…"

"Then you'll figure it out," Max says, "But let's not write him off yet. Season's not over until the checkered flag."

You nod, but can't help glancing at the door Franco left through. "You know what's ironic?" you say, turning back to Max. "A few months ago, I was worried about him taking my seat. Now I'd give anything for him to have one, anywhere on the grid."

Max smiles knowingly. "Amazing what a few kisses can do."

"It's not just that," you protest. "He deserves to be here. He's so talented-"

"And you're completely smitten," Max interrupts, grinning.

"Shut up," You throw a napkin at him. "I'm getting a new teammate next year," you declare.

"No you're not," Max laughs. "You love me." He pauses, suddenly looking both nervous and excited. "Actually… want to know a secret?"

Something in his tone makes you lean forward. "Always."

"Kelly's pregnant," he says, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We just found out last month"

You practically leap across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over both your coffees in the process. "Oh my god! Max! I'm going to be an auntie!"

He laughs, hugging you back. "Actually…" he pulls back slightly to look at you, "What do you think about being a godmother?"

Your eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," he grins. "Who else would I trust to teach my kid how to properly terrorize the paddock?"

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm going to spoil them so much," you warn, hugging him again. "Like, an absolutely ridiculous amount."

"I know," he laughs. "That's kind of counting on it."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just family for now," he says. "And you, obviously. Because you are family."

You're definitely crying now. "I hate you for making me cry before a race weekend."

"Sure you do," he grins. "Just like you hate Franco, right?"

You wipe your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment. "God, I can't believe you're going to be a dad!"

"Me neither," he admits, and there's something soft and vulnerable in his expression that makes your heart squeeze. "It's scary but… in a good way, you know?"

"You're going to be amazing," you tell him seriously. "The best dad ever."

His smile turns mischievous. "Just wait until Franco gets you pregnant-"

"And that's my cue to leave," you gather your things. "Congratulations again, future dad. I love you, even when you're the worst."

His laughter follows you out of the room. "Love you too, future godmother!"

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by maxverstappen1, francolapinto and 2,099,437 others

yourinstagram ABU DHABI WINNER! 🏆✨ still feels surreal to type those words. to win the last race of the season, after everything… no words can describe this feeling. thank you to every single person who never stopped believing in me, even when things got tough. to my incredible team - this one's for you. we did it! 🧡

view all comments

username1 SHE FUCKING DID IT

username2 first win of the season in the last race - poetic justice

username3 the way everyone doubted her at the start of the season and now look at her QUEEN BEHAVIOR

logansargeant YESSSS! That move was legendary! So proud of you!

username4 this feels so RIGHT

francolapinto Mi campeona 🖤 That last lap move was 🔥

↳ username1 IM CRYING OMFG

↳ username2 THEY'RE SO TOGETHER I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

username5 brb i'll be crying while i watch that video of her hugging franco

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're still riding the high of your Abu Dhabi win as you unlock your apartment door. Your first win of the season, in the last race - it feels poetic, somehow. Like a final "fuck you" to everyone who doubted you, who questioned your seat, who spent the entire season speculating about your future.

The trophy sits in your bag, along with the champagne bottle Charles insisted you keep. Franco follows you in, still wearing that soft smile he's had since he watched you cross the finish line.

He's staying at your apartment since he doesn't have a place in Monaco and the now traditional drivers dinner is happening, after all you time together, inviting him over felt...natural.

The past few days have been a whirlwind - the podium, the celebrations, the multiple kisses stolen in your motorhome between media duties. The flight to Monaco where you both pretended to sleep but kept "accidentally" touching hands. It should feel fast, rushed, but somehow it just feels right.

"Still can't believe you pulled that move on the last lap," Franco says, dropping his bags by the door. "Even Max was impressed, I think you broke his brain a little."

"Speaking of broken, try not to destroy anything while you're here," you tease. "Some of us actually live in Monaco full-time."

Franco turns to you with mock offense. "When have I ever broken anything?"

"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?" you raise an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember a certain incident with Lewis' scooter…"

"That was a manufacturing defect and you know it," he protests, moving closer.

"Sure it was," you laugh. "Just like the tablet in Singapore was a 'technical malfunction'?"

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that's been driving you crazy since Qatar. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," you confirm, but your voice comes out softer than intended because he's looking at you the way he has been since that first kiss in his room - like you're something precious.

"Guest room's down the hall," you say quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Bathroom's across from it, you know the drill."

Franco raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes that you're starting to know too well. "You're really going to make me take the guest room? After all our bonding?"

"Bonding?" you scoff. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, what would you call making out in your motorhome? And the plane bathroom? And-"

You cut him off by pressing your hand to his mouth. "Those were… moments of weakness."

He kisses your palm before moving your hand, and the simple gesture shouldn't make your heart race like it does. "Lots of moments."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," you argue weakly.

"Uh-huh," he steps closer, backing you against the wall. "And now?Are you emotionally vulnerable now?" His hands find your waist, and you try to ignore how right they feel there.

"I'm…" you start, but then he's kissing you, slow and deep, and you forget what you were going to say.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "We should get ready for dinner," you manage.

"We should," he agrees, but kisses you again.

"Franco," you mumble against his lips. "We're already late."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck.

It ends up being fifteen minutes before you finally push him away, your lips swollen and hair slightly messed up.

"Guest room," you point firmly. "Get changed."

He grins, stealing one last quick kiss before grabbing his bag. "Yes, boss."

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yourinstagram has added to their close friends story

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You arrive at Lewis' Monaco penthouse a fashionably acceptable ten minutes late, Franco's hand resting casually on your lower back as the elevator opens to the top floor. The space is already filled with the familiar chatter of your fellow drivers, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Look who finally made it," Charles calls out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got lost on the way from your apartment? It's only three blocks…"

"Traffic," you say smoothly, ignoring Franco's poorly concealed laugh beside you.

"Must have been terrible," Alex joins in, eyes twinkling. "Considering you live literally around the corner."

Lewis appears, saving you from having to respond. He hugs you warmly before turning to Franco with a grin. "No scooters allowed inside this time, mate."

"That was one time!" Franco protests as everyone laughs. "And it was definitely faulty manufacturing."

The evening flows easily, conversation and wine flowing freely as everyone celebrates the end of another season. You find yourself constantly aware of Franco's presence - the way he automatically hands you your favorite wine, how his hand finds yours under the table, the soft looks he gives you when he thinks no one's watching.

(They're all watching. These are racing drivers - subtlety isn't their strong suit.)

"Get together, everyone!" you call out later, holding up your phone. "I want a picture."

There's the usual chaos of twenty-odd drivers trying to arrange themselves, plenty of shoving and laughing as everyone finds their spot. Franco ends up behind you, his chest pressed against your back, hands resting lightly on your waist.

"Alright, someone else take it," Lando announces. "YN's too busy making heart eyes at Franco to frame it properly."

"I am not-"

"You kind of are," Pierre interrupts with a grin.

"Just like in Abu Dhabi," Oscar adds. "And the flight home. And baggage claim. And-"

"I hate all of you."

The night continues with more conversation, more drinks, and constant teasing from your friends. Even Charles joins in, muttering something about "finally dealing with all that sexual tension in the briefings."

By the time you leave, you're both pleasantly tipsy, walking back to your apartment with slightly unsteady steps. The moment your door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts.

"So," he says finally, stepping closer. "About that guest room…"

"What about it?" you ask, but you're already moving toward him.

"I'm thinking," he cups your face with one hand, "that it would be a shame to use it."

"Would it?"

"Mhmm," he's close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips. "Especially when the winner deserves proper celebrations."

"Or maybe you're just being a horndog," you tease, even as your hands find their way to his chest.

"Maybe," he concedes. "Or maybe I just can't stop thinking about kissing you."

Your breath catches. "You've already kissed me plenty today."

"Not enough," he murmurs, then proves his point by capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is different from all the others. Those were stolen moments, quick and heated. This is slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize every second.

"Don't make me take the guest room," he murmurs against your lips.

You pretend to think about it, even as your hands slip under his shirt. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I can be very nice," he grins, then kisses you again, backing you toward your bedroom.

"Prove it," you challenge.

The guest room remains empty that night. And many nights after.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and 2,044,387 others

yourinstagram i love my little dysfunctional family !! yes i'm the one behind the camera

view all comments

username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 FRANCO'S FACE ??? DEVASTATED BC HIS GIRL IS NOT NEXT TO HIM

lewishamilton Always family ❤️

oscarpiastri Never sitting between you and your lover boy again..

↳ username1 HUH??

↳ username2 oscar spill the deets PLEASE

↳ logansargeant to the gc NOW

↳ username3 LET ME INNNNN

↳ username4 im crying

↳ yourinstagram i hate you both

francolapinto ❤️

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

yn's biggest fans groupchat

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You're curled up on your couch, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle through your window as snow falls softly outside. Franco's just finished unpacking his bags, having arrived from Argentina an hour ago. The past weeks without him felt strangely empty, even though you'd been surrounded by family for Christmas.

"Mama keeps asking about the foods I mentioned you cook," Franco says, settling beside you with a grin. "She's convinced I'm making it up."

"Did you tell her it's mostly pasta and those empanadas you taught me to make?"

"Si, but she says my standards have dropped since moving to Europe," he laughs, stealing some of your blanket. "How was your family?"

"Good. Dad's still buzzing about Abu Dhabi. He's watched the replay about fifty times, especially that last lap battle with Max," you grin, throwing your legs over his lap. "How was home?"

"Hot," he sighs contentedly. "Really hot. Nothing like a proper Argentinian summer."

"Meanwhile I was freezing in London," you poke his side. "Speaking of which… don't you have some news to share?"

He raises an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"Carlos texted me. He's terrible at keeping secrets."

Franco runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I signed with Williams. As their reserve driver for next season, there's talk about 2026, but nothing concrete yet."

"Franco!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "That's amazing!"

He hugs you back, letting out a relieved laugh. "You think so?"

"Of course I do!" you pull back to look at him. "Williams is doing great things, and with Carlos and Alex there…" you trail off, seeing something in his expression. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing bad," he assures quickly. "Just… I'll be based in England a lot. For simulator work and development."

"Oh," you say quietly, understanding dawning. You'd gotten used to having him here, in your space, in the paddock, in your life.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up. "It's not that far. And I'll still be at all the races. Plus," his lips quirk up, "I hear Nice has a pretty good airport."

You can't help but smile. "True. And I suppose I could be convinced to visit Grove occasionally."

"Only occasionally?" he teases.

"Well, I am very busy and important," you say loftily, making him laugh.

His eyes drop to your lips. "I'm sure you can save some time for me," he murmurs before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft and familiar, like coming home after a long trip. When you pull back, he's wearing that small smile that always makes your stomach flip.

You settle back against him, comfortable silence falling between you. "Talk to me about next season," he says eventually. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Honestly? I'm nervous," you admit. "Abu Dhabi was amazing, but what if it was just luck? What if I can't do it again?"

"The same way Suzuka was luck? And Singapore? And that insane qualifying in Baku?" Franco shifts to look at you properly, "You've been fast all season. Abu Dhabi just proved what everyone already knew."

"Smooth," you laugh, then remember something. "Oh! Speaking of next year - what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Nothing yet. Why?"

"Logan's throwing a party in Florida for his birthday. Want to come?"

Franco hesitates. "Won't that be…"

"What? Weird because you stole his seat?" you tease, making him groan.

"I thought we cleared that up months ago," he protests.

"We did, I just like messing with you," you grin. "Come on, it'll be fun. There'll be cake."

“You know my weakness,” he sighs dramatically. “Does this mean I get to kiss you at midnight?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my midnight kiss,” you tease, even as you lean into him.

“No? Planning on kissing someone else?” he raises an eyebrow, hands settling on your waist.

“Maybe. Logan might have a hot friend…”

"Terrible," he murmurs against your lips. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you whisper back, just before he kisses you again.

When you finally break apart, he's already reaching for the remote. "Want to watch Qatar?"

You groan, but you're smiling. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he says confidently, pulling up the race highlights.

And as he starts his terrible commentary, making you laugh despite yourself, you think about how easy this is - whatever this is between you. No labels, no pressure, just… this.

Outside, Monaco continues to sparkle under the falling snow, but in here, with Franco's warmth beside you and his voice in your ear pointing out "that brilliant move you did in turn 4" for the hundredth time, you think maybe some things don't need defining to be perfect.

Plus, you already know who your midnight kiss is going to be. Not that you'll tell him that - his ego's big enough as it is.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 12,870 others

f1gossip Spotted: F1's power couple enjoying a day out in Monaco! Franco Colapinto and YN were seen strolling around today, looking very cozy! The pair, who have been subject to dating rumors seemed to have no interest in hiding their relationship anymore.

view all comments

username1 THE FUUUUUCK

username2 i don't like this..

username3 FRANCO GET AWAYYYY she's going to distract him

username4 why is this lowkey powerful

username5 THIS PLOT TWIST OMFG

username6 i thought they hated each other ??

username7 oh how the tables have turned

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Music pulses from Logan's Miami beach house as you and Franco make your way up the palm-lined driveway. The December air is surprisingly warm, fairy lights twinkling in every tree and reflecting off the pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your hand is loosely intertwined with Franco's, something that still gives you butterflies even after weeks of... whatever this is between you.

"Birthday boy!" you call out as Logan spots you from the entrance, where he's greeting guests in a ridiculous party hat and an even more ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"If it isn't my best friend and the guy who stole my seat," Logan grins, pulling you into a tight hug before turning to Franco with an exaggerated suspicious look that quickly breaks into a genuine smile. "Good to see you, man."

"Happy birthday," Franco offers with a grin, accepting Logan's enthusiastic handshake-turned-hug. "Nice shirt."

"Right? YN said it was terrible, but what does she know about fashion?"

"Hey!" you protest, but you're laughing. "I have great taste."

Logan's eyes drift meaningfully to your joined hands. "Clearly," he smirks, making you blush and Franco chuckle. "Drinks are everywhere, food's by the pool, try not to fall in."

"That was one time," you mutter as Logan gets pulled away by more arriving guests.

Franco raises an eyebrow. "One time?"

"Don't ask. Come on, I need a drink before I tell you that story."

After getting drinks, you find yourself drifting between groups, Franco's hand a constant presence at the small of your back or linked with yours. It's nice, you think, not having to overthink every interaction, every touch. Here, away from the paddock and the cameras, you can just... be.

It's about an hour into the party when Logan finds you again, now sporting two party hats and what looks suspiciously like glitter on his cheek.

"Stinks! Just the person I wanted to see," he announces, dragging you away from where Franco is deep in conversation with Alex. "Back in five," he tells Franco with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Subtle," you comment as Logan leads you to the makeshift bar.

"Please, subtle went out the window when you two showed up holding hands like teenagers at prom," he snorts, mixing drinks with practiced ease. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're fighting a smile.

"Me? Start something? Never," he puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I just find it interesting that the same person who spent three hours ranting to me about 'that arrogant Argentine who stole your seat' is now making heart eyes at him across my party."

"You're impossible."

"And you're happy," he says softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "Like, really happy. I haven't seen you like this in… well, ever."

You look down at your drink, feeling your cheeks warm. "Yeah, well…"

"Hey," Logan nudges your shoulder. "It's a good thing. You deserve this, YN. Someone who gets you, who understands the pressure and the crazy schedule and still looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He doesn't-"

"He absolutely does. Trust me, I've been watching him watch you all night. It's disgustingly cute."

"I'm kind of scared, Logan," you look down at your hands nervously, "Six months ago, I hated him. And now I can't picture myself apart from him. It's all happening really fast and I'm not quite sure when everything shifted, but I feel like there's no going back now. And that's terrifies me."

"Stinks," Logan says gently, "you didn't hate him. You were hurt because of how everything went down with the seat, and you projected that onto him. I get being scared. This sport… it complicates things. But I've seen how he looks at you and how you look at him. It's okay to have feelings for him."

"How do you always know what to say?" you look up at him.

"Because I'm your best friend," he squeezes your shoulder. "Now go get your man. And please kiss him at midnight so I can win the bet with Alex."

"You bet on us?!"

"The whole grid did. I have fifty bucks riding on tonight!"

Later, as midnight approaches, you find yourself on the beach with Franco, fairy lights and stars twinkling above. Your conversation with Logan keeps playing in your mind, making you fidgety.

"You okay?" Franco asks softly, touching your arm.

"FIVE MINUTES!" someone shouts from the house.

"I have feelings for you," you blurt out. "Like, real feelings. And I know it's fast and complicated and I was horrible to you at first because I was hurt about the seat thing but then you were so nice and understanding and you brought me coffee after bad practice sessions and you defended me to the press and you make me laugh even when I'm trying to be mad and your accent gets thicker when you're tired which is unfairly adorable and-"

"THREE MINUTES!"

"-and sometimes I catch you looking at me in debriefs and it makes me forget what I'm saying and Oscar keeps making these knowing faces at us and I pretend to be annoyed but actually I kind of like it and-"

"SIXTY SECONDS!"

"-and I know this could complicate everything but I can't stop thinking about you and the way you smile when you see me in the morning and how you remember how I like my coffee and-"

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"-and maybe this is crazy but I really really like you and I know we should probably talk about what this means for next season but-"

"FOUR! THREE!"

"-and I just needed you to know-"

"TWO! ONE!"

Franco cuts off your rambling with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other pulls you closer. You melt into him as fireworks explode overhead, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the celebration around you.

When he pulls back, he's wearing that soft smile that always makes your stomach flip. "You're so cute when you rant."

"I don't rant," you protest weakly.

"Mi amor, you just spent ten minutes listing all the things you like about me, including my accent."

"Shut up."

He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to be with you, YN. Officially, properly, no more undefined territory. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. I want morning coffees and post-race celebrations and quiet moments like this. I want all of it, with you."

"Yeah?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I'm crazy about you, in case my terrible attempts at flirting haven't made that obvious."

"Your flirting isn't terrible."

He kisses you again, laughing against your lips. "So… is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know, Logan's friend is looking pretty good tonight…"

"Terrible," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I like everything about you."

Your heart skips. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "Even your terrible taste in coffee."

You laugh, bright and happy, before pulling him down for another kiss. Around you, the party continues, music and waves and distant fireworks creating a perfect backdrop to this moment. When you finally break apart, you're both breathless and smiling.

"Happy New Year," you murmur.

"The happiest," he agrees, and as he leans in again, you think that maybe some feelings are worth being scared of, especially when they lead to moments like this.

Plus, you just won Logan a bet. Not that you'll tell him that.

[ubeb0nes]

Things Sevika says as your lover…

❧ ❧ ❧

Let me do it. / I'll handle it. / Don't worry, I'll take care of it.

She wants to take care of you so, so bad. Whether that's opening every door and pulling out every chair for you, or wiping someone off the face of the earth in your name.

She's in her element when she's of service. Deep down, she thinks that as long as she proves useful then your continued affection is almost guaranteed.

Can't do that anymore, my woman/partner said so. / Wrap this up. I gotta get home to them.

She is yours, no ifs or buts about it. And she makes sure everyone knows how fiercely loyal she is, she will not be doing anything to disrespect your boundaries or your relationship.

Obviously her work and her abrasive nature will put a natural strain on some parts of your relationship, but she's never intentionally causing you distress. Loyalty's her most important personal value, and you have the most of hers.

No, get behind me! / I said stay here. / I need you safe, understand?

You're a culmination of everything she's fighting for. All the beauty of Zaun, her reason for sticking her heart in this city, you are all of that personified. So you can't die. You can't get hurt.

If she has to lock you in the house to keep you from following her into a death mission, she will. You'll understand. She's always taken a beating for the ones she loves, the role thrust upon her that she now clings to like a hardy mask.

Stand down. / Down, baby. / I don't care if you don't like it, follow orders.

If you follow her into combat, good luck with getting bossed around like crazy. She always keeps you in her line of sight, preferably also within three feet of you so she can jump in front of you to sacrifice another limb if need be.

She's also absolutely zero nonense while working. She isn't flirting with you or showing vulnerability in front of her crew, but she is relishing in getting to tell you what to do (and she expects you to heed immediately).

'S all for you, doll… / Mm-mm, you're not getting up… / Pretty thing… so warm… love you so much…

She only ever talks like this when she's sleepy, or just waking up. She doesn't say I love you much (outside of when she's leaving for work), as to her, it takes away from the weight of it (WRONG imo, but in character i think lol).

The sweetest sweetheart ever when she's all wrapped up in your arms. Her voice is even lower in the mornings, with a distinct gravel to her tone. She uses it to her advantage, whispering such sweet things in your ear as she "subtly" traps you in her arms to keep you in bed.

She keeps repeating the same things over and over again, praising you and professing her love like there's no tomorrow. Her favorite love language switches to words of affirmation while she's drowsy lol.

So good to me, god you keep me sane. / I'm gonna fuckin' give you everything… / You smell so good, I could eat you (she then does actually try to bite you and you scream and push her off the bed)

Nsfw under the cuttt~

Uh uh, don't run from me. / Stop moving. / You're gonna take it either way, don't whine.

One of your favorite games is to see how long you can hold out being a brat (i.e., closing your legs every time she spreads them, shifting your hips away, etc.) before you make her snap and she just manhandles you.

Her displays of strength are usually subtle, like lifting you steadily off the floor and laying you down slowly on the bed without struggle. But when you do finally get her to snap, she's flipping you over on the bed like a pancake, and holding you up against the wall with just her human arm as she fucks you. She barely breaks a sweat holding you down on the bed, no matter how strong or how determined your bratty ass may be.

I'm never fuckin' sharing you, baby. / Look at me. Don't look away, those are *my* pretty eyes, I wanna see them. / Is that good, doll? Whose making you feel good? Mhm, and don't forget it…

Chances are that you end up being the jealous one in your relationship rather than her. But she is extremely possessive. When she gets especially in a mood, she's intent upon fucking you until your brain melts and you're nothing but putty in her hands, obsessed with her.

She reminds you how good she makes you feel, and how she's the only one that can fuck you that way. You're always extra cuddly and touchy in the days following, and she loves it because she knows it means she's stuck on your mind.

[rafeysbunny]

rafe saves you from drowning

a/n. based on this ask.

"she can't swim, top!" by the time sarah shouts at him, it's already too late.

topper has thrown you inside the cameron's pool, despite how desperately you were squirming in his arms while you begged him to put you down, really hoping he wouldn't be and ass just for once. unfortunately, the guy seemingly cannot stop being a dickhead.

you're panicking, kicking and flailing your arms in the deep end of the pool to try and stay afloat, but there's no use. you struggle to keep your head from sinking under the water, taking quick breaths whenever you are on the surface, panic clear on your face. but then you swallow some water, and as you start coughing strongly, trying to swim gets even harder

you can't avoid sinking for much longer. and when you submerge, you can't physically bring yourself back to surface anymore.

sarah's scream has silenced everyone's laughter, but no one moves a finger to help you —even though you're obviously drowning in there. no one, except rafe cameron, who doesn't even hesitate to dive into the water so he can take you out. he reaches you just in time, grabbing you tightly and pulling you to the edge; his heart is racing as he does so.

still coughing and sputtering, you look up at him, and he can see the exact moment in which your panicked expression softens in a mix of relief and gratitude.

topper approaches the two of you quickly, worried, while everyone whispers around you, looking at you like you're some kind of freak show, some of them even recording the whole thing —are they for real right now? you almost died.

"stay away from her, topper," rafe snaps at him, and the guy immediately stops on his tracks, clearly knowing he's fucked up. "the rest of you, get the fuck outta my house!"

you're shocked.

rafe doesn't pay attention to anyone but you as he helps you stand up carefully, his arm around your waist at all times. your clothes are completely soaked through, as well as your hair, and you shiver a little at the cool summer breeze.

"let's get you some clean clothes, yeah?"

when he talks to you, his voice is completely opposite to the gruff tone he used before; now it's sweet and caring. you nod in response, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders in a protective manner while he guides you inside the house. he doesn't seem to care that he's dripping too, his entire focus put on you.

rafe takes you to his room and he closes the door behind him so no one bothers you. he gently hands you a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which smell so, so good —just like him, and then he takes you to his private bathroom.

"you can use the shower if you want," he says, opening some drawers to grab clean towels for you. when you simply stay silent, looking at him like a fool, he adds, "are you okay, y/n?"

you hesitate, fidgeting nervously, before you finally gather the courage to speak, "why are you doing this?"

"what?" he seems a little confused by your question.

"why are you, uhm, helping me?" you ask, staring at him as he drops the towels on top of the sink to go start the shower for you.

when the water's running, he turns around to face you, his gaze so intense that you swear it's piercing holes right through you.

"isn't it obvious?" he smirks; a little lopsided smirk that has a lot of butterflies fluttering around in your belly. "i like you, silly."

more.