#anix fics

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 3: Gossip

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

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

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

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

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

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Sip the gossip, drink ‘til you choke

Sip the gossip, burn down your throat

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

Don’t act like you don’t know 

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

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

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

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

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

That is, until Mexico. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you opened your notebook to write.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was gone.

Shit.

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

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

Frantic, you called him. He answered immediately. 

“Hey YN, you—”

“Have you seen my journal?”

“What?”

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

“No? I don’t remember seeing it.”

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

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

“Thanks,” you said, your voice dry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So that’s what he did. 

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

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

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

You began, “It’s stupid—” 

“I want to know anyway,” he assured.

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

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

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

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

Ouch. Just a friend. 

“I thought I was your best friend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He paused. “YN, I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say.

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

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

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

“I promise,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you said. 

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

You nodded, “Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. He wouldn’t. That’d cross a line.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have my journal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YN, I don’t have it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rolled over and angrily groaned into the pillow. 

Brazil was going to be an interesting time. 

Well, interesting was the understatement of the century.

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

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

“Nervous?” you asked.

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

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

“I can’t. I’m too wired up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, maybe you were smart and smooth with it. 

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

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

Bad: Literally everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fortunately, it was. 

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

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

Does YN know that she’s living our dream?

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

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

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

The comment soured your mood. You kept reading anyway.

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

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

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

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

You read the replies: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had a job to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He just replied, “Good.” 

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

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

“Yeah, it’s… complicated.” 

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

Seriously, who were you becoming?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was going to kiss you.

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

The moment was ruined.

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

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

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

You nodded as you went your separate ways.

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

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

You tapped on the post of a gossip page.

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

You scrolled to the comments.

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

Why are they actually the main characters of a rom com

Sooooooo when is he proposing

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

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

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

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

“I was just having fun—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he agreed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he could have this, right now.

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

[thepaladinstrait]

hi finn! it's been so long! how are you? i wanted to ask what's your fav fanfic you've written and one you've read

ANIX HIIII!!!!!!!!!!!! i missed you!!!!!!!!!!

i’m good!! how are you?

ooooh okay okay i’m gonna choose one from both tøp and hamilton

my favourite hamilton fic i’ve written is definitely ‘you can hear it in the silence’

hmmm okay favourite top i’ve written is probably ‘why no one ever comes back with details from beyond’ or ‘disassociate (i’m navigating my head)’

aaaand favourite fic i’ve ever read

i’m gonna list top 3

FOREVER IN MY NUMBER ONE SPOT- the price of his war series by @jittyjames. nothing can ever top it for me

second is ‘a bit too old to feel this way’. tøp fic i absolutely fell in love with immediately after reading the first chapter

third is either ‘inside the glass’ or ‘first light’!!!!!!

links aren’t working rn so i’m gonna put all these under the cut :)

[nihilistikal]

𝟗 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐠

⸻ Three ships: Chrisker [ Chris Redfield x Albert Wesker ] Almahart [ Seifer Almasy x Squall Leonhart ] Speyerfield [ Forest Speyer x Chris Redfield ]

⸻ First ship: I'm honestly not sure anymore but I would think it was probably a ship from Angel Sanctuary... Kira x Setsuna or Kira x Kato.

⸻ Last song: The Anix - My Eyes (as I am listening to my fic playlist to get back into the writing spirit)

⸻ Last movie: Aside from my evening Studio Ghibli binge lately, I watched Infinity Pool the other day. Lots of great inspo for art and fanfic content.

⸻ Currently reading: I don't have much time to read currently due to still being occupied with getting settled in the new apartment and renovating the old one before inspection, but I still have Dune on my bedside table, along with my re-read of The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo. Also I am listening to Stephen King's You Want It Darker before bed.

⸻ Currently watching: House of the Dragon, and true crime stuff

⸻ Currently eating: Had oatmeal with chocolate crunch for breakfast.

⸻ Currently craving: Sleep. Rest. Relaxation. Time for my hobbies T_T For the whole old apartment bs I have to still get done to be over with.

tagged by: @judasiskariot (thanks!) tagging: @briarwick-cache | @sauron-kraut | @blauerregen | @numenhore

(( no obligation to do this ofc! ))

[4th-make-quail]

[fic] Still Standing

Title: Still Standing Fandom: Resident Evil Pairing: Jack Krauser/Leon Kennedy Summary: The last thing Jack Krauser expected, after their fight in the ruins, was to wake up again. Let alone in a shitty civvy outfit that could hardly be called a hospital - and yet, here he is. Whether it's a good thing? Well, that's yet to be seen... a/n: when I saw the "injury" prompt for metaltango week, I knew what I had to do - I've always wanted to do an in-depth exploration of what would happen if Krauser survived the ruins, so ta da! here it is! or the first, oh, 11 pages, lol

chapter 2 is forthcoming, but alas time and tide wait for no exchange schedule of a busy summer quail so please look forward to it!

as ever, you can find my song inspiration here: The Anix - Still Standing. there are a vast amount of Anix songs that fit them so well, auuughhhh i am CLUTCHING MY FACE!!!!

[halftheway]

generally when making a decision for open arms whether thats plot or characterization or even just a fun lil tidbit i run it by some combination of luna anix and/or ari so pls believe me when i say this series would Not be what it is without their input and support

[angeloncewas]

Hello ! So Ranboo's team just opened voting for the short story contest run in his discord and there's a ton of entries to choose from. Many talented writers entered, but I'm here to promote the work of @/fensandmarshes !!

His work is beautiful and in my opinion very worthy of winning - I don't think it's gonna get the recognition it deserves since voting is up to the fanbase and other people have more followers. It's on page 207 of document 4 (but you can read it on ao3) and if you enjoy it, please do vote for him <3 Thank you :)

[rightpastnowhere]

for time and time and time again

peace in all seasons

moss stained with blood

(Pick which you like, or do multiple!)

i’m doin’ all of them!!!! what do you expect at this point lol

send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you the fic i’d write to go with it

1. for time and time and time again

not to be basic, but the first thing i thought of was a time loop fic, and i’m a sucker for time loop fics, so. time loop fic! au where wanda and pietro’s powers were unlocked (created or amplified, depending on how heavily you subscribe to MCU canon) by the time stone, not the mind stone. i’m hand-waiving canon to make this possible, just let me do what i want. anyway, their abilities stay mostly the same - pietro’s speed and wanda’s red wiggly woos - except pietro’s speed is him manipulating time (either his body’s time or time around him, idk time physics), and wanda doesn’t have telepathy. she has little manipulations of time that she just assumes are power boosts (like “oh, i’m just moving a little faster because i have powers now, maybe pietro is rubbing off on me” or “oh, i just used magic to decay this thing, that makes sense i guess”) because she doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, and neither does pietro. 

they don’t find out the extent of her powers until pietro dies - which means pietro never realizes, really - and she has the whole power-explosion thing. also, on that note, they still have their twinnie bond, but it’s more of the stone connecting its hosts, and it’s not actual telepathy, just feelings. it’s how wanda knows pietro is dead. ANYWAY when the whole magic burst happens, it sends wanda back in time to before pietro died. cue time loop fic of wanda trying to save her brother through countless iterations of the same day. 

2. peace in all seasons

a little fic that follows percy and vex throughout the first year after the campaign ends, split into four sections with one for each season. the drastic dichotomy of the external feeling of peace now that the world is saved and they can finally stop and breathe, and then the lack of internal peace after the death of vax sent vox machina into a spiral of turmoil, with vex obviously being the most affected. it’s also their first time spending a full year together with literal peace in every season - the year break doesn’t really count, because they didn’t spend all of it together, and they were tense because of all of the loose threads they still had left. and also, there’s vesper, who represents the peace they are trying to live in, but is also anything BUT peaceful because pregnancy is seventeen different kinds of chaotic and difficult. but, hey. there’s peace in the world, and they take a moment to breathe that in. 

3. moss stained with blood

i love the aesthetic of this, but i struggled the most with coming up with a fic for it lol. i eventually settled on a keyleth character study, one that follows her from the anxious, unsure girl that left zephrah, to the keyleth who wanted vengeance after the death of the fire ashari, to the voice at the tempest at the end. she’s still keyleth - still awkward and anixous, a little less unsure but she still watches where she steps - but she’s been undeniably changed by her time with vox machina. she’s still moss, but moss stained with blood. 

[with-love-from-hell]

Music Accompaniment for Vermillion Skies (parts 1 & 2)

First off, thank you all for the interactions and love thus far for the Vermillion Skies fic! It was very relieving to write the first two parts as a survivor- and again, something that I do quite enjoy is when Abusers get served their comeuppance after the trauma they inflict on someone else- but unfortunately it doesn’t happen all that often. 

In regards to my writings, my motivations can sometimes vary. However, I took a really interesting quiz once that was titled “What emotion do you write from?” or something of the like. For the life of me, I cannot find the post where I took the quiz (if anyone has it, let me know!). But I ended up getting the result of “Pain,” which was surprising to me at first- but then I looked through my original draft of Vermillion Skies and thought...yeeaaah accurate lol 

However, I do think that while I tend to utilize pain a lot in my writing, something that glares behind it is the idea of hope and comfort. I like instilling that in my audience, because I think it is necessary for us to endure the pain of just....living in general. 

I have gotten a lot of asks on where the inspirations come from- and in a broader sense, my own experience, desire to see abusers suffer, and need for a good depiction of a masculine person's response is pretty much it. But I also use Music as a way to inspire my writings. When I think of a scenario/subject, I will often play music that may match the vibe of the situation, and run with it. So for those who want to know in a more detailed way where my inspiration comes from- or for those who have similar inclinations and would like an official soundtrack to Vermillion Skies, here is what I listened to while writing it! I broke it down between parts and scenes (scenes are within the breaks in the writing, parts are the separate posts). If there was a particular part of a scene the music relates to more, I will specify that! Hope this gives clarity to those asks- I figured I’d make one large master post of it rather than answering individually!

Part One

Scene 1

Sunflower - Swae Lee ft. Post Malone (Introduction)

Bury a Friend - Billie Eilish (Something Isn't Right)

Save Me - Globus (Assault - Her Perspective)

The Handler - Muse (Assault - Her Perspective)

Emperors New Clothes - Panic! At the Disco (Assault - His Perspective)

Magnum Bullets - Night Runner ft. Dan Avidan (Discovered Body)

Scene 2

Running Up That Hill - Placebo (Initial Fear/Running Home)

Warning Signs - The Anix (We Need To Find Her) 

Magnum Bullets - Night Runner ft. Dan Avidan (Discovered Body)

Hit and Run - Abused Romance (Waiting for Simeon)

Waking the Demon - Bullet For My Valentine (Realization/Other Matters)

Scene 3

And the Snakes Start to Sing - Bring Me the Horizon (Stalking)

The Wolf - SIAMÉS (Stalking)

Wolf Totem - The Hu ft. Jacoby Shaddix (The Scent is Stronger)

You’re Going Down - Sick Puppies (Finding the Attacker)

Take Back The Fear - Hail the Villain (Taking His Tongue)

Baptize - Atreyu (The Whole Beating)

Out for Blood - Sum 41 (The Whole Beating)

Rise - A Skylit Drive (The Whole Beating)

Blood on My Hands - The Used (The Whole Beating)

Face Down - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus (Begging for Mercy/Mutilation)

Grave Mistake - Ice Nine Kills (Begging for Mercy/Mutilation)

Throne - Bring Me the Horizon (Taking to the Sky)

I Hope You Suffer - AFI (The Fall)

Part Two

Scene 1

Warrior - Atreyu (Back Home)

Failure - Breaking Benjamin (Back Home)

Wreckage - Ben Jelen (Entering His Room)

Valentines Day - Linkin Park (She’s Resting)

Hurt (Cover) - Johnny Cash (She's Resting/Trying to Touch Her)

All Fall Down - OneRepublic (Rest)

Scene 2

Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex (The Dream)

Everything Stays (Cover) - Amanda Pedersen (The Dream)

Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park (You’ll Never Laugh Again)

Scars - I Prevail (Lucifer's Woe)

Pale & Naked Name - The Pusher (Lucifer’s Woe)

Just Stay - A Skylit Drive (I Don’t Blame You)

Sleepwalker - The Anix (The Dream is Now a Nightmare)

My Demons - Starset (The Dream is Now a Nightmare)

Last to Fall - Starset (Come Back to Him)

Without You - Breaking Benjamin (Come Back to Him)

Scene 3

Talk - Coldplay (Conversing with Mammon)

Comes and Goes in Waves - Greg Laswell (Mammon’s Break Down)

Foreigner’s God - Hozier (Mammon’s Break Down)

Brother - NeedtoBreathe ft. Gavin DeGraw (Comforting Mammon)

Coming Home - BUNT. ft. Sons of the East (Will Things Be Different?)

Through Glass - Stone Sour (Everyone is Resting)

Kristy, Are you Doing Okay? - The Offspring (Watching Over You)

Scene 4

Nothing to Lose But You - Three Days Grace (Whole Scene)

Unwell - Matchbox 20 (Barbatos is Suspicious)

How it Feels to Be Lost - Sleeping with Sirens (Diavolo's Joke/How Does He Explain?)

Falling Apart in a Crowded Room - A Skylit Drive (Trying to Keep Composure)

Pity Party (Cover) - Vigils (Lucifer’s Break Down) {{I absolutely abhor Melanie Martinez, but this cover is good and a better take of the original}}

Without You - Breaking Benjamin (Lucifer's Break Down)

Grave Mistake - Ice Nine Kills (Lucifer’s Break Down)

Heavy - Linkin Park ft. Kiiara (Comforting Lucifer)

Read Vermillion Skies here

[lokisasylum]

Tag thing

Name: LoKi

Sign: Aries

Height: 5’2 (short bitches supremacy)

Time: 11:11 PM

Birthday: was like 5 months ago

Favorite band/artist: The Anix, Chase Atlantic, BTS, Palisades, Bad Omens, Indila, I Prevail, Teflon Sega, Halsey.

Last movie: PREY (Predator Prequel)!!! It was BADASS!

Last show: Our Blues & KinnPorsche

When I created this blog: I only remember that it was back in 2010 or something (back when tumblr was still hardcore lol)

What I post: most BTS (or Jimin), music recommendation, slice of life bs, rants lol, my fics, art ect

Last thing I googled: "abandoned supermarkets” (reference for a post-apocalypse yoonmin fic 🥲)

Tagging: @utopiajeon , @skyandpeople , @ttauries , @atxn8

[thran-duils]

Thran-duils’ heavily encouraged dark!character writing challenge

I’ve wanted to host a writing/prompt challenge for a long time but I’ve always been too nervous (it’s a perpetual thing lmao). Well, I am taking the dive! Rules and all the information below the cut!

Credit to @santacarlahorrorshow for the lovely header! <3

RULES

1. This challenge is 18+. Seriously, don’t be a dick and ignore this rule.

2. Following that, all characters and reader insert are to be 18+

3. I really, really, really encourage dark!characters or dark!reader or both (soft!dark, dark, heavy!dark) for this but they do not have to be if that makes you uncomfortable. A lot of these prompts are going to be leaning towards dark but there are ways to not utilize them that way I’m sure!

4. These fics are to be reader insert.

5. Fandoms accepted are: Supernatural, Marvel, The Walking Dead, and Lord of the Rings verse (I’m begging for some Thranduil here lmao no shame).

6. All characters welcome! But please do not use real life actors for this!

7. Please do not write beastiality. That’s really the only thing I’m gonna be like “plz don’t” kink about.

8. The fics for this must be new, not adding to an already existing story. They can be drabbles, one shots, or a starting chapter for a new series.

9. I went back and forth about this but I think I am not going to put a limit on how many people can choose a prompt. This may come back to backfire on me but one prompt just might be popular and it would be fun to see what variations can come from it!

10. Send me an ask with your prompt you would like and character/s. I will tag you next to the prompt.

11. If you need to back out of the challenge, send me a DM and I will remove you. Things happen!

12. Make sure to tag your fics appropriately if they are dark! Not only does this help people avoid triggers but also you’ve done your due diligence to tell people to gtfo and if they don’t, well, then that’s on them.

13. You do not need to be following me to participate!

14. Please tag the fics as #thranduilswritingchallenge and also tag me to make sure I see it!

15. For lyrics and quotes, please use them in the fic! If there’s breaks in the lyric, feel free to break it up in the fic though. Situations are for encouragement. I did edit one lyric, Olivia O’Brien. I put the songs next to the lyrics in case you want to listen to the song.

16. The deadline for this challenge is September 4, 2021. I will make a masterpost and I will post it either 9/5 or 9/6!

Lyric Prompts

01. “You right, I got my guy. But I, I can’t help it, I want you” (You Right by Doja Cat)

02. “Good girls don’t cry and good girls don’t lie” (Good Girls by CHVRCHES)

03. “But you keep breaking me apart” (Fabric by Half Waif)

04. “Dance like you’re not a liar” (Last Night of an Empire by Imogen Heap) 05. “Two nights in a row, now I know that it’s broken” (Two Nights by Lykke Li) 06. “I want my ring back, baby, that’s a diamond” (Violent by carolesdaughter) 07. “I’ll show you how revenge can taste so sweet” (King by Lilith Czar) 08. “It’s certified, I’m not the nice one” (The Devil by Banks) 09. “Learn to take a hint. I thought I fucking told [you]” (No More Friends by Olivia O’Brien) 10. “What have you been doing? Don’t forget I am your home” (Purge the Poison by MARINA) --> @phantomwarrior12 (Dark!Gabriel) 11. “If I ever gave you a good reason to say goodbye I would regret it” (Getaway by VINCINT) 12. “Find your way back to my bed again” (Tulsa Jesus Freak by Lana Del Rey)

13. “Stop defending me, we’ll go down together” (Night Sway by Dance Gavin Dance)

14. “Don’t apologize for things you really felt” (Love Somebody Else by lovelytheband)

15. “Feeling stuck is fucking up my sanity” (All Your Love by Sir Sly)

16. “You’re so perfect from the outside. I stalked and studied away” (Who I Am by Code Orange)

17. “I used to know you. I never got you back” (Sideways by The Anix)

18. “You show up when I’m all alone” (Numb by Kiiara)

19. “Look out the window, see what you could’ve had” (Weird Leisure by Biffy Clyro)

20. “I hope that I mean it. Doubt it, right? Yeah, so do I” (AWOL by Every Time I Die)

Quote Prompts

01. “Hold out your tongue.”

02. “Can you keep a secret?”

03. “Temper, temper…”

04. “I don’t really feel like fighting.”

05. “Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction.” – David Jones

06. “Why are there weapons in my bathroom?”

07. “Go to hell!” “And leave you here all alone?”

08. “I love you.” “Don’t do that to yourself.”

09. “Here. Hold my morals.” --> @shadowshamrock (Dark!Sam Winchester)

10. “Hungry dogs are never loyal.” --> @mdemontespan1667​ (Dark!Jake Jensen)

11. “The girl I’ve heard so much about.”

12. “I was protecting you!”

13. “Just because you’re speaking in a different language doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re cursing me out.”

14. “Oh, don’t blame them. They did their best to try to kill me.”

15. “I don’t know how I would survive without you.”

16. “The whole world thinks you’re dead.”

17. “I wanted to see how you are doing.”

18. “How do we keep getting into these situations?”

19. “You stay awake, do you hear me?”

20. “I’ll hunt you down if I have to.”

21. “Do we have to do this game all over again?”

22. “I said I would be here when you need it.” ( @dollslayer​ -- Dark!Steve Rogers)

23. “You’re quite possibly the worst liar on Earth.”

25. “What is so urgent that you had to wake me up at 2:30am?”

26. “You know if you had just listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

27.  “Could you stop being an asshole for just a moment?”

Situation prompts

01. Reader accidentally stumbles upon character burying body and is kidnapped to keep them from talking.

02. Dom!Reader denies character multiple orgasms

03. Reader is a hired assassin and does not expect their target to thwart them with their own skills.

04. Reader and character stranded on the side of the road, night is coming.

05. Reader is ignoring character’s advances and character decides to break into their home to set up a romantic dinner.

06. Winter vacation with reader and character.

07. Mutual masturbation

08. Stormy night and the power goes out. Reader and character find a way to entertain themselves.

09. Reader keeps finding things missing from their apartment and eventually finds out who is taking them.

10. Reader and/or character are in an established relationship with someone else. Unfortunately for them, sex pollen gets in the mix. And oops, one of them let it out on purpose!

11. Reader is a in a dom/sub relationship with character. Ignores dom’s orders to not go out for the night and faces the punishment when they come home.

12. Uniform change turns into something naughty.

13. Reader runs into character, who happens to be their ex that they ghosted.

14. College AU where Reader is an RA and one of their residents is hell bent on getting them to break the rules.

15. Reader goes to the cops with evidence that character is stalking them.

16. Reader being hunted by character (or even more fun, characters!).

17. Pregnant sex

Remember to have fun!!!

Tagging some people who may be interested in participating (please do not feel obligated!!): @sherrybaby14 @shadowshamrock @greenappleeyes @mcudarklibrary @mcnegan @afanofmanystuffs

[riftimagines]

Hello!! I absolutely love your fics/hcs, and they always brighten up my day!! I was wondering if you could do headcannons for a depressed/anxious reader with Yone, Yasuo, Ezreal and Sett if that's okay? I've been super stressed/burnt out with online classes lately and I would love to read something like that from you! If not that's okay, and thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope you have a great day!!

It’s been a while since I’ve posted XD I don’t really have much to say. I guess I just haven’t felt inspired much but I did manage to finish this XD I hope you enjoy!

Anixous! Depressed! Reader

Yone

-Knows anxiety like the back of his hand. All his life he was a worrier. Worried about his family, his training and of course his brother. Every day he worried and it achieved nothing in the end. In death he knows these feelings at a call for Azakna. They are feelings of pain and darkness. A dinner bell to those demons.

-He’ll know when your hiding your feelings He wears a mask and knows when others wear a mask too. Don’t hide yourself from him. Good or bad he loves you for you not the mask. Just take of the mask and let all your troubles come out so he can help you and make your true face brighter.

-He’ll try his very best to try to get those demons way. He won’t let you fall to them if he can help it. Trying to help you meditate, drink tea or just relax peace together are a few things he’ll try to do with you to try and help you.

-Never fear your feelings. He’ll be there to help you fight your demons may they be Azakana or your personal demons. He won’t let you down and slip away into the dark to be consumed.

Yasuo

-Is all too familiar with both of these feelings. These are the the feelings that plague him the most and it hurts him to see you feel pain like he does. He’d never wish this agony on anyone let alone his love.

-He handles his problems with drinking. Admittedly he knows it’s a bad habit and would actually prefer if you didn’t follow his lead. Gods know how much trouble he’s gotten into and how many random places he’s wound up in because of it.

-He’d like it if you’d just talk to him about it. He knows what it’s like not to have an outlet for those feelings so he’s all too willing to listen to you talk. Just sit next to him and rest your head on his shoulder or sit in his lap and tell him how you feel.

-He’ll be the first to say he isn’t the best with words of wisdom but he is actually better then most people give him credit for. He has experience with this and will say some whimsical analogy with the wind. It sounds like soothing poetry and yet makes so much sense.

Sett

-Sett is a little dense when it comes to negative feelings that can’t be solved with violence. He may not even notice you’re sad until you don’t smile at him or laugh at a joke he said. He’ll be concerned in an instant then and start asking if someone upset you. Just tell him who and they won’t have a jaw to speak with anymore.

-He isn’t familiar with handling depression but anxiety he’s a bit familiar with. He does get nervous that his momma will find out what he really does. He’s kinda figured that deep breathing kinda helps to relax when that happens and tries to guide you to do the same.

-You’re gonna have to be blunt about your feelings with this one. Like I said he’s a little dense with depression. He is not a guy of words and figures if you feel bad nothing a little violence can’t solve. Most likely you’ll end up in front of a punching bag and he’ll tell you to take your feelings out on it.

-If that really isn’t helping he’ll go to his last resort, hugs, big warm hugs like how his momma would give him when he felt down or upset. It would always ease his heart and make him happy so obviously he should do the same to make you happy too. He’ll spend all day hugging you if he has too. He just wants to see you smile so the world will be right again.

Ezreal

-Despite his cocky, show offish attitude, he is actually a bit familiar with both of those feelings. He feels it whenever he thinks of his parents. He misses them so much and worries that he’s not doing enough to find them.

-The only problem is he is terrible at consoling others. He’s not quite used to having to comfort others and is a bit awkward at receiving comfort himself. He mostly tries humor, telling one of his stories or try to get you to go out and do something fun with him to try to get your mind off of whatever’s bothering you.

-If that’s not helping too much he’ll try to dig deep and be as earnest as he can. He’s very used to hiding behind his bravado so bare with him as he stumbles out some real feelings and perhaps poor but heart filled attempts at advice. He does mean well even if it sounds a bit insensitive or arrogant.

-In the end he tends to be a guy of action and might just hug you and give you physical comfort. He’s not the best with comforting but he’ll always be there for you when you need him most.

[formula-ghost]

Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 2: Own My Mind

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You might have finally admitted to yourself that you have feelings for Franco, but that doesn’t make the deep longing you feel for him any easier. And he's starting to make you question if he might feel the same longing for you, too.

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Reader is a lil freak, use of YN, mentions of anxiety disorders/therapy, reader has self esteem issues

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on part one! I never expected my first chapter to get any notes let alone over 200 notes in just a few days. Seriously every single note has me kicking my feet and turning my eyes into little heart emojis lol. I’m already about 2k words into ch 3 so I am hoping I’ll finish it before I have to travel for the holidays (I will not be able to write at all while I’m gone). Also, I had a request for someone to be tagged in this chapter, so let me know if you all would like me to start a permanent tag list. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Oh it’s automatic, you know I just gotta have it

I’ll make your body a habit

You know there’s some kind of magic, uh huh

Do you wanna, do you wanna, own my mind, own my mind?

The Singapore Grand Prix was later that night. Franco did really well considering the circumstances. It was disgustingly humid, and when he was done you could tell he felt awful. You were so angry at everyone at Williams for letting him race like that. Yes, it was his job, but that was your friend out there suffering—your friend who you had just admitted to yourself yesterday that you were in love with.

You watched him from afar when he spoke to the media afterwards. His curls were plastered down to his forehead with sweat, and his skin was pale and clammy. You just wanted to hold him and tell him that you were proud of him. Instead you had to settle for keeping an eye on him in the chaos of the paddock post-race, and helping him back to the hotel with his mother.

She had to get on an early flight, so she left and you promised her you’d stay until he was okay. She was worried about him, and you were too. God, seeing him so sick broke your heart. You helped pack up his things while he took a cold shower and he emerged in just a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed to be feeling much better thankfully, and his more playful mood reflected it.

Of course, you snuck a glance or two at his sculpted form. Just a peek at his wet curls, the water droplets running down his chest—even the scar on his collarbone that he always tries to hide. He thinks it’s ugly. You think there isn’t a single part of him that’s ugly.

You tried to ignore him and continued tidying up. “I hope you don’t expect me to tip you,” he joked.

You playfully rolled your eyes. “What else are you going to do with all your stripper money?”

“Well, if we’re stripping…” he said, slowly lowering his hand down to his hips, palming the towel. You stomped to the bathroom, out of view of whatever joke he was making. “Get dressed, you man whore,” you instructed.

You lived for the banter you all had—at times, it felt like your own language separate from the rest of the world. The audience could hear Franco’s humor, but they’d never understand it like you did.

When you left the bathroom he was thankfully (or, unfortunately) fully clothed, lying on the bed and lazily scrolling through his phone.

“I’m glad you seem to be feeling better,” you said.

“Well, better than I was, but still kind of like shit,” he responded with a sigh.

“Well, you can get some rest, I’ve got you pretty much all packed up so you’ll be ready to go tomorrow.”

He put his phone down and gave you a soft smile. “Thank you.” He paused for a moment, as if he was readying himself to say something, and looked at the floor away from you. “YN, would you… stay? Just in case I get worse, you know.”

You could tell by the color in his face that he was feeling better, but how could you deny him this small comfort, when his eyes met yours through his long eyelashes, a sliver of light from the street lamps outside cutting through the drawn curtains and resting on his face? He was so beautiful. And he wanted you to stay.

“Of course,” you said. You were going to get up from the corner of the bed where you now sat and move to the chair until he fell asleep, but instead he motioned for you to lay down on the bed next to him. Tentatively, you did, heart racing as he laid his head on your shoulder and curled his body into you.

His playful flirting was normal, but this was… different, a closeness beyond what was usual between you two. You could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath steady against you. Yes, your heart was beating, but you felt strangely calm. Peaceful. In this moment all that mattered was you and your best friend, quietly sharing a moment in each other’s presence.

Your hand, trembling, reached down to smooth a piece of his hair. He hummed in response, to which you quickly moved your hand, mumbling, “Oh, sorry.”

He just grabbed your hand and wordlessly placed it back on his head. Slowly, you began to run your fingers through his beautiful curls. You got lost in the moment, and soon enough, you felt his breath even out as he fell into a peaceful sleep. Soon enough, the stillness of the moment and the soft rise and fall of his breathing lulled you to sleep too.

You woke just as the sun was beginning to illuminate the sky outside. You had an unfortunate habit of waking up in the middle of the night—a common symptom of anxiety, your therapist had told you—but for the first time in a long time, you slept through the night soundly.

You and Franco had shifted, and he know had his arm lazily wrapped around you. You remembered the previous night and felt your heartbeat increase. It wasn’t just the feeling of his arm draped across your waist, but the feeling of…. something else. A little… morning problem.

Of course, you knew Franco couldn’t help it. He wasn’t even awake, and from your years of friendship you knew how much of a heavy sleeper he was. It was just an uncontrollable biological phenomenon. Nothing more.

But you couldn’t stay, feeling him pressed against you like that. It felt wrong and you were so nervous you could hardly breathe. So you carefully wiggled your way out of his grasp and quietly left his room, returning to your own.

Returning to your hotel room, all you knew to do to calm yourself down was to write. So you opened your journal and wrote all about the scene; the dinner, the banter, waking up next to him in the morning sunlight.

You wrote until your hand started to cramp. Then you went back to read what you had written, skimming over it, your mind only picking up on little snippets.

Lily thought I was Franco’s girlfriend, and I guess I can’t blame her. He’s such a flirt, I love and hate it. I just wonder if it ever means anything to him. I mean, he treats random reporters the same way he treats his girlfriends. What does he do when he actually wants someone?

He asked me to stay. I thought he must still be sick, but he just wanted me to… cuddle? I ran my fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. He looked like an angel, so soft and innocent, resting next to me. I wanted to kiss him so badly.

But when I woke up, I could feel his morning wood pressing against me. God, it was so awkward. But I can’t stop thinking about it, what he would do if he really wanted me.

Oh no. Oh no no no. You shouldn’t write that kind of stuff. Having a crush was one thing, but thinking about him like that? It was…wrong. Franco was your best friend. Your best friend who was absolutely perfect—yes, physically as well.

You threw your journal on the bed with a grunt of frustration.

You were fucked.

Your heart beat nervously as you walked into the waiting room before your next therapy session. It had been a week or so since Singapore when you had finally admitted the truth to yourself.

Yes, you had feelings for Franco. Emotional and… physical. No, you had no idea what to do with them.

Waiting for the clock to strike the hour, you reached down into your bag to run your fingertips along the spine of your leather journal. You had been writing incessantly in it since that night.

And if you thought that your fantasies were bad then, oh, it had gotten so much worse.

You told yourself you couldn’t help it. You were ovulating. You’d been single for a while. You were a girl with needs. But you felt disgusted, basically writing porn about your best friend.

I keep imagining that night at the hotel in Singapore, when he came out of the bathroom with just his towel on. In my mind, he sits on the edge of the bed like always, hand carefully placed at the top of his towel. His hair is dripping and his skin is still dotted with water droplets.

He doesn’t even have to say anything. The way he looks at me—eyes looking up through his gorgeous lashes, his pouty lips looking so lonely—I know exactly what he wants. So I get on the bed and straddle him, the only thing between us being my skirt, panties, and the thin fabric of the towel. I can feel him, how badly he wants me.

Then I’m in control, kissing his neck, leaving love bites up and down so that everyone knows he’s mine. He moans softly into my ear, bucking up his hips into me for just a bit of friction. “No,” I tell him, “I didn’t give you permission for that.” He whines in protest, but I just smile at his frustration. “My sweet boy…”

Even remembering what you wrote felt filthy. You wanted him—all of him.

I had a dream last night that Franco dominated me. We are in his apartment, arguing about something stupid, and he pushed me against the wall, kissing me roughly, like he couldn’t get enough of me. He holds me waist with his strong hands as his kisses get deeper.

“I need to taste you,” he growls into my mouth, picking me up and throwing me on the bed. Before I can react he’s on top of me, one hand holding my chin and the other fumbling with the zipper of my jeans. “Are you going to be good for me?” he asks, and I frantically nod.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, smirking, as he pulls off my jeans and my panties with it—

“YN? You can come in now.” You’re pulled from your daydreaming by the voice of your therapist. You close the journal, embarrassed, but not without her seeing it in your hands.

“I hope you’re doing well. I see you’ve got a journal, you’ve been writing in it, I take it?” she asked as you sat down in the familiar office.

“Yeah, I have,” you answered, clutching it tightly in your folded hands.

“Well, that’s great! Has it been helping you?”

“Um… I guess?”

“Explain more.”

You paused, unable to think. All you could do was blurt out the truth.

“I’m in love with my best friend.”

“…Okay.” Your therapist also paused. “Did your writing bring about this revelation?”

You tumbled through the rest of the session, trying to explain what happened without revealing too many intimate details.

“I just feel… horrible I guess. It’s so dumb. It’s not like he’ll ever feel the same way about me.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, he’s so… perfect. And I’m an anxious mess,” you laughed.

“Is anxiety that much of a barrier to being loved?”

You laughed, considering the gravity of her question. You couldn’t truly answer it. “It shouldn’t be. But I just know he’d never choose me and that’s okay. He doesn’t even know how I feel, and even if I had the courage to tell him, I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Does it bother you, not being able to tell him about all of this?”

“….yeah, it does, actually,” you admitted. "I'll never do it but... I just wish I could, you know?"

"I understand. Why not start with expressing your feelings platonically? Telling him what he means to you as a friend?"

"I guess I could do that." You didn't quite know how you'd accomplish that, but you weren't in therapy just to refuse to try anything. You wanted to do hard things. You needed to do them.

So you made it your mission, next time you saw Franco, to tell him something meaningful. You weren't sure what it would be or how it would come out, but you'd at least try.

Unfortunately, it was a while before you'd see Franco again. There were a few weeks between Singapore and Austin, and between race prep with Williams and sponsorship deals, Franco was up to his ears in work. You still talked, of course—you texted back and forth every day—but it just wasn't the same, and you missed him horribly.

You'd felt this before, the ache in your stomach that longed for his presence when you'd gone too long without seeing him. You figured it would be different now that you had finally admitted to yourself what this feeling was. You didn't expect it to be worse.

Because now that feeling in your stomach was sharper. You didn't just yearn for the mere concept of him—you wanted everything. You missed his smile. You missed hearing his voice rise and fall in intonation as you bantered back and forth. You missed his perfect curls smoothed across his forehead. You missed the feeling of his arm wrapped around you, whether in a friendly embrace or something more intimate, like you'd had in Singapore. And in the back of your mind, you missed the feeling of Franco's hardness pressing against your back, a sign of what you fantasized was a deep wanting for you, both physical and emotional.

You tried, and failed, to rein in these fantasies. But with the more days that passed, the more Franco began to feel less and less like your best friend, and more and more like the version of him you'd created in your head, desperate for you more than anything else in the world.

You wrote all of this down, of course. If you hadn't you would have lost your mind with lust. Romantic pining was nothing new to you—you'd had a boyfriend before, although what you felt for him paled in comparison to Franco—but this intense physical desire you felt was new.

You had never been satisfied by anyone, anything, before. You smiled to yourself as you thought, well, I guess it's true what they say about the quiet, shy ones.

And Franco, unbeknownst to him, wasn't making it any easier. He called you one day, the first phone call you'd had in a while, a few days before you'd be flying out to Austin for the grand prix.

"I'm sorry I've been so busy," he explained, "but the stuff we're doing is so cool."

"Am I allowed to know, or is it top secret?" You smiled through the phone.

"Well... I can't tell you everything just yet, but I can give you a sneak peek. Check your messages."

You felt your phone vibrate, receiving a notification from Franco. You tapped on the text and nearly dropped your phone. He had sent you unedited pictures from a photoshoot, and he looked fucking amazing.

His voice on the other end of the line explained, "I'm gonna be on the cover of Forbes Mexico for the race. What do you think?"

At first, you were quite literally speechless. "Franco, you look..."

"Gorgeous? Sexy? Like the most fuckable Formula 1 driver?" he teased. For a split second, you wondered if it was possible to hear a blush through the phone.

His banter inspired your own. "... not bad. I mean, you certainly give them a lot of work to do to make you look good, but they did pretty decent."

If human beings could hear a blush through a phone, you were sure the noise that Franco made would be indicative of one. "Oh, shut up and tell me I'm pretty."

A million potential responses went through your head. Make me. Beg for it. My pretty boy.

Instead you just laughed and said, "No, really, you look great. This is amazing. You know the entire internet is going to lose their minds after this drops?"

He smiled. "That's the plan."

It still hadn't been released by the time you made it to Austin, but you weren't complaining. A part of you liked having this piece of Franco all to yourself. You kept going back to the photos again and again—his glare at the camera, his arm draped over a steering wheel—you couldn't get enough.

And when he met you at the airport in Austin (even though you told him it wasn't necessary), all that want came rushing back the instant he wrapped you in a hug that lasted a little too long to be considered platonic.

You couldn’t let your thoughts go that far. You’d already crossed a line by allowing yourself to feel such… intimate emotions for him. But to even imagine that he really wanted you to? No. That was where you actually drew the line.

But unfortunately, Franco’s confusing behavior made it far too easy for you to believe that he didn’t feel the same.

You all didn’t talk about that night in Singapore, or the fact that he must have woken up alone. You’d rather throw yourself into a pit of knives than talk about it and have to bear the embarrassment, and Franco didn’t seem bothered at all, so you let it go to the back of your head, acting as if it never happened at all. Your first day in Austin was fine, mainly spent recovering from jet lag and exploring the city on your own while Franco did his media duties. You had dinner with him that night and it was like no time had passed. The banter was the same, the atmosphere was great, and you were so happy to be back in his presence again.

As he walked you to your hotel room, you remembered your promise you had made to yourself, that you’d try to practice being vulnerable. For some reason, you didn’t have it in you today. You were tired, in a good way, but all you wanted was to curl up next to Franco and wake up in his arms the next morning.

And of course, you assumed Franco would want to stay. Why else would he walk you back to your room? Maybe it was the nervousness of the implication—you and Franco, alone in your hotel room—that prevented you from saying anything, or maybe you just knew that now wasn’t the right time.

Either way, there was no moment. Franco just bid you goodnight with a wave and left to his own room.

You didn’t know what you were expecting. He just didn’t like you like that, and it was okay. You didn’t want to ruin the friendship.

But you also couldn't help but feel a bit...disappointed. You cursed yourself for letting your fantasies become too real. It would be weirder if he had tried something.

Still, you dealt with these complicated emotions the only way you knew how: writing. You opened the journal and began to write away, not even stopping to think, just vomiting words on the page.

We're in Austin right now. It's been...normal. Good. Which is weird, considering that last time we were at a grand prix we spent the night together. It's not like that, but I can't help but think that something is just...different. I keep thinking about what my therapist asked, about anxiety being a barrier to love. Franco has always supported me, or tried to at least. I haven't exactly made it easy for him, or anyone else, since I bottle things up so much.

But he doesn't love me, not like that, anyways. He dates models—I mean, God, he is a model now—and I'm just me. I'm not exceptionally pretty or smart or funny. I'm nobody.

I can't help but fantasize about how things could be different. I imagine us going on a fancy date. He's wearing that suit he did the Mexico photoshoot in, with the top shirt buttons undone to tease me. He picks me up from my apartment at 8 with a bouquet of pink roses (not red, red is too cliche; but I guess I can't complain, no man has ever bought me flowers). I'm wearing that dress I got the last time we visited Argentina together—the one that hugs all my curves just right, and it's his favorite color. The dinner is sweet. We savor the time together, since it's more scarce now that he's a permanent driver in F1. We've had a few glasses of wine, just enough to get us slightly giggly and blushed, our inhibitions long abandoned. In the back of the Uber he traces his hand up and down my thigh, each time teasing scandalously closer and closer to the place I need him the most. 

The ride is torturously long, but when we arrive back at his apartment, he wastes no time in getting me alone so he can have his way with me. He picks me up bridal style and kisses me through my drunken laughter, a smile on his face, too. He lovingly tosses me on the bed before taking off his jacket. I just look at him in awe. He’s so fucking perfect. And he’s all mine. He gets on top of me, kissing me gently, and no words need to be exchanged between us. I can feel the tenderness of his lips against mine, and he pauses, looking me directly in the eyes. The moment is quiet and I feel so safe and loved with him, until our lips crash together and his hand finds its place on my thigh again. It trails up and

There was a knock at your door. 

You jumped, startled. Getting up and looking through the peephole in the door, you saw it was just, of course, Franco, so you hurried to open the door.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You left your lipstick in my pocket,” he smirked, holding out the tube to you.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, having forgotten about asking him to hold it earlier at dinner since your outfit didn’t have pockets. 

“You didn’t even notice that I stole it.” It was true. You had completely forgotten about it with all your journaling. 

“Well, the shade would look good on you,” you teased. 

He playfully rolled his eyes. “It’s no fun pranking you when you don’t even notice. Keep up, hm?” Franco loved to play little tricks on you like this, and usually you played right into them, knowing that the fun of his taunting outweighed whatever consequence the prank itself would bring. 

“You’re impossible,” you said, smiling regardless. “Now, if you’re done stealing my stuff, I’m exhausted.” You went to close the door, assuming this to be the natural end of the exchange, until Franco took a step into your room and rested his weight on the doorframe.

“Not exhausted enough to skip your… journaling?” he said, looking over your shoulder.

Shit. Shit shit shit. You hadn’t closed your journal. 

“Since when do you journal?” he asked, leaning forward as if he was trying to make out the words from across the room.

If you had been smarter, smoother with it, you probably could have lied and said it was for work, then proceeded to rant about your remote corporate job which would have bored Franco to tears. But smart and smooth with it are two things that you are not.

You swiftly turned around to grab the journal and slam it closed, holding it in a death grip. Your absence from the door, however, had been interpreted by Franco as an invitation to come in. And it was clear by the urgency of your actions that whatever was in that journal was something you did NOT want him knowing.

You answered him, “I haven't been doing it very long.” There was a brief moment where you considered ending the conversation there. It was too late to formulate a good lie, anyway. But on the other hand, you wanted to do hard things and be honest with yourself and others. So you did. At least your therapist would be proud.

So you continued, “It was a suggestion from my therapist. Just helps you get your thoughts out so they aren’t all stuck in your head.” Simple enough. It was the truth, after all. He didn’t need to know what those thoughts were.

“Can I read it?”

You paused in bewilderment. “Um, no? Franco, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“You don’t just… ask to read someone’s personal journal.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s personal, you muppet!”

“Really? Stole that one from Lando?”

“It fits." You snorted. "But seriously, why would you ask to read my journal?” 

“Because I never know what you’re thinking. You’re impossible to figure out.”

“... I am?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Well why don’t you just, I don’t know, ask me what I’m thinking?”

“... I know you did not just say that.”  He made a face at you. Yeah, he was right. If you were skilled enough at communicating your emotions you wouldn’t have needed to start the journal in the first place. He continued, “You were literally dying in Singapore and when I asked you what was wrong you said you were fine.”

“Hey, I made it to quali alive,” you replied. 

“Look, I just… It would be nice to understand where you’re coming from a bit more, like… actually nevermind, forget I ever said anything.” Your confusion only lingered as Franco clearly struggled to find the words. You guess that this was how he felt communicating with you sometimes—it sucked.

“Whatever, you weirdo,” you said, your joking tone an indicator to him that you were willing to act as if this horribly embarrassing exchange had never happened. 

“Goodnight, YN,” he said as he left the room, ending the conversation like that. Now it was your turn to be confused by his actions. There was something he clearly wanted to say but couldn’t, and you let yourself wonder, just for a second, if what was happening to you wasn’t so different from whatever was going on in his head.

You let your fantasies lull you into sleep.

Again, you let… whatever was happening between you and Franco go unsaid and focused on supporting him for the grand prix. 

From the Williams garage, you cheered him on as he got another point, overtaking Alonso so skillfully. When he came back to the garage, you met him as you always did, with a smile that stretched across your entire face. Your hug this time was different, as he picked you up and twirled you around. You laughed into his shoulder, holding on to him as he spun you.

He put you down and was immediately assailed by hugs all around from the Williams team. Lily, who had been in the garage by your side the whole race, elbowed you in the side. 

“So, you and Franco are just friends, huh?” she teased. You all had become friendly enough that a little bit of banter was acceptable. 

You inhaled with a soft smile, watching him celebrate in the distance. Once again, you chose vulnerable honesty. 

“Yes, we’re just friends. But it’s…complicated.”

Her eyes widened and she turned to you, shielding you off from the celebratory scene. In a lowered voice, she muttered, “You have feelings for him?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Unfortunately, yeah. But c’mon, he just spun you around like a Disney princess. He obviously has feelings too. And have you seen what the fans are saying about you all?”

“No?” You were surprised the fans even knew you existed. You had cut down on social media a long time ago, knowing how much it contributed to your anxiety and self-esteem issues. You still had accounts, but all were private and hardly used, and you didn’t interact much with fans at the races, preferring to stay in the garage or in Williams hospitality to enjoy the races without worrying about what people were thinking of you.

“They love you two. Seriously, I think there’s gotta be a million teenage girls living vicariously through you.”

You laughed at her comment, not in a mocking way, but because of the absurdity of it all. None of these people really knew you, or Franco, for that matter. It just proved your point that social media wasn’t real.

So if people on social media were shipping you and Franco, then it couldn’t be true. At least, that’s the confusing logic you held yourself to. A line had to be drawn somewhere.

Your conversion with Lily was cut short by Franco approaching. “Celebratory dinner later?” he asked, still beaming. You agreed.

If you could have bottled the energy that Franco exuded all day after the race, you would have had yourself a very lucrative energy drink company. As he was packing up his things to leave the circuit, you all passed by barriers where fans were practically crawling their way to get to him, screaming his name and waving Argentine flags in the air. He tilted his head to them as you passed, and asked, “Can I?”

You were in no rush, and of course you could never deny him this moment to enjoy what he had built with all his hard work. He stopped to sign shirts and caps while you stood behind. Everyone had their phones out, filming Franco, but you knew you’d inevitably end up in the background. You just hoped you didn’t look too awkward. 

Franco turned his head back to you as the crowd behind the barrier just grew more and more excited. “You see this, YN? This is insane!” his smile stretched from ear to ear, and you just smiled in response. He climbed up the fence, eliciting a small giggle from you, and filmed the crowd below him chanting his name.

You had never been more proud of him. And you had to say it. 

So you did, after dinner when you all somehow ended up in his hotel room together again. The atmosphere was…calm. Familiar. Warm.

The conversation had reached a natural pause, and the night had gotten to that point where that space between you and him felt simultaneously infinite and nonexistent. 

He sat crossed legged on the bed, fiddling with something in his suitcase next to him. You sat on the chair only a few feet away.

“I’m so proud of you, Franco. I don’t tell you enough.”

He looked up and your eyes met. And he blushed. You had made Franco Colapinto blush.

“When did you get all sappy on me?” he asked. There was still a bit of a wall up. It was unusual for you all to be this vulnerable with each other.

“Since my best friend in the entire world is achieving all his dreams! I mean, we’re celebrating points now, but one day we’ll be celebrating podiums. And then race wins. And then championships. I believe it.”

The room was draped in a thick silence. Franco knew you didn’t throw these words around carelessly. And the unspoken implication, that you’d be there for all of it.

“I believe it too,” he said quietly. There was no ego in his statement. Only true hope.

[jayviked]

thank you for tagging me @soundfanatic 💚💚 here goes

name:  Lie

gender: nonbinary

star sign: sagittarius... don’t @ me i don’t even know what moon and rising means

height: 165cm/ 5′4″ 😩 im short

time: like right now? exactly midnight EET 

birthday: nov 25

favorite bands: they change all the time but my current favs from the top of my head are Voices from the Fuselage, Ocean Jet, HEALTH, Dzivia, MXMS, Dagamba, Future Palace, Gunship, Wardruna

favorite solo artists: same as before - they change but currently can think of Allie X, Kerli, Essenger, The Anix, Kim Petras

song stuck in my head: coward by velvetears

last movie: gonna say The Grand Budapest Hotel but in reality it’s 2nd Hobbit movie cause im in the middle of rewatching both that and Lotr, and it doesn’t count cause i rewatch them every two months

last show: the expanse season 5 im cri im lov

when did i create this blog: December 2010 somebody come let me out

what i post: mostly videogames and shitposts, some animals and landscapes, art, shows, movies i like

last thing googled: cm to feet calculator lol. before that i was trying to. write. a fic. which means my knowledge of english language drastically decreases in quality so i had to google a bunch of random words for spelling cause they *look weird*

other blogs: no. we cram all our interests in one main blog and die like men

do i get asks: occasionally. i tend to answer them privately. if it’s on anon i either post or keep it in my messages forever (if it’s something nice). i mostly communicate with all my mutuals thru tags or one sided telepathy 😂😂

why i chose my url: no particular reason, it’s a reference to skyrim werewolves and i just liked how it sounded

following: 198  

followers: 1k... talk about a ratio (but im sure two thirds of those are inactive)

average hours of sleep: 10-12 😩 i can’t function on less lol

lucky number: if asked i will say 3, but i don’t believe, care or really even get the lucky number thing

instruments: i was poor so i wasn’t sent to music school or owned any instruments. i do have an old mandolin i got few years back but i don’t think disharmonious strumming counts lmao

what am i wearing: black leggings and a very long black sweater with a stylized print of 3 witches, 2 black wolves and a snake

dream trip: oddly enough it’s not really something i dream about. i used to. A LOT. but not anymore

favorite food: wok noodles with chicken and chili sauce 🤤 anyone remember the time when restaurants and food places were open?

nationality: latvian ✌️

favorite song: “the fact that this isn’t with the other music questions is bothering me lmfao” same lol, but @soundfanatic youre being very evasive with your music taste! at least name a few!!!! 😅 as for mine... yeah again, they change but currently Vault of Heaven by Voices from the Fuselage

last book read: minor mage by t kingfisher (oooof that was a long while ago i need to get on my 2021 book challenge)

top three fictional universes i’d like to live in: ho boi middle earth ; D that’s it, i can’t think of anything else. i will probably remember like 3 hundred universes i wanna live in later but right now there’s just blank. edit: oh oh oh mass effect! wanna live in a future where space travel and exploration is normal 😔😔😔

favorite color: forest green and pastel pinks!

ok you gave me courage to bother ppl so im gonna bother.. just a few ppl too @erlkonigstochter @tooprettytodie @all-ringils-blazing @angyem please feel free to ignore this if you don’t wanna do it 😘

[geraniumsforinej]

Yess Zidian!!! LOVE that weapon, it seems so different from the original description iirc but I really loved its design. And the symbolism of Song Lan taking XXC's sword and carrying both... that hurts so so much. Also I'm really curious what that looks like in the donghua now... But next one! I'm sending two today! I really liked this one from the net's question bank: do you have a favourite fanfic?

ooooh i don’t read a lot of fic tbh (i don’t have the attention span to read anything longer than like 5k) BUT one of my absolute favorites is anix’s sangcheng superheroes series!! i didn’t use to ship sangcheng but i absolutely love how anix writes them

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825789

[4th-make-quail]

I was tagged by @knifefightandchill, thank youuu!!

rules: shuffle your repeat playlist and post the first ten tracks, then tag ten ppl!

It's a miracle that this got so varied actually! More than half of these are from my Leon/Krauser playlist lol, anyone wanna play spot the song lyric fic titles 😂

I'm not sure if anyone wants to be tagged, so pls do this if u want to!

[halftheway]

the open arms color palette is so pleasing 2 me