#franco bash

[clydemystik301]

Fatal Fury characters ranked based on how scared they would be at FNAF jumpscares

[livefastdriveyoung]

Congratulations to both Alex and Franco for making it into the Top 10 in Baku!

[formula-ghost]

Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.  

A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!

TAGLIST:  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse  @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg  @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments

If you wanna love her, just deal with that

She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes

Every night’s a heartbreak

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants. 

Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you. 

“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”

You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”

“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”

He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating. 

You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest. 

“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.

“Don’t you dare.”

You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.

But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.

You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer. 

His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face. 

“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.” 

“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.

“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly. 

“My Spanish is getting better.”

“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”

“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—” 

“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?” 

“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment. 

You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror. 

You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover. 

But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too. 

“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response. 

You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.

“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities. 

“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“I’ve gained weight.”

“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion. 

“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.

“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”

You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”

“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”

“Franco—”

“YN.”

You looked away.  “You could be with a model.”

“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”

You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”

You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form. 

And, much to Franco’s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night. 

“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”

“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.

Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.  

He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.

Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him.  Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle. 

Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you. 

It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea. 

“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”

Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said. 

“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”

“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”

“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”

“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”

The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”

“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”

His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not. 

The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?” 

“Eh… no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious. 

“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through. 

“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”

“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”

“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”

Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”

The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.” 

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”

“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?” 

Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”

The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”

“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”

Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”

“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”

His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”

“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“You knew that was too much.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”

“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.

At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress. 

So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.

“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”

“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes. 

“What’d you do this time?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”

You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”

“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.

“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed. 

He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”

You laughed again. “Because they’re models.” 

He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”

He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”

“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”

“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”

Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”

He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.

“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction. 

“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling. 

Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.

“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.

“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.

You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true. 

When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.

He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.

He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling. 

The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day. 

He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.

But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.

So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.

She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.

Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?

“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”

His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.

He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully. 

“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”

“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded. 

“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”

“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air. 

“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off. 

“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”

“Well, um… they want you to model.”

You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”

“I showed them your social media.”

“And they want…me. To model for them.”

“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”

“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”

You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.

“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”

So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist. 

“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”

You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”

You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup. 

“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”

Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray. 

Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry. 

You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders. 

When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks. 

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.

You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you. 

“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions. 

Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration. 

Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.

“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”

You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.

He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”

“Franco!”

“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”

You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop. 

“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.

“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”

“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”

Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera. 

His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you. 

When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.

Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry. 

“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”

“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in. 

“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”

“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring. 

The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”

Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock. 

But for you? Anything. 

The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit. 

Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.

As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”

You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”

The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos. 

YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?

Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now

The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!

You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post. 

You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco. 

Eres el amor de mi vida <3 

You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight. 

You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you. 

As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this. 

Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.

You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy. 

“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.” 

“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.

“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.

“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours. 

But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched. 

“Franco…”

“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”

With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this. 

He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan. 

“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.

But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful. 

Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you. 

“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”

You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you. 

As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before. 

He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”

“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”

He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.” 

Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan. 

“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”

“Yes,” you moaned. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”

His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.

You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.

“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”

You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged. 

He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.” 

You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected. 

His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace. 

“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again. 

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.

“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”

“What else?”

“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”

“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”

With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it. 

He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him. 

When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.

But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him. 

[purinfelix]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

franco, despite what you might expect, becomes unbearably bashful and shy when he develops a crush on someone - which is exactly the reason why it takes you so long to realise he in fact didn't hate you, because why else would he act so differently around you? how is it he could flirt with interviewers who were complete strangers or joke around with mechanics he's only just met, but is almost silent with you? maybe it has something to do with the fact that he wants every interaction with you to be perfect (he can't help it ... he just likes you so much) and it's because of this he can only manage to get out painfully awkward small talk or an excuse to leave before he embarrasses himself. it kills him, partially because he's making his crush on you so painfully obvious - but mostly because you seem to be the only person who hasn't noticed.

[felicity0222]

The turn around from last night to when Logan was trending on twitter because people were genuinely happy to see him looking so genuinely happy to be in Nashville and away from Williams.

To this morning where he’s trending again but this time it’s because of the f1 qualifying and people are bashing him and sending hate, but they don’t realize him and Franco were driving two very different cars this season is absolutely insane to me. Like those people must have the memories of a goldfish and to the f1tv commentators egging on the hate by comparing Franco and Logan by nitpicking facts about Logan’s season they should be ashamed of themselves.

[papayadays]

🧸 + franco + "what the hell was her problem?" "that's what i said!"

a/n: this was such a good one eve!! tysmm <33

“tell me about your day,” you said, rolling onto your side to hold your phone.

“ah, it was the usual,” franco shrugged, his face taking up your screen. he was in a hoodie, looking as cozy and handsome as ever. “just practice runs to get data and prepare for quali tomorrow.”

“you’re going to do great,” you smiled.

“gracias, amor,” franco chuckled. “oh, wait, i had something i wanted to tell you actually. so you know my press officer, right?”

you nodded, amused. “oh no, what did you do now?” you teased.

“nada!” franco protested, holding up his hands. “i was just telling a fan i liked their merch which wasn’t official, and then my press officer said i shouldn’t say that.”

you scrunched up your nose. “what the hell was her problem?”

“si, that’s what i said!” franco exclaimed, a little too loud for his hotel room, and quieted down again. “a lot of my fans can’t afford the real merch. demasiado caro.” (too expensive)

it was crazy how much you two understood each other, being able to read the other like a book. franco always knew how to tell what you were feeling, and you could always guess what was on his mind. that instant spark was one of the reasons why you worked so well together.

you laughed, glad to share a sliver of your time with franco, but you missed having him next to you. “so, anything else interesting?”

“hm, no,” franco shrugged. “y tú? how was your day?”

“same old,” you replied. “busy with homework for uni, missing you.”

“i miss you too,” franco said softly, glancing at you through the screen. “but soon, i’ll be able to visit you.”

you grinned at that, blowing a kiss at your phone. “can’t wait, franco.”

joyce's birthday bash! 😽

[letternotekisses]

HAII May I request Franco Barbi NSFW headcanons/drabble? THANK YOU SM!! <3

franco barbi nation this one is for u <3 nsfw below da cut

"You'll keep your fuckin' mouth shut about this."

You barely register his threats when he's crowding you against the cold wall, impatiently kicking over a barrel that was somewhat in his way. You take his growls with a grain of salt - seeing as this wasn't exactly the first time he'd bent you over mid trial. Franco is always quick to tear that stupid gear off your chest to get to your plush tits underneath, burying his face in them like he'd die without.

He's all talk. Don't be afraid to get a little bit stern with him - curl your fingers in his disarrayed hair and guide his movements while he feverishly eats you out. Franco wants you to make a mess on him because he's so desperate to please, he doesn't care if you get his expensive suits dirty - he can buy several more. It's actually almost pathetic how desperate he is for it.

Franco isn't above humping your leg to get his fix - and I imagine it probably just ties into his humiliation kink. Call him a good boy and he'll cum in his pants almost instantaneously. Same goes for whenever you let him fuck the supple flesh of your tits - anything to do with it has him kicking his feet and flushing a deep, bashful red.

Doesn't like sharing his things, and you fell under that category the moment you allowed him to sink his cock into your tight little cunt. It'll have him distracted in trials - chewing out anyone who dare touch you in a way that seems opposed to violence. Would one hundred percent throw a fit and shoot someone in the foot with his lupara.

"Come here, sweetness." >>>

[dear-ao3]

silliest part of 2024 silly season?

cant really give the silliest part but can give you a top..several moments of the season as a whole

in no order of greatness:

-k mags in saudi not letting anyone pass Plus the viking meme haas posted after

-lewis hamilton. ferrari.

-that lando.mov from australia

-the entirety of the chinese gp weekend

-logan sargeant having to drive the british car in britain on fourth of july. and being pissed about it in the uh torque talk or whatever it’s called (team torque?)

-the WINK that LEWIS gave NICO

-silverstone in general

-the whole williams v oscar padel debate

-oscar getting adopted by charles

-danny rics fastest lap in singapore haunting the narrative

-the george max. thing.

-brazil. both qualifying and the race.

-vegas smelling like weed

-any time will buxton and james hinchcliff bashed mclaren

-the merc video where george and lewis dressed eachother

-mrs corinna schumacher laying into james vowels. deservedly.

-max v the media

-LEO

-the carlos unemployed arc

-any time zhou and valtteri were forced into weird stake videos

-the glamor shots that came out of the aston garage every time there was a red flag

-franco. in general.

-isack accidentally confirming his vcarb seat in an f2 conference

-every time someone called vcarb the wrong name and the vcarb social media going at them

-miiiiiiami

-multi 21 part 2

-the senna helmet thing

-merc somehow forgetting that lewis podiumed the china sprint race

-charles vegas rant

-max getting drunk in the paddock after winning the wdc

-every time helmut marko Almost got fired (plus that one time oscar bashed him)

-the drivers dinner!!!! the drama!!!!!!

-lance stroll tim hortons promo

-george’s graphic design is my passion video

-lando and oscar. in general. but specifically that one video with the hangers.

-jenson button calling mark webber old in monaco

-i think it was…qatar? where ted and crofty exchanged weird facts on air

-nico rosberg dropping that he was offered stake in alpine and didn’t do it

-breaking the monaco curse

-lewis being immune to the nico curse

-williams nearly not having a car several times

-every bit of off the walls commentary

-nico being forced to relive brocedes several times and nearly killing zak brown

-the alpine texas HOWDY YALL video

-END OF FHE FRENCH CIVIL WAR

-ollie bearman

-my dad randomly running into liam lawson

there’s most definitely more but that’s what i’ve got right now

[passengerprincessblog]

“Off Track” ~ Pt. 5 Franco x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW, angst, arguments, sexting, cheating.

Summary: As tensions flare between Y/N and Lewis after a heated argument, Y/N finds unexpected solace in a late-night text exchange with Franco, her forbidden feelings reigniting despite her guilt. Torn between loyalty and the thrill of something new, Y/N struggles to navigate the boundaries of her emotions as her connection with Franco deepens.

(Note: this is lowkey a filler part, just trying to move the story along and plant some lore, if you will, for later. Thanks for liking and reading.)

The evening was winding down, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses signaling that the gala was coming to a close. People lingered, exchanging goodbyes and quiet laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave just yet. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through me from earlier, or the way Franco’s presence seemed to tether me to the room. Whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to go.

Lewis, however, seemed to have other ideas. His arm had found its way around my waist, his hand resting possessively on my hip as he kept me close to his side. It wasn’t unusual for him to be affectionate, but tonight, there was a different energy about him—an almost territorial vibe that made my heart skip, especially with Franco so close.

As we stood near the bar, Lewis’s fingers dipped slightly, brushing the small of my back in a way that felt almost like a reminder. He leaned close, his voice a soft murmur, “Ready to head home yet?”

I managed a small smile, trying to sound casual as I replied, “Maybe in a minute…”

Lewis’s hand tightened on my hip, pulling me just a bit closer, and I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and expectant. But I kept my eyes on Franco, who stood nearby, nursing a glass of champagne. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, his gaze flicking between Lewis and me, as if he was caught between his admiration for his idol and… something else. Something unspoken.

We struck up a conversation about the gala, the elegance of the setup, the cause it supported. Lewis seemed content enough to let me speak, but every now and then, his hand would drift lower, brushing over the curve of my hip, edging dangerously close to my ass. It sent a shiver through me, not entirely pleasant, because every touch reminded me of the guilt twisting in my stomach. I should be here for Lewis. But I just fucked Franco in the closet.

“Franco,” I said, my voice a little too bright, “it must be exciting, being part of f1? All the fans, the money.”

He chuckled, looking a bit bashful, his eyes darting between Lewis and me. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that kind of thing. It still feels a bit surreal. Besides, compared to you two, I’m just a rookie, tagging along.”

Lewis laughed, pulling me closer, his hand slipping lower until it rested on the curve of my ass, claiming me in a way that was impossible to ignore. “You’ll get there, Franco,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “Work hard enough, and maybe one day, you’ll be hosting your own events like this.”

I could see the admiration in Franco’s eyes, but there was something else too—a flicker of discomfort, or maybe jealousy, that he couldn’t quite hide. He took a sip of his champagne, his gaze shifting to me, a small, strained smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone light, but I could hear the underlying tension. “Maybe one day.”

The three of us stood there, a triangle of complicated feelings, each of us playing our parts but somehow teetering on the edge of something unspeakable. I could feel Lewis’s fingers press slightly against me, his silent message clear: I’m yours, and you’re mine. But my heart betrayed me, fluttering at the sight of Franco’s shy, slightly flushed face.

“Speaking of traveling,” Franco continued, trying to keep the conversation flowing, “You said you two might be going to Monaco soon?”

Lewis nodded, his smile proud. “That’s the plan. Got some events lined up, and it’s always nice to go back there. It’s the perfect place to relax.”

Franco nodded, but his gaze lingered on me, his eyes softening in a way that made my heart ache. “Sounds amazing,” he said quietly, and for a moment, it felt as though his words were meant for me alone, as if he wanted me to know he wished he were going, too.

The guilt clawed its way back, twisting in my stomach as I forced myself to look away. Lewis leaned close again, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re leaving. Now,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument. I looked at him, slightly annoyed but he didn’t notice.

I swallowed, casting one last glance at Franco, who was watching us with a mix of longing and resignation. “Goodnight, Franco,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N. Lewis.”

I could feel the weight of his gaze as we turned to leave, and every step away from him felt like a thread being stretched thin, holding us together by the faintest of connections. As much as I knew I should be relieved to go, the ache in my chest only grew, a reminder of the forbidden feelings I couldn’t seem to let go of.

Back at Lewis’s luxurious flat, the silence wrapped around us. I quickly made my way upstairs, into his huge bedroom. As I began taking off my jewelry, one piece at a time, the remnants of the night still swirling in my mind. Franco… me.. I felt a twist of excitement and couldn’t help but smile. Lewis watched me, his gaze soft but expectant, like he was waiting for something.

“So,” he said after a moment, breaking the quiet, “what did you think of the gala? It was nice, right?” He said, watching my face.

I smiled, nodding. “It was beautiful. You did an amazing job. Your speech was…” I paused, searching for the right words, “…inspiring.” I say as I put the earrings down on the dresser.

A smile crept across his face, his chest puffing slightly, pleased with my answer. I know exactly what to say. But as I slipped off my rings, my thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to Franco.

“I really hope Franco has a seat next year,” I said, almost absentmindedly. “He’s so talented, and… he deserves it.”

The softness in Lewis’s expression shifted, his gaze sharpening slightly as he looked at me. “Yeah,” he replied, his tone neutral. “He’s a good kid. But tonight wasn’t really about him.”

The subtle annoyance in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, and I bit my lip, realizing how my words must have sounded. “Of course, I know,” I said quickly. “Your gala was incredible, Lewis. You put so much into it, and I’m so proud of you.”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to gently rest on my shoulders, his gaze softening once more. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You have no idea how much it means to have you here with me.”

His hands trailed down my arms, his fingers brushing against my skin, sending a familiar warmth through me. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to my neck, lingering as he kissed a gentle path across my skin.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus on him, to let myself sink into his touch and forget everything else. This was Lewis, the man I loved, the one who had always been there for me, who had shared his world with me. But even as I leaned into him, I couldn’t shake the faint pull, the thought of Franco’s hands, the lingering touch that had marked me in ways I didn’t understand.

Lewis’s hands slid around my waist, pulling me close, his lips trailing down to my collarbone. “Tonight was perfect,” he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. “But it would be even better if I reminded you how much I love you...”

I forced a smile, nodding, letting him guide me, his affection a steady presence I didn’t deserve yet couldn’t resist. But deep inside, beneath the guilt and the thrill, a part of me lingered elsewhere, caught in a quiet moment with someone I couldn’t have.

And though I knew I should be fully present with Lewis, the shadow of my feelings for Franco remained, a quiet, forbidden ache I couldn’t quite let go of.

Lewis’s kisses grew more intense, his hands tightening around my waist, pulling me closer as he moved hungrily against me. His tongue swirling with mine, sending soft shivers down my spine. His desire was palpable, the urgency in his touch unmistakable.

But as much as I wanted to reciprocate, to lose myself in him, my heart wasn’t in it. My mind was a mess, my emotions tangled and conflicted, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t muster the same energy he was pouring into this moment.

He pulled back, his forehead creased in confusion, searching my face for some sign of reassurance. “What’s going on, Y/N?” he asked, his voice quiet but tinged with frustration. “You’ve been… distant. This isn’t like you.”

I looked away, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m fine, Lewis. You’re overthinking it.”

He let out a humorless laugh, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest. “Overthinking it? Really? You think I don’t notice when something’s wrong with you? It’s insulting that you’d even say that to me.”

I took a deep breath, feeling defensive, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on me. “I’m just… tired. It’s been a long week, that’s all.”

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “No, it’s more than that. You’re not yourself, Y/N. You don’t call me ‘lovie’ anymore. You barely respond to my texts, and when you do, it’s like… it’s like you’re somewhere else entirely.” He paused, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not affectionate, you’re distant… like you’re just going through the motions.”

I felt my frustration rising, the guilt twisting in my stomach, and before I could stop myself, I snapped, “Maybe you’re just imagining things, Lewis. Not everything is about you.”

His face hardened, his expression darkening. “Imagining things?” he repeated, his voice cold. “You think I don’t notice when my girlfriend is slipping away from me? When she’s acting like she’d rather be anywhere else but with me?”

The argument escalated quickly, our voices rising as the tension between us reached a breaking point. The words tumbled out, sharp and angry, the resentment bubbling to the surface.

“You think everything’s about you,” I retorted, my voice shaking with anger. “Every conversation, every moment—it’s always centered around you, your career, your achievements. You don’t even see what’s happening around you.”

He looked at me, his jaw clenched, and I could see the hurt flash in his eyes. “You know what?” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I may be a lot of things, but don’t you dare call me selfish. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve paid for everything. I bought you the best of everything, paid off your $80,000 student debt without even blinking, and you have the audacity to call me selfish?”

His words cut through me, a bitter reminder of the life he’d given me, the things he’d provided without ever asking for anything in return. And as much as I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, I couldn’t. The truth was, he had done so much for me, more than I could ever repay.

I felt a hot flush of embarrassment, my anger fading as the weight of his words settled over me. “I… I know, Lewis,” I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m grateful, I am.”

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Grateful? It doesn’t feel like it. You act like everything I do means nothing to you. I give you everything, and you treat me like I’m just… some guy.”

I huffed, too overwhelmed to say anything that would make things better. I turned, storming out of his bedroom, my steps echoing down the hallway as I tried to put distance between us, to escape the guilt and shame that clung to me.

As I reached the door, his voice followed me, sharp and accusing. “You can be so childish, Y/N! I give you everything, and you act cold and distant with me?”

I spun around, my face flushed with anger. “I do not!”

He took a step toward me, his eyes dark and filled with something I couldn’t quite place. “Then prove it,” he said, his voice low and intense, the challenge in his words unmistakable.

The silence stretched between us, thick and charged, and I felt my heart pounding, the weight of his demand pressing down on me, leaving me torn between loyalty and the confusing mess of emotions swirling inside me.

“I don’t need to prove it!” I whined, sounding more like a petulant teenager than I cared to admit.

Without waiting for his response, I turned and marched down the long hall, my footsteps echoing in the quiet flat. I reached the guest bedroom, the room he’d told me was mine back when we’d first started dating, and slammed the door behind me, letting the sound reverberate through the walls. My chest heaved as I fought back tears, the mix of anger, guilt, and frustration bubbling over until I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

I spent the next hour sulking, feeling the sting of our argument replay in my mind. The things he’d said, the accusations… they all settled in like weights on my chest. I tried to brush it off, to convince myself that I’d been justified, but the guilt lingered, gnawing at me in a way that wouldn’t go away. Eventually, I dragged myself into the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away some of the tension, and changed into some old clothes I’d left here, remnants of the days when I used to spend more time in London with him.

As I curled up on the bed, my phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a new message from Franco.

“Hey, hermosa.”

My eyes lit up, a flutter of excitement rising in my stomach that I tried to ignore. I quickly typed back, my fingers moving almost instinctively.

“Hi, Franco.”

He responded almost instantly, and I could practically hear his teasing tone.

“Why are you up so late?”

I froze for a moment, hesitation prickling in my mind. Should I tell him? Should I let him in on what had just happened? After a beat, I decided to go for it.

“Lewis…”

A pause. I watched the typing dots appear, then disappear. Finally, his response came.

“Lewis?”

The single word hung on the screen, and I stared at it, my heart pounding as I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, maybe I was crossing a line. But before I could second-guess myself, my fingers moved again.

“Nothing.”

I hoped he’d let it go, but Franco was persistent.

“Come on. What’s wrong?”

The concern in his words made my heart ache, and suddenly, I found myself pouring out a little more than I intended.

“Just argued…”

I hesitated, watching the screen as he typed, the anticipation building.

“Are you okay, hermosa?”

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, and before I knew it, the truth spilled out.

“I wish you were here.”

A pause, and then his response came, as bold and honest as ever.

“I wish you were with me.”

My stomach flipped, and I felt the thrill building, the tension between us reawakening despite everything that had happened with Lewis. The guilty thoughts from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by the excitement that only Franco could bring out in me.

“Where are you?” I typed, my heart pounding.

There was a slight delay before his answer came, as if he were weighing his response carefully.

“My hotel.”

My fingers trembled as I typed, feeling the forbidden nature of the question.

“Where?”

His answer came quickly, but his words made me smile, a soft laugh escaping my lips.

“Hermosa… Don’t ask me that. I’m going to need you to come.”

“Fine,” I replied, smiling to myself as I felt the thrill of our conversation overpowering the guilt that had been hanging over me.

He replied almost immediately, teasingly pushing the conversation forward.

“What are you doing?”

I smirked, typing out my response.

“I’m just in bed. Giving Lewis the silent treatment.”

“Poor Lewis,” he replied with a hint of mischief. “You should be nicer to him.”

“Glazer.” I text back.

“Says you,” he shot back. I’m unable to stop myself from smiling.

“I don’t glaze him.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head at his attempt to tease me.

“Sure.”

A laugh slipped past my lips, and I could feel my mood lifting, the heaviness of the evening melting away in the warmth of Franco’s messages.

“So you are just in bed?” he texted, and I felt my heart race at the subtle implication.

“Yes,” I replied, biting my lip as I waited for his response.

A moment later, his next message appeared, sending a thrill through me that I couldn’t deny.

“I would love a picture.”

My stomach twisted with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Should I send him a selfie? This was already dangerous territory, pushing boundaries I shouldn’t be touching… and yet, the thrill was undeniable, a pull I couldn’t resist.

I glanced at the mirror across the room, debating with myself. My heart pounded as I weighed the options, the rational part of me screaming to stop, while the reckless side urged me to go for it. After all, it was just a picture, right? Just a small, innocent picture…

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Just a picture, I told myself, nothing more.

I stood up and walked over to the mirror, taking a moment to adjust my appearance. My tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of my waist. I tugged it down, but not before taking a quick selfie, capturing the tantalizing glimpse of skin.

Too much? Maybe it’s not enough…I wondered, biting my lip as I debated. But then again, Franco had asked for a picture...

With a flush creeping up my neck, I decided to take another photo, this time angling the camera to show off my cleavage. My breasts strained against the thin fabric of my top, the outline of my nipples visible through the material.

I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the send button. What am I doing? I thought, panic rising in my throat. But then I remembered the thrill of Franco's earlier messages, the way his words had made me feel desired, wanted.

Before I could second-guess myself, I hit send, the picture winging its way to Franco's phone. I immediately felt guilty, my stomach twisting with a mixture of excitement and shame.

Oh god, what if he shows someone? What if Lewis finds out? My mind raced with worst-case scenarios, even as a part of me thrilled at the danger, the taboo nature of what I had just done.

I paced the room, my heart pounding as I waited for Franco's response. Minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. Maybe he didn't like it, I thought, panic rising in my chest. Maybe I went too far...

But then, my phone buzzed with a new message, and I nearly dropped it in my haste to read it.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous. You’re going to give me this while I can’t be near you? Evil." Franco had written.

I felt a rush of heat flood through me at Franco's words, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. I know I am doing.. and I hate that I’m enjoying this..

A thrill of excitement coursed through me, and before I could second-guess myself, I typed out a response.

"Your turn," I wrote, my fingers trembling slightly as I hit send. "I want to see you too."

Oh god, what am I doing? I thought, my stomach twisting with a heady mix of anticipation and anxiety. But I couldn't deny the thrill that shot through me at the thought of seeing Franco, of having something tangible to fantasize about.

After a few seconds, I get a notification.

It’s a picture of Franco, in the big hotel bed. His abs on full display. My stomach twirls.

I feel myself grow with need. Need for him.

I can’t respond.. what am I doing?! But my fingers are doing something else entirely, typing out another message.

“I didn’t get to see that tonight.” I text back. Even in the throes of our rushed closet moment, I didn’t get to see all of him.

“Well, I didn’t get to see it all either.”

My face heats up. Fuck….

“Would you like to pretty boy?” I hit send. I turn my phone off and throw it at the edge of the bed. What’s wrong with me?! Lewis is literally done the hall.

I felt a rush of panic as I threw my phone, my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell am I doing? I thought, my mind reeling. Lewis is right down the hall, and I'm sexting with Franco?

But even as I tried to talk myself down, I couldn't ignore the heat that still pulsed through my body, the ache that had settled low in my belly. God, I want him, I admitted to myself, biting my lip hard enough to hurt. I want to see more of him, to feel his hands on my skin...

I paced the room, my mind racing with possibilities. We could sneak away, I thought, my heart rate picking up at the idea. Meet up somewhere private, somewhere where no one would catch us...

I shook my head, trying to clear it. No, I can't, I told myself firmly. I can't do this to Lewis, can't betray him like this. Even if he did hurt me tonight, even if he is an asshole sometimes... I love him. I can't throw that away.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny the way my body reacted at the thought of Franco, the way my skin tingled with anticipation. Fuck, I thought, running a hand through my hair in frustration. What the hell do I do?

I glanced at my phone, sitting innocently on the bed. I should just leave it, I thought, my resolve wavering. Should just ignore his messages and try to forget this ever happened...

But even as I thought it, I found myself walking towards the bed, my hand reaching out for the phone. Just one more look, I told myself, my fingers closing around the device. Just one more peek, and then I'll put it away. I swear.

I unlocked the phone, my heart pounding as I saw the unread message from Franco. Don't open it, I told myself, my finger hovering over the screen. Don't do it, Y/N. Just put the phone down and walk away...

I stared at the screen, my finger trembling as I hovered over Franco's message. Don't open it, I told myself, my heart pounding in my chest. Just put the phone down and walk away...

With a shaky breath, I opened the message, my eyes widening as I read Franco's words.

“Please, baby.”

I hesitated for a moment, torn between my desire for Franco and my loyalty to Lewis. But even as I tried to convince myself, I couldn't deny the way my body responded to Franco's messages, the way my heart raced at the thought of sending more to him. Just one more picture, I told myself, my resolve crumbling. Just one more peek, and then I'll stop. I promise.

I pull my shirt up and over my head, letting it gently fall to the ground. I pick my phone up as I take a few tantalizing photos of my bare chest.

I hesitated for a moment, my finger hovering over the send button. This is crazy, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. I'm really going to send him a topless picture?

I sat on the bed, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at the screen, waiting for Franco's response. I can't believe I just sent him a topless picture, I thought, my cheeks flushing with a mixture of excitement and shame. What if he shows someone? What if Lewis finds out?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Hey, sweetheart," Lewis called softly, his voice muffled through the wood. "Can we please talk?"

I froze, my eyes widening in panic. Oh god, he's here, I thought, my stomach twisting with dread. He's going to see me like this, topless and waiting for Franco's reply...

I scrambled to grab my tank top from the floor, my hands shaking as I tried to grab it. But it was too late. The door swung open, and Lewis stepped into the room, his eyes going wide at the sight of me. My hands drop the shirt, on the end of the bed on accident.

"Y/N, what..." he started, but his voice trailed off as he took in my state of undress. I could feel his gaze on my bare breasts.

I quickly covered my chest with my hands, my face burning with embarrassment and shame. I fully expected Lewis to be furious, to demand an explanation for why I was half-naked.

But instead, he just smiled and laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What, you couldn't find a shirt in here?" he teased, his tone light and playful.

I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by his reaction. "I... um..." I stammered, my mind racing to come up with an excuse. "I was just hot," I finally managed, my voice sounding weak even to my own ears.

Lewis's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. "Hot, huh?" he said, his voice tight. "Funny, I just turned the AC up."

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. He knows, I thought, panic rising in my throat. He knows I was doing something, something wrong...

I could feel Lewis's eyes boring into me, his gaze intense and searching. I shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, my hands still covering my chest. He knows something's up, I thought, my heart hammering in my chest. He just doesn't know what.

"Come on, babe," Lewis said finally, his voice tight. "Let's go back to our room and talk, okay?"

I nodded numbly, my mind racing. Should I tell him the truth? I wondered, my stomach churning with guilt and fear. Should I confess to sexting with Franco, to sending him topless pictures?

But even as I thought it, I knew I couldn't. I couldn't hurt Lewis like that, couldn't betray him with the truth of what I had done.

"Okay," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

I reached for my tank top, my hands still shaking as I pulled it over my head. Lewis watched me, his expression unreadable. He knows, I thought again, my heart sinking.

I followed Lewis out of the room, my steps heavy and slow.

As we walked down the hall, I could feel the weight of my guilt pressing down on me, threatening to crush me beneath its heavy burden. I'm a terrible person, I thought, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I'm a liar and a cheat, and I don't deserve Lewis's love or trust.

————————————————-

🙈😅 yikes. Lewis LEWIS HE KNOWS AHHHHHH … or does he? Hehe.

Next time Franco will be getting involved into some online drama 🙈

Please like and follow to let me know you want more!

I appreciate all of you! 💜

[livefastdriveyoung]

If you're bashing one driver while promoting another, especially in the case of Logan and Franco, you're not doing anyone but yourself a disservice.

Aside from the fact they were driving two totally different cars, everyone is different. James Vowels is already talking enough for you.

[italian-lit-tournament]

The participating authors for the Italian Lit(erature) Tournament: the general list + a google form to add other proposals

Podesti Francesco - Torquato Tasso reading Jerusalem Delivered to the Estensi court

The start of the Italian Lit(erature) Tournament (first edition) is getting closer, but first I want to post the general list of the authors partecipants.

The principal issue is that every literary canon is constantly changing, with more critical studies over the years. I've thought about it, read and searched, and the solution I found has two parts:

I will take the principal authors from this list, which in turn is based from the studies of Gianfranco Contini and Asor Rosa. The list is too long and many names are only chronicles and essayists, so I'll chose the principal ones, trying to balance between north/south Italy and male/female authors (taking into account that many authors that we study are men). As you will see below under the cut, the list is already pretty long, doing some math the challenge will be 2/3 months long.

Still, I recognise that this isn't 100% unbiased and fair, so I opened a free and quick google form when you can add a maximum of two authors that you don't see in the list. This considerable limit is to avoid having too many names - if in some answers I see more than 2 names, I'll take into account only the first 2 listed.

IMPORTANT! 👇

After much thoughts, I also chose to don't include living authors or authors death only recently (before January 2023). The reason is simply to avoid potential issues in the community, like bashing between fandom or admirers of some specific author, or going too far like offending some people near the author still alive or recently deceased. Maybe if this tournament will end well, a second edition could be made next year and maybe with the addition of living authors! (I'm already thinking to do an italian or european cinema tournament in the future but this is still in the draft).

Under the cut, you will find the list of the authors already part of the challenge, name-surname with the surname in alphabetical order. If you don't see a name that you want to see, use the form to add it!

edit: I added the ones from the surbey so far, all in italics. There are names that have been sent but already on the list.

Dante Alighieri

Sibilla Aleramo

Vittorio Alfieri

Cecco Angiolieri

Pietro Aretino

Ludovico Ariosto

Matteo Bandello

Anna Banti

Giambattista Basile

Giorgio Bassani

Cesare Beccaria

Maria Bellonci

Pietro Bembo

Matteo Maria Boiardo

Giovanni Boccaccio

Giordano Bruno

Dino Buzzati

Italo Calvino

Andrea Camilleri

Giosuè Carducci

Guido Cavalcanti

Carlo Collodi

Vittoria Colonna

Gabriele D'Annunzio

Giacomo da Lentini

Caterina da Siena

Alba de Céspedes

Cielo (Ciullo) d'Alcamo

Edoardo De Filippo

Federico de Roberto

Grazia Deledda

Umberto Eco

Beppe Fenoglio

Marsilio Ficino

Dario Fo

Ugo Foscolo

Veronica Franco

Carlo Emilio Gadda

Natalia Ginzburg

Carlo Goldoni

Antonio Gramsci

Francesco Guicciardini

Tommaso Landolfi

Giacomo Leopardi

Carlo Levi

Primo Levi

Carla Lonzi

Niccolò Machiavelli

Alessandro Manzoni

Giovanbattista Marino

Giovanni Meli

Pietro Metastasio

Eugenio Montale

Elsa Morante

Alberto Moravia

Anna Maria Ortese

Giuseppe Parini

Goffredo Parise

Giovanni Pascoli

Pier Paolo Pasolini

Cesare Pavese

Francesco Petrarca

Luigi Pirandello

Angelo Poliziano

Luigi Pulci

Salvator Quasimodo

Gianni Rodari

Lalla Romano

Amelia Rosselli

Umberto Saba

Emilio Salgari

Jacopo Sannazaro

Goliarda Sapienza

Leonardo Sciascia

Matilde Serao

Gaspara Stampa

Mario Rigoni Stern

Italo Svevo

Antonio Tabucchi

Torquato Tasso

Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

Pier Vittorio Tondelli

Giovanni Verga

Giambattista Vico

Renata Viganò

Elio Vittorini

Giuseppe Ungaretti

[laura1633]

Oh wow i have a serious problem i just went over what i wrote to you and i probably should have stopped at the first two sentences but it gets me upset the abuse lando faces i dont even like the guy i perfer oscar, max, charles and carlos but even i know that sending death threats to someone is not okay, and it upsets me that people almost always take his words out of context like when did lando say he actually had a chance at winning the wdc this year? I've seen people bash on him for the latest race where max raced incredibly, but what they dont seem to understand is that the race's terrible race conditions could have actually seriously injured him, we all seem to forget that the guy is younger then max, less experienced, and has huge problems with self-worth that actively seem to affect the way he race's. the fact that max won in the rust bucket that barely seemed to work in favor of the guy is incredable, but bashing on another driver for seemingly not wanting to take a chance with the awfull race conditions (*please note that this is what it looked like to me on what lando was doing that race where he did make mistakes but the weather wasnt helping ether* also note that that franco, oliver and others commented ether on the weather being dangerous, their cars 'Presumably the cars not agreeing with the weather ether', or the fact they couldnt see for shit and out right stated that someone should have a talk with the fia *i couldnt watch the whole race but ive seen snippets of driver radio's and the like, so i cant say with 100% certainty that this is correct*)

So yeah i think that, if i as someone who doesnt like lando, its really concerning what some people say about the guy and as a side note none of the other drivers seem to notice the hate from what ive seen but this last part might just be me. What are your thoughts on the hate lando's been getting seeming to increase anytime he seems to actually want to enjoy racing with the other more popular (equally popular?) Drivers?

🍑anon

Hi anon, 

That’s okay, I will respond to this ask rather than the previous one (but just for context for anyone else the previous ask was about fan fiction so wan’t anything mean). This ended up being a really lengthy answer because I have lots of thoughts!!! 

I’ll put the answer under the cut and tag as anti Lando despite this really just being my opinion and I personally don’t think I am being particularly harsh here but maybe people will disagree.

Firstly hopefully to most people it goes without saying that sending death threats is not okay, that goes for any of the drivers (and various other individuals that I have seen targeted over the past few years). I also have never understood people specifically going to an individual’s social media page just to spout negativity or abuse at them, if you don’t like someone you don’t need to follow them. 

However, I am surprised that people seem to be shocked that Lando is receiving hate online as this is absolutely nothing new and, if I am being honest, I have seen worse (not that this is a competition!).

I will speak from the perspective of being a Max supporter and say that the abuse he has received both online and at track has been appalling over the years. After Silverstone 2021 there were plenty of comments from people saying he ‘deserved’ such an awful crash or that they wished it had been worse. Even this year there were memes going around saying that maybe we needed a repeat of Silverstone 21 (a meme liked by Lando’s dad no less, not that I think we should be blaming children for their parent’s actions!). Not only that but there is rarely a week that goes by that I don’t see jokes online about how Jos is the only one that ‘can beat Max’ or people posting memes about Max being left at a gas station when he does badly. Max needed a bodyguard in Mexico last year because there were concerns over death threats, he’s been booed up on the podium, had people chanting cheat at him in the fan zone, every comment section on his social media includes comments telling him he is a cheat or that his achievements mean nothing. The British media are like vultures any time there is even a hint of controversy. I don’t know why everyone is suddenly up in arms about Lando receiving hate, perhaps its a case of only caring when it happens to ‘their’ driver. 

It doesn’t just happen to Max either. I don’t follow Lewis on social media but I still know the type or racist abuse he has faced over the years. Other drivers also receive abuse - Lance for example has vile things said about him, Nicholas Latifi was sent death threats after 2021. I am sure most if not every driver has experienced some level of hate. Social media can be extremely toxic. 

Do I think any of the drivers should have to deal with such toxicity? No, but Lando is nowhere near the only one to receive hate and I don’t think someone like Max who appears ‘strong’ should have to put up with things because people get the impression it doesn’t bother him.

Whether the other drivers notice, well probably they do but its not happening just to Lando. Did Lando realise how much toxicity was being thrown at Max after Austria or Mexico? Did he try and calm things with the media or did he double down and make things worse for Max? 

As for taking Lando’s words out of context. That definitely happens from time to time, the same as with any driver. Media goes for clickbait headlines and run with them. The problem is that Lando has also said things that haven’t been taken out of context and that people still find distasteful. The comments about it not being talent and being luck did not come across well. I was tempted to give him the benefit on that one and assume he was referring to himself and saying it was not him being untalented but unlucky but then he doubled down by saying nobody deserved to win the race more than George - how can I take that any other way other than the fact he was saying Max didn’t ‘deserve’ to win the race. 

As for Lando saying he thought he could win the WDC, if he didn’t think he could win it this year then to me that would be more of a concern. He has a championship winning car and has done for most the season, if he can’t win it now then when?! He should have been confident that he could win or at least put up a good fight. I would have had no problem with him openly saying he is going for the championship. Look at Charles who is not afraid to say that whilst it is still possible he is still fighting. I think part of the problem here lies with Mclaren because they should have been fully backing Lando and hyping him up but seemed to flip flop back and forth about whether they thought he was truly in the fight. It’s hardly going to give Lando confidence when his team don’t seem to be backing him as strongly as they could be. 

As for Brazil, Lando didn’t have a great race. George got past him at the start. He made too many errors. Charles finished in front of him despite starting behind him. Max, Esteban and Pierre took a risk staying out on those worn inters, they gambled on the fact the race would be red flagged but also on their abilities and confidence to keep the car on track under those conditions. They all did extremely well and deserved their podium spots. The most important thing though is that all the drivers came away without serious injuries because over the course of that weekend there were numerous occasions where entertainment was put over safety. If a driver felt they had to pit for safety reasons then I am glad they took that step.

Lando is younger than Max but I don’t think we need to baby him in terms of his racing or in terms of giving him a free pass with what he says in the media. He is 24 years old, the same age Max was when Max won his first championship under very intense pressure. 

I think you are correct about confidence or self worth affecting him. Whilst I wouldn't like to comment to much on his mentality, to me (and I don’t tend to watch too many of his interviews so I could be wrong) he seems to flop back and forth between being overly critical of himself and then also not taking accountability and saying someone else just had the fastest car or were lucky. I think it would be really good for him to be able to look as objectively as possible about where he has actually made mistakes and can improve but also being able to pick out the things he has done well and be proud of those things. 

Overall I don’t think any drivers should have to put up with the amount of hate that they have to put up with but Lando is not the only one to receive hate and, dare I say it, I don’t even think it has been as vicious as some of the things I have seen over the years. Social media is toxic and people should be more mindful and realise these are real people - all of them!! 

Also, once again lets be thankful that nobody was seriously hurt over the weekend and lets hope the Fia take steps to act more swiftly when safety cars and red flags are needed and that they put safety above other concerns.

[oatsa-the-humanoid]

Hi......

Sorry for sending in another request butbut (if you are still taking them) could you please draw a flustered Franco with a face full of lipstick marks?

Thank you (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Never be sorry about sending a request. I love all of your guy's requests!

Here's Franco, embarrassed and flustered about the numerous lipstick marks across his face. 💚

He's so bashful when he gets love.

[muffy-official]

Tilly(Matilda) Newman, bride, manipulator, prime asset

[Things may change]

Standing at maybe 5'6 without and 5'7 with heels on(not sure yet)

Early 30s

Looks weak to most, but you'd be surprised once you see her pin a man onto a wall like a dead butterfly with spare blades, adding another addition to that horrifying hallway in one of her trials areas

Yes, this is the woman I mentioned trading the at the time reagent Gabby for contraband goods such as wine and whiskey. She at first wanted to keep her as it finally was her turn to have this reagent, but heard she and Barbi knew eachother and took the chance to demand some goods in exchange for the young woman. Had to tie her up after putting her into something fancier to ensure Tilly gets what she wanted, doing hair, makeup, telling her how ladylike she looks while she's unaware where she's going to later.

She doesn't like Gabbys sometimes childish and not so traditionally female nature, wants to hyperfeminise her, doll her up to make her become "a ideal woman". Just like Tillys own mother did it to her growing up. Putting her into different dresses to try them on, applying full faces of makeup, posture lessons, sitting, talking etc. Since Gabby is so vulnerable at times she's generally too afraid to speak up. Tilly even victim blames her, calling her weak, saying how she let it happen herself, that it's her fault that Coyle stabbed and carried her to Phyllis, Coyle generally hurting her, things Franco did when she got singled out and later traded by Tilly, alongside expop and later reagents causing harm. Making the girl believe it was all her fault instead. Only time she tells her she's done a good job is later as expop where Gabby stabbed Coyle a few times into his shoulder in self defense after just being touched by her hands after enough torment was the last straw for the girl

Tilly is also in favour of the lady big grunts, would also put them through lessons, but less harsh when realising that Murkoff is responsible for their disfigurements. Maybe you see her gently brush one of the ladies hair or remains of hairs in a calm moment of peace

She has a slight(maybe even severe) drinking problem, tends to start during downtime whenever unwanted memories come back up or after she used her flirtatious ways as a survival tactic again, saying how her mother was right seeing her as a slut and the such

She came long before Barbi was considered for Lathe, felt quite upset when he got a trial before she did get her 2nd one

In one of her trials, the bridal parlour and photo studio, there's a wall pull of wedding photography. Reagents, expop, prime assets.. Murkoff themselves put them up there intentionally

Another environment might be a Great Church perhaps where you'd have to sabotage/ruin a wedding ceremony

Honestly not sure yet really

Bio:

A former bridal model Murkoff had a close eye on for quite some time. Men and women alike looking up to her as this embodiment of purity even though she truly wasn't, it's all a facade she built up to be the perfect model in the house. Having fascination for weddings and the ceremony, but no interest of becoming a housewife or bearing children, she's afraid of it. Her job let her play out her fantasy over and over again without the consequences the real deal brings. Eventually competition enters the building and she did end up murdering the new woman a month in, bashing a knife in and out of different places, the woman being nearly unrecognisable. Tilly did it as she was afraid to be replaced and abandoned, to lose her job, lose her fantasy land. She disappeared herself via abduction while trying to get rid of the body as Clyde alongside other people were following her car to a lake further away from the city site. Later a interview happened within a different facility before being moved to sinyala, thought no restraints were needed. She eventually started to give out flirtatious remarks towards Clyde Perry to manipulate him into forgetting where he was with his questions which went on for a bit until he did notice what she was doing and then questioned here as he presented evidence of the murder on that innocent woman and that pinup photo shoots results she never got to see as the man ran off once she passed out from drinking too much, resulting in her lunging over the table to push Clyde backwards to the floor and once she was near enough she started clawing through his face in a fit of rage, guards having to pry her off of him before she could get ahold of a nearby desk lamp.

As mentioned above she was taken advantage of to do a secret pinup photoshooting with a photographer she thought was in love with her just how she was with him, her being absolutely wasted and eventually passing out, waking up to the building being empty as he ran off with the material, only leaving 3 tame photos behind.

Her mother was also fairly strict growing up. Hated how little Tilly preferred play fighting and playing in mud, etc instead of being like other girls her age. Once her father who supported her never returned from service. Her mother had her all for herself. Molding(grooming her to be fair) her, pressuring her into becoming ideal as a adult, having her turn into who she is now

It's also possible that a child she used to collect dead butterflies and pin them onto a board or frames, eventually doing it with live ones..

For her trials I don't have clear objectives yet

Also here's them both together, the scaling may be a little off

[pleaseeeimjustagirl]

You Need To Decenter Men From Your Life 

Heyyyy babes<3 We will be working on decentering men from our life. This is super important! As women, we are taught to appeal to the male gaze and do everything for male validation. This can affect many young women. Causing them to have trouble being themselves and dealing with insecurities. This is also for my girlies who are serial daters. You have never been in a season of your life where you were truly single. You use relationships to ignore the real problems you have with yourself. This post is not to bash men! It is to help you ladies decent men from your life so you can start your self-love journey<3

How to decenter men

♡ Focus on making your teens and twenties about you! How can you love someone and you don't even love yourself? Self-love is the best form of love! Take this time to get to know yourself and pour into yourself. Travel, test different careers, make new friends, and so on. Your teens and twenties especially your twenties are the most important years of your life and you won't get them back so really take this time to focus on bettering and improving yourself inside out so when you start dating again you feel and know you are the prize.

♡ Let go of society's beauty standard! Most of us will NEVER be the beauty standard. You may have certain attributes that fit into the beauty standard but not all and that is okay. Your higher power created you a certain way for a certain reason. Beauty standards change! In the 90s thin was in. The model body was the beauty standard now having curves specifically an hourglass figure is the beauty standard and it is funny because 20 years ago if you told a girl she was curvy or had a big butt she’d feel insulted. 

♡ Validate yourself. Let your opinion of your beauty be the #1 opinion. Affirm yourself in your beauty and remind yourself you are that girl! Compliments are nice to hear but your confidence shouldn't change because someone calls you unattractive. We are all attractive and unattractive to someone. You deserve to be loved and you're beautiful. Tell yourself that and believe it don't wait for a man to come and tell you before you can truly believe it.

♡ Learn to enjoy your own company. I understand wanting to have someone, going on dates, and receiving flowers but you need to take this season of singleness and pause especially if you haven't been single in a long time. Learn to enjoy being alone, find hobbies, take yourself out on dates, buy yourself flowers, write love letters to yourself, and heal your internal wounds. 

♡ Be realistic about men. They are people just like us lol the eat, sleep, and poop. Men aren't perfect individuals they have their insecurities and issues. And this isn't me trying to talk down on men I like men lol. But once you take them down from this pedestal you will be able to see them as regular people.

♡ Reads books on decentering me. Try and find books on this topic to educate yourself further on decentering men. There are amazing books on amazon I will list a few for you ladies to check out<3.

Book Recommendations

♡ How to Be Single and Happy by Jennifer L.Taitz

♡ Healing the Purpose of Your Life by Dennis Linn

♡ Platonic: How The Science of Attachment Can Help You Make—and Keep—Friends by Dr. Marisa G Franco

Comment any tips that you have, and share any books, podcasts, and YouTubers! Thank you so much for all 172 of you babesss love youuuu ladiesss<3

[bwoahtastic]

What about Franco joining the breadbasket group? He's this tiny tiny baby fox and yaps and just runs around causing chaos and doesn't settle until he's clinging to one of his siblings. Toto chuckling cause he reminds him of baby Seb and Sebastian just sighs and knows Franco has tackled on of the others when they hear a thump, with a yelp and then a bunch of giggles as Franco is bouncing around but he only truly settled with Max and seeks out his approval and he is so in love with Lewis and actually is a little scared of him cause he admires his new Papa so much

Oh plss!! Seb thought one chaotic little baby fox (and a less chaotic Pierre fox) was enough but then Franco just sorta... arrives ar the house and decides he is home now sksk. He is such a happy little thing but very chaotic! Loves to zoom around on his lil legs chasing his other siblings to playfight! He is very cuddly tho and that's the only way to calm him down, he especially loves Maxy cos he purrs so loudly and it makes Franco giggle!

Franco being so bashful arounf all his papas at first (not momma, momma is comforting from day 1) but especially around Lewis! He judt looks up to his cool papa so so much!