#what is legends. like deep down what is it whats going on there

[ornii]

Oh, The Misery Part 10:

“Peace Was Never and Option”

A torrential downpour blurs the sharp lines of Piltover’s gleaming skyline. Black umbrellas ripple through the city square like a field of mourning flowers. Bells toll — slow, somber, echoing through the heavy air.

A marble memorial stands at the center of the square. Draped banners bear the crests of the fallen houses — including House Kiramman. A massive crowd, shoulder to shoulder, many in dark colors, gathered for the funeral. (Y/n) stands stiff in the rain, his head bowed, water dripping from his hair and metal arm. Beside him, Vi stands with fists clenched at her sides, Neither of them speaks. (Y/n) looked up to the blown up council chambers, grief and anger filled his heart, and he looked away and down. He sees Caitlyn, standing on the steps with her father.

After the Service he waited at an underpass. Hiding from the rain finally until footsteps echo, he turned around to Caitlyn. Silence between them, until he saw her face twist in pain and tears fill. He approached and held her as she cried softly. He just— held her. No words, letting her grieve and let her pain and anguish follow. A minute passed and she composed herself wiping tears.

“You were right, Cait.” He admits, “I thought I could reach Powder but.. she’s gone. I’ll stop her myself, No one else needs to get hurt.”

“No. No more rogue mission. No more reckless plans. My mother was right. My arrogance led me to take on more than I could handle, and she paid the price. They're sending all the Enforcers after Jinx. I'm going with them.” Cait laid it all out, (Y/n) shook his head.

“I can help, we don’t have to set Zaun ablaze.”

“You can. As one of us.” Cait offered him something he, never expected. An enforcers badge. He stared at it, millions of thoughts burning though his brain.

“People are calling for blood. The Council won't stop them. You can show that not all of Zaun supports Jinx. We can show them. You, Me, and Vi. Together.” Caitlyn pleaded with him, and a deep sigh came from him

“I’ve watched enforcers beat, abuse and kill innocent people of Zaun. I’m not becoming what my people fear.” He said, silence against

“I thought you were on our side.” Cait whispered.

“I am. But—“

“You don’t have to say yes now, just.. consider it.” She said, and left it at that. Cait left, leaving (Y/n) to stare at the badge.

Hours later he’s sitting at a stone bench, still staring at the badge, considering just tossing it and going with Vi to fight by themselves. His train of thought was cut off by a shadow looming, he looked up and saw, a girl. she’s petite but fierce, with short-cropped hair and these bright expressive eyes. The person next to her was half amphibian. The girl and guy were enforcers.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Junior Officer Nolen. Maddie. And, uh...it's hard to not know who you are with the arm and all..” she said in a particularly joking way.

“Okay, so what is it, Frisk? Trespassing? Or you just here to bother me?” He clenched the badge in his hand.

“Search? No. No, no. Heh. Uh, you're something of a legend amongst the Enforcers. Caitlyn made quite a scene at the station when they tried to deny your enlistment with Vi.”

“Enlistment?” That thought went though (Y/n)’s head. Cait wasn’t joking

“Now I have to ask, is it all true? You went after Silco alone when the Council wouldn't back you? Took on his whole gang?”

“Cait said all that?” He asked, now his interest is piqued. “She said if every Enforcer was like you, we could take on Noxus itself. Then she threatened to withdraw her family's funding. Anyhow, I'm glad you're joining up. Hmm. After the sheriff betrayed us...Well, let's just say...”

(Y/n) watched as Maddie offered a handshake. “it's nice to know there are still good ones left.” She said. (Y/n) shook her hand, but felt something was still. Bit, off.

Fanfare echoes from the main square and Maddie giggled. “Duty calls. A real honor, sir.” Maddie left, and leaving (Y/n) new a new sense of something

Responsibility. Rain trickles in from the shattered skylight above. The air is cold and still. (Y/n) stands near old tracks, arms crossed, deep in thought as Vi approaches, obviously things haven’t been, easy for her.

“.. you okay?” He asked first.

“Yeah, or.. not really, I don’t know..” she mumbled, her mind a bit jagged. (Y/n) softened up pretty quick.

“I know. It’s.. look it, it isn’t your fault. But, what we’re doing now, isn’t working so… so Caitlyn made an offer… to join the Enforcers. Both of us. Together.” He spit it out, and Vi’s mood went from confusion to, anger and disarray.

“You’re serious? After everything they’ve done? After everything they let happen?!” Her voice began to raise.

“I know what they’ve done. But we can fix it. From the inside.”

“Fix it? You wanna join the people that started this shit? Same people who were under Silco’s boot? Those people?!”

“Vi—“

“The same people that killed my parents YOU wanna join them?!”

“I’m trying to save lives, Vi!”

“By joining a bunch of corrupt murderers?!”

“I’m trying to fix this!”

“No. You’re trying to redeem yourself.”

That hits hard. Silence stretches. (Y/n) takes a deep breath.

“Vi.. I understand more than anyone why you’re angry and you have every right to be. But please, every plan I have come up with, people have suffered and died because of it, I don’t have any other plans. Council wants blood, they’d fill Zaun with it if they had the choice. They’re thinking too big, we’re going in too small. There’s gotta be a medium. This is the medium… I don’t expect you to be best friends with them but.. this might be our best shot.” He gives it his best, and gets nothing but silence from Vi. He can tell by her face she is considering it, but just looked away.

“You’ve changed, (Y/n). And not in a good way.” Vi turned and left, leaving him to pick it all back up. As (Y/n) tries to follow her to speak more reason, but Another service is held for the Council.

Many gather and mourn, and (Y/n) and Vi come in attendance. Oddly enough another joined, burly, a bit of a Drunk. He ignored his presence, and watched as Mel approached the stand. She cleared her throat and began.

“One of the many privileges of serving as your councilor is having the occasion now and again to stand behind this podium to behold so many joined together not by birth or dictum but by all that we share. Our hope. Our curiosity. Our compulsion to leave behind us a world better than that before. These things we share are what make us one people.” As Mel began, (Y/n) saw the man mourning citizens, although some looked, off.

“Today we share an unthinkable loss. Councilor Irius Bolbok, Councilor Torman Hoskel, and Councilor Cassandra Kiramman

were taken from us. But they shall not be forgotten. We commissioned this statue so we may remember them for their countless contributions... their lifetimes of service. Not for the craven act that stole them away.” She said, (Y/n)’s eyes locked on a soldier carrying a bag, he passes by a dressed woman and then, passes by without it.

“What the—“

“Though we've suffered

a terrible blow, I assure you, the rule of law prevails in Piltover. We will find those responsible. And they will account for their crimes.” Mel ends her speech with ferocity. (Y/n) can tell something was wrong, until it rolls under him. He looks down and sees hissing. A pipe bomb.

A thunderous explosion rips through the the plaza — the earth quakes beneath the mourners’ feet. Screams. Chaos. Flames rise from the buildings. Through the smoke—Zaunite extremists pour in: masked fighters, grenade-launchers, and at the center, a woman without a nose, a monstrous chainsaw and rage for Jayce.

The blast sends (Y/n) flying, smashing through a marble column. Dust and stone rain down.

Muffled screams.

He blinks awake, ears ringing. He’s half-buried beneath debris — blood leaks down his temple. His vision blurs, then sharpens.

Maddie’s trying to crawl away — being lifted into the air by her leg, dangling from the chemical monster’s claw.

He grits his teeth, shifting rubble off of himself. His arms taking a beating but still works. He scans the ground…His eyes lock on a bent, circular slab of steel plating, about the size of a shield.

He grabs it, pulling himself to his feet, breathing hard. He limps which slowly turns into a full sprint. He throws the makeshift shield once — it slams into the monster’s shoulder, staggering it and dropping Maddie. She looks up to see hissing counter its swing with a parry and recoil with a heavy shield crack to its dome. It slumps unconscious. He turned and, in turn, offers HIS hand.

“Get up! These people need us!” He said, and helped her up. He rushed off to help everyone else, he spots Caitlyn taking a shot at a Zaun extremist but he tries to grab her.

(Y/n) rubs in and hurls the shield into the face of an approaching Zaunite soldier, knocking him back. As the soldier stumbles, he lunges forward, grabbing him and using his body as leverage to perform a high-impact throw into a nearby enemy. The shield recoils and he catches it. He spins, using the shield to block incoming gunfire, then whips it back in a quick arc, knocking another assailant to the ground.

A Chem-Tank soldier attempts to charge him. (Y/n) quickly defends, using the shield to deflect the soldier’s attack before slamming it into their chest. The impact sends the soldier sprawling. Without missing a beat, he uses his old arm to finish the move, grabbing the soldier and throwing him over his shoulder with impressive force.

“Push them back! We protect this city! We protect everyone!” He blocks a swing and counters with a bash.

At this point, the tide is beginning to shift. The Piltover guards, once hesitant, start to see him not as an outsider but as their protector. They rally behind him, taking courage from his unyielding stance.

But it wasn’t over The ground shakes as a mutated chem-monster barrels through a stone wall, roaring with unnatural fury. Enforcers scatter. Panic erupts.

Vi kneels beside Jayce’s Hextech Hammer, trying to reroute energy back into the core. Sparks fly. It won’t boot.

“Come on, come on…”

(Y/n) spots Maddie and the enforcers trying to protect the carriage of councilors. He steps forward, shield in one hand, metallic arm flexing. The chem-monster slams down a piston-sized fist — he raises his shield, absorbing the brunt of the hit, but is launched backwards, skidding across the cobblestone.

He groans, coughing blood, but plants one knee.

He’s down—

But he stands again. His coat torn, armor scorched, He walks straight toward the monster.

The monster charges again.

He dodges left, slams his shield into its leg. It roars. He’s thrown again — crashes through scaffolding.

Everything goes silent for a beat. Dust hangs in the air.

Faint clinks of his metal arm bracing against stone. He rises, beaten, bloodied — but burning with that same unwavering fire.

In the chaos behind him, Vi finally slams the hammer core back into place. It whines to life.

“duck!”

He doesn’t hesitate. He rolls aside just as

Vi blasts the monster, it catches its shoulder and its arm is torn to metal shreds. Before the monster.

The monster, with one arm swings again. (Y/n) sidesteps, smashes the shield into its knee, then slams it across its head.

It stumbles.

He roars, knocks it to the ground.

He raises the shield high—

SLAMS IT DOWN.

And all the grief he’s felt came back.

Powder

SLAM.

Mylo

SLAM.

Vi

SLAM.

Claggor

SLAM.

Dad…

SLAM.

Again.

SLAM

And Again.

SLAM.

The monster grunts.

SLAM.

Its arm twitches.

SLAM.

Rain drips off his face. He doesn’t stop.

SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

The monster is no longer moving—but he keeps going, driven by desperation, guilt, fury, the will of everyone lost.

The shield is bloodied. His hands tremble.

Behind him, the battlefield has gone quiet. Civilians stare. Enforcers hesitate. (Y/n) tosses the blood soaked shield and sighs, looking upward to the sky. The fight was over, but this war, was just starting.

(Y/n) was getting a wound sewn up, as Vi and Cait were in front of him. She was, beyond furious.

“A memorial. What kind of animals?”

“They wanted the spectacle. They're trying to scare you.”

“All they did is piss me off.” Cait fired back, Vi was actually surprised by this.

“You... You need to find a way to call off the invasion.”

“What?”

“This battle was on your soil. Down there, you'll be on their terms.”

“None of this is on our terms! She dies and leaves this giant hole, and I'm just supposed to fill it. Like she was never there to begin with.” Cait, now at an impasse let her true feelings be heard.

“Hey.” Vi reached out, gently caressing her cheek.

“You won't. The hole gets smaller, but... you never fill it.”

“Vi.. every way I slice it, if I go after your sister alone, one of us comes back in a box. It's all coming apart.”

“It’s not.” (Y/n) said, and stood up, wiping blood off his face. “I’m joining you. We end this, now.”

..

Deep, in an unknown basement within Piltover, the last three Council Members including Mel, talk.

“Never in our lifetimes has Piltover's leadership been forced into the dungeons of our capitol! But here we are. Does anyone still doubt that our enemy is greater than one deranged individual?”

“How did they sneak so many of these things into the ceremony? I thought we took every measure to secure it.” One asked

“They must have had help. From someone up here.”

“We can't afford any more handwringing. If we do not defend ourselves with Hextech, our principles will mean nothing.” Councilor Salo says, before Mel can reply, the doors open and Cait, now dressed as a fully fledged enforcer approaching.

“We aren't prepared for a full-scale invasion. The undercity's attack proved that.”

“This is a closed Council meeting.

Who let you in here?”

“I am a decorated officer. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” Cait fired back, and as expected Salo shuts up.

“I will lead a strike team into Zaun with three objectives: locate Jinx, dismantle Shimmer, and neutralize any agents still loyal to Silco.

“What makes you think you'll fare better than our forces today?”

“We've got a few surprises

of our own.”

They watch as footsteps echo, Clad in new armored gear forged from reinforced Piltover steel and Hextech alloy. Maddie, Loris, The Aquatic enforcer, Vi, and (Y/n). Each uniform bearing the mark of the wolf, glinting under the rising moon. Faces grim. Unyielding.

He leads them, the first to step into the light.

His new Hextech arm — Aegis — hums quietly, glowing with raw Hex energy. At his back, a polished shield forged from salvaged metal now refined — the same shield he wielded during the attack, reborn.

(Y/n) stepped up first. His hands behind his back and spoke it into existence.

“Commander Kiramman. Captain (Y/n) of the Newly Formed Iron Hounds, awaiting your command.”

[esthelle-wanders]

Thanks for the tags, @hero-of-the-wolf and @nerdzanddadz !

*deep inhale* Thus, into the brink.

Obligatory note to make myself feel better: I adore all these little guys. My “least” favorite is still one of my favorite characters, overall!

1. Sky. Was Skyward Sword my first Zelda game? Yes. Do I love it very much? Yes. Do I tend to have a weakness for sweet-looking characters who contain immeasurable power and rage? Also yes. But all these advantages notwithstanding, Sky was still practically designed for me to prefer.

It’s generally a good rule of thumb that the more “meta” a character is, the more I will like them. This applies to lots of Zelda characters, including Link as a concept, but Sksw Link has that extra appeal of being the first. What does it mean, to be so human that you transcend your own humanity? When the things that drive you are simple and broken and earnest, and then your actions are immortalized (literally) and forged into an eternal cycle? This is already too long for what this is, but I could ramble about him for hours. (To be fair, this also applies to all of them— but Sky is special!)

Okay! Keeping the others short (?)

2. Legend. I love characters who have been through hell and still choose to be “good.” There’s plenty of ways to spin this trope, but I especially like it when “good” isn’t “perfect” or even necessarily “nice.” Good can be prickly and uncertain.

If Sky’s the original dreamer, Legend’s the inheritor of broken dreams. There’s part of him that’s still “dreaming,” that doesn’t want to wake up. To be a Hero is to walk the border between dreams and reality, and even his title indicates this. At the same time, though, his adventures didn’t destroy him. His story is so heartbreakingly hopeful.

Also I like competent characters who rely on wits over strength. Legend has that smart, cobbled-together, done-it-all, trickster-hero vibe going for him. I love him.

And I’m failing at keeping them short…

3. Warriors. A surprise favorite! When I first got into LU, looking for Skyward Sword Link content, I didn’t really care for him much. Then, over the course of… 8 years?!?! he slowly grew on me, and then I looked up and realized that he was fighting Hyrule for top 3– and he won! He’s such a complicated character. Again, I love how meta his story is, and that he’s arguably the only Link to have a genuine flaw that’s directly referenced in his game. And the balance between his honest, earnest side and the facades he pulls. Characters who code-switch are fascinating to me. He’s very intelligent, and the way Jojo draws expressions, you can see him thinking in different situations. We love to see it. And yes, he’s very pretty.

4. Hyrule. The Link-est of them all. You boil the Hero’s Spirit down to its essential core and it’s Hyrule. But at the same time, he’s so decidedly himself. He lives in a fallen world, he walks in the footsteps of so many legendary heroes— including the literal Hero of Legend! He’s a traveler from parts unknown. He’s scrappy and humble and unassuming, but he wields the world’s flashiest sword and learns magic nobody else has mastered. He’s nothing and he’s everything. He’s still becoming, and he’s already everything he’ll ever need to be. He started it all, and the legends know him. And he will sass you to your face, complete with questionable puns.

5. Wind. Meta strikes again! Whether or not Link has the Hero’s Spirit in Wind Waker is up for debate, but the indisputable fact is that he wasn’t a Hero chosen by the gods. Destiny didn’t appoint him— he appointed himself. Because of his courage, and kindness, and the people he loved, he walked the paths of the Hero of Time, and told his own story.

It’s beyond fitting— and endearing— that’s he’s so young, and so bright, and so wise in Linked Universe. He embodies hope, and the future, and what these stories we tell are for: not to be re-enacted to the letter, but to be lived in our own times, with the things that are always most important.

6. Twilight. He and Wind could almost share a spot. All the heroes are changed by their adventures, but since Twilight’s story is all about double-edged swords— walking the line between the dark and the light, and his own nature— it’s especially prevalent with him. Even the sweetest, most wholesome farm boy has a wolf inside, and Twilight fights with more ferocity than is typical for a Link.

Twilight Princess makes it clear that the Wolf isn’t an avatar for Link— it’s just as intrinsically “him” as his Hylian form is. Aside from its ominous warnings about succumbing to powerlust, Twilight’s story is content to keep to grey areas, but it doesn’t feel contrived. We’re left to decide for ourselves which world he belongs to— and in Linked Universe, he’s still working that out himself.

Twilight is very much Wind’s parallel (and Legend’s) as one of Time’s direct successors, and I can’t wait to see what he chooses to do with that looming legacy!

7. Time. This guy is classic. Even more so than Hyrule, somehow, he feels like the archetypal Hero. A child of destiny from the start, never quite fitting in anywhere, eternally displaced in time and space and his own skin. Ocarina of Time is such a bittersweet telling of the Hero’s Journey, and then Majora’s Mask comes along to hit us over the head with the darker side to every legend.

Still, as this distant, tragic figure, Time has found joy. His sadness, and strength, is that he really does “contain multitudes”— he’s not just the ominous Hero’s Shade, he’s also the hopeful Fairy Boy, the Skull Kid’s friend, Sheik’s disciple, Malon’s husband. Even the most “legendary” of the heroes can find connection and a place to belong, in the same people he saved. Maybe the Hero of Time failed to save himself in the end, but maybe by that time, he didn’t need saving anymore— he’d already been saved.

I love that Jojo’s Time reflects the period in his life that “links” his various portrayals together. And it’s so rare that we get to see a genuinely “adult” Link. He’s her favorite for a reason!

8. Four. Definitely the most “unique” Link in this chain! Combining the Hero of the Minish and the Hero of the Four Sword is such a cool and creative choice, and Four shines all the more for it. At the same time, it makes him both very interesting and a bit hard to grasp. I love the Four Swords manga, and the Colors, but especially in the context of Linked Universe, I’m a lot more invested in who Four is as a person and as a hero, aside from that. I love that the Colors are aspects of his complete being, and we can gather a lot about him based on their behavior. He’s incredibly “balanced” and mature for his age, his position on the timeline is criminally under-explored, and he feels very grounded. But aside from that, he’s hard for me to pin down. Perhaps he feels the least “Linkish” to me, of the bunch. Again, this is kinda his appeal for me— the Hero who slips through the cracks and lives in the nooks of history— but it means that he’s still relatively elusive.

9. Wild. I’ll admit that I actively disliked him when I first got into LU— and through no fault of his own, really. It felt like he was the only Link anyone wanted to talk about, which made him feel like less of an individual character in a 9-member cast and more like a Link-shaped sponge that absorbed everything in its path. That, and I was initially disappointed with the lack of narrative in Breath of the Wild, and struggled to connect with his character.

But after a few years to grow out of all that, and after reading several excellent fanfics wherein he gets to be part of an ensemble rather than the main event— yeah Wild’s really cool. His canon backstory is arguably the most interesting, and I love BotW’s themes of memory and identity and what happens when we smother our legends beneath their own weight. He’s charming and heartbreaking and he absolutely deserves the hype. Still, I’m much more likely to read a fic that develops his relationships with several other characters over a Wild-centric story. I guess I find him more compelling, at least in LU, when he’s not the main character.

Wow! Okay. That was… all very ramblesome. But I have survived!

Tagging @luna-loveboop2 @whyoneartheven @greennoobartist @turtleduckcrossing

Gonna try and start a tag game, so let's go!

We've all got our favorite Links, but I wanna know how ALL the LU Links rank for you.

I'll start! And just to note, I've only played Sky, Wild, and Twilight's games so far.

1. Sky- My favorite Link, though his game is my second favorite

2. Wild- Second favorite Link, but his games are my favorite

3. Warriors- Haven't played his games, but @crazylittlejester has made him one of my top three

4. Time- Gives big Dad vibes, he's just trying to keep his children out of trouble

5. Twilight- Absolutely the big brother

6. Legend- Not as bitter as I often see him portrayed. He's just a (older) kid whose been through a lot

7. Hyrule- Played his games a LONG time ago, never made it past the first dungeon. I don't really have much to say about him though

8. Wind- Cute kid, I like him but don't have much to day about him either

9. Four- I unfortunately don't know anything about him beyond LU, sorry Four!

Tagging:

@skyloftian-nutcase @crazylittlejester @skyward-floored @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons and anyone else is welcome to join as well!

[stealingpotatoes]

Your "let's never read legends and make up what happens in it" plan is extremely valid, actually.

I'm curious to see what you make of the fact that one time Aurra Sing lost a fight to Jacen Solo's five-year-old daughter Allana.

i was gonna say this is a new level of Wild even for legends, but come to think of it, 5yo jedi vs geriatric bounty hunter is pretty much a fair matchup when you think about it

[444lotus]

how i manifested (+revised) my dream body ౨ৎ

This is my first post on my new account, though I am NOT new to the law and NOT new to loablr either. This post is specifically about how I manifested my dream body instantly with no technique besides knowing :)

PART ONE - the old story

In the old story, I was so fixated on my body and my weight all of the time, I was tracking my calories and weighing myself and my food obsessively and constantly gaining and losing weight. Back then, my beliefs were that 1) Excess food causes weight gain, 2) If I don't track my food and weigh myself, I will become too fat/skinny, and 3) There is something wrong with my body, and I need to diet/exercise to fix it.

Noticing these beliefs were key to changing the way I viewed food and my body, and therefore changing how I knew food to effect me and how I knew my body to be.

When I was overweight, I knew my body was too big, I knew I was eating too much, I knew excess calories made me gain weight. When I was underweight, I knew I had no appetite, I knew I was too bony, I knew that exercise makes you gain muscle which is why I had none, etc. I had to identify the limiting beliefs that made me know my body was a certain way.

PART TWO - writing the new story

Once I identified the beliefs that were holding me back and kept me from my goals ("I know I eat too much, even if I affirm I'm skinny, I'm still going to gain weight."), I could then change them. I wrote down a list of these beliefs, like I did above, and came up with reversals. For example;

"I overeat, so I will gain weight" -> "Calories aren't even real, so I can eat whatever I want and stay the same weight."

"I eat junk food, so I'll never be skinny" -> "I love how fast my metabolism is, I can eat junk all day and still stay so skinny." or "Junk food is just like other foods. Raspberries can't make me fat so neither can hamburgers."

"I don't exercise enough to be toned" -> "It's crazy how I'm naturally so toned and fit without trying."

The key for me was changing key beliefs that kept me dieting and exercising to lose weight, to sever the tie between calories consumed and weight, and hours exercising and muscles. These are limiting beliefs. We literally create our reality. Not ice cream, not soda and chips, none of that can overcome YOU as a divine creator. It sounds silly when you spell it out like that, doesn't it?

PART THREE - how i did it

Okay, now we understand that the secret is to change the rules of our own reality to allow us to know a higher truth (my higher truth? I am a skinny legend). So how do we put this into practice?

All you have to do is know. You set these rules, so you know they are true, reality is bound to them. You must know you are successful, know that reality is in the 4d, and feel truly satisfied in that realm. You can do this using whatever method you need to, but personally, I just knew deep within me that I was my ideal weight, and that nothing could change that, that is simply the reality, that is simply the way things are. I thought about old pictures I took of myself, and remembered how skinny I looked in them, I thought about the last time I saw my friends and how much littler they said I'd gotten, I thought about the last time I stood on the scale and how it read the exact weight I knew myself to be. And I just knew, deep within me, that was simply how things were.

And the last step, for me, was to feel truly joyful at this realization. To feel satisfied it came into fruition. Without seeking confirmation, because I already KNEW.

And what do you know? Pictures of myself in my phone from weeks ago, they were my ideal body. The girl I saw in the mirror when I stood up from my meditation? She had my ideal body. My clothes? XS and S, all of them. I had revised my ideal body all the way back to the day I bought them. And confirmed this by checking pictures I took in the dressing room.

I'm telling you right now it is possible if you know in your heart you've always had your desire. It's always been fulfilled within you. You make the rules because you are a divine creator. Nothing outside of you can change what you know to be true.

That's all for now ౨ৎ

[harrysfolklore]

labyrinth - fc43

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

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

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

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

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username1 LEGEND

username2 p6 with that tractor feels like a podium finish fr

username3 give your seat to danny already

oscarpiastri Well done stinks 👊

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

↳ username2 BEST TRIO ON THE GRID

↳ yourinstagram you’re both so jealous of me

redbullracing Keep pushing ! 💙

↳ username1 FIX HER FUCKING CAR

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

francolapinto Amazing 🙌🙌

↳ username2 franco is such a fannn

danielricciardo Proud of you 👌👌

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

maxverstappen1 Look she’s a nice teammate

↳ yourinstagram you adore me 😤

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Franco Colapinto," Logan says quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How could I forget?" +

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

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

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

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

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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

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

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

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

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username1 IM SOBBING

username2 i still can’t believe this

username3 well hold your tears because you’re next

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

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

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

username5 THE FIRST PIC 🥺🥺 IM NOT OKAY

username6 oh she’s PISSED

username7 this is so unfair for logan

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

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

username10 YOU NEXT BYE BYE

logansargeant Thank you for everything, go make me proud 💙

↳ username1 IM SOBBING AGAIN

liked by francolapinto, landonorris and 410,764 others

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

username1 VAMOOOS

username2 hello?? hes cute

username3 OKAY I SEE

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

alex_albon Welcome to the fam @/francolapinto 👊

username5 KIIING

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

yourinstagram not even giving logan a proper goodbye? yall suck

THIS COMMENT HAS BEEN DETELED

username1 OMFG YN WE SAW THAT

username2 YN 😭😭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Always the comedian, aren't you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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username1 you will always be the moment

username2 FIX THE FUCKING CAR ALREADY

username3 ouu shes DONEEE

username4 most undeserved seat on the grid i swear

username5 anyway RICBULL IS COMING

francolapinto Such a pleasure to race alongside you!

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

↳ username2 im pretty sure yn hates him tho

username6 the constructors championship is gone thanks to her

logansargeant Chin up, love you 💙

↳ username2 i miss them so much

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liked by username1, username2 and 12,739 others

f1gossip YN arriving at Red Bull HQ in Milton Keynes

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

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

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username1 bro...

username2 they better fix her car NOW

username3 RICBULL RICBULL

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

username5 YAAAS SHE'S OUT FINALLY

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

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

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

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

username8 YN GET BEHIND ME

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

yourinstagram great quali, we should have some fun tomorrow 😚

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username1 SLAYYY

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

username3 THE QUEEN OF BAKU FOR REAL

lilyzneimer my favorite supergirl 💙

username4 she got lucky

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

username6 enjoy the race bc it might be your last

username7 watch her on that podium tomorrow

logansargeant Super proud always

↳ username2 LOGAN WE MISSS YOUUUU

francolapinto 🤩

liked by username1, logansargeant and 270,847 others

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

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

#F1 #RedBullRacing #AzerbaijanGP

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username1 SO DAMN TRUE

username2 yn back on the podium FINALLY

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

username4 SHES BEATING MAX FINALLY

username5 did they finally fix the car

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

username7 i knew she got into that care absolutely PISSED

username8 QUEEN OF BAKU

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

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

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username1 LEGEND

username2 she's so smug

username3 TELL THEM QUEEEN

landonorris The third pic is definitely your best @/oscarpiastri

↳ yourinstagram IKR

↳ username1 I LOVE THEM

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

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

↳ oscarpiastri Love you mate

↳ yourinstagram this paddock will never be the same without you

maxvertsappen1 🙌🙌 So proud of you little sister

oscarpiastri Love you stinks

francolapinto Congrats! Always an honor to race alongside you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"YN…" Oscar starts, his tone cautionary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon and 709,639 others

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

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

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

williamsracing Our boy! 💙

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

↳ username1 fr she looked like she wanted to crash him

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

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

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

landonorris Great drive mate!

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

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

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username1 DANNY NOOOO

username2 this sucks man

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

maxverstappen1 Going to miss you mate!

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

↳ username1 exactly! she's been underperforming all season

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

↳ username3 now give him your seat

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

↳ danielricciardo Love you kiddo! Make me proud

username5 Gutted to see Danny Ric go ���

landonorris Won't be the same without you mate!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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

yourinstagram florida !!! is one hell of a drug

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username1 AHHH she visited logan

logansargeant Next time we're doing the gator tour 🐊

↳ username2 i love them sm

oscarpiastri No invite for your favourite Aussie? Rude

↳ username2 we need the iconic trio together again

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

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

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

username6 the way logan always has her back 🥺

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

francolapinto Amazing 🙌

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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

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

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 franco is going to piss his pants

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

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

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

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

username8 HANDLE YOUR SEAT

username8 MY DUO 😭❤️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As the conversation continues, you can't help but notice how natural it feels now, how easily you're laughing at his jokes and sharing stories. It's hard to believe this is the same person you were avoiding just a few weeks ago.

As other drivers start stirring from their sleep, Franco returns to his original seat, but not before confirming your dinner plans one more time.

Watching him walk away, you find yourself looking forward to Thursday evening more than you probably should. It's just dinner with a colleague, you tell yourself, even as you catch yourself smiling at the thought of it.

"Just dinner," you whisper to yourself, but somehow, you're not entirely convinced.

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yourinstagram has added to their close friends stories

replies:

georgerussell63 So that was all the giggling I heard during the flight

oscarpiastri I’m so telling Logan

maxverstappen1 Can I say “I told you so” now?

francolapinto close friends privileges already? wow

↳ yourinstagram don’t push it colapinto

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The hotel lobby is relatively quiet as you wait for Franco, having agreed to meet there before heading to the restaurant. You've opted for casual - a simple black dress that makes you feel confident but not overdressed.

"Ready to have your mind blown by the best food in Mexico City?" Franco's voice makes you turn. He's wearing dark jeans and a well-fitted navy button-down, and you try not to notice how good he looks.

"Big claims require big proof," you tease, falling into step beside him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Lando's familiar accent cuts through the lobby. He's just coming in from what looks like a gym session, and his surprised smirk makes you want to roll your eyes. "Interesting dinner plans?"

"Just showing YN the local cuisine," Franco says smoothly, though you notice his ears turning slightly pink.

"Right, right," Lando drawls, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The local cuisine. In your nice shirt. At that fancy place you've been talking about for weeks-"

"Goodbye, Lando," you cut him off, grabbing Franco's arm and steering him toward the exit, trying to ignore Lando's knowing chuckle behind you. You knew it was a matter of time before the entire grid finds out you went out with Franco.

The restaurant is everything Franco promised and more. The conversation flows easily between you, and you find yourself charmed by the way he seamlessly switches between Spanish and English while ordering, the way he leans in slightly when you're talking, the way his hand occasionally brushes yours across the table.

"No way," you laugh, taking another sip of wine. "You did not challenge your friend to a dance-off."

"I absolutely did," Franco grins. "And I won, by the way. Though there might have been some tequila involved."

"I would pay good money to see that."

"Play your cards right," he says with a playful wink, "and maybe you'll get a private demonstration."

The flirtatious comment catches you off guard, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks. Franco seems pleased with this reaction, his confidence growing throughout the evening.

The evening continues, warm and comfortable. Franco insists on ordering dessert - "You haven't lived until you've tried their churros con chocolate" - and you find yourself sharing stories between bites of perfectly crispy churros.

"So," Franco says, wiping chocolate from his lip with a napkin, "you, Oscar, and Logan - that's quite the trio. How did that happen?"

You laugh, fondly remembering those early days. "We practically grew up together in karting. I was this tiny kid trying to prove myself, Oscar was already sassy even at eight years old, and Logan… well, Logan was Logan."

"Let me guess - immediate chaos?" Franco grins.

"Oh, absolutely. We used to drive our parents and coaches crazy. These three kids who wouldn't stop racing each other even after practice was over." You smile at the memory. "We've been inseparable ever since. Though now Logan's living his best life in Florida."

Franco's eyes soften. "You really miss having him in the paddock, don't you?"

"Yeah," you admit quietly. "I do. But he's happy, and that's what matters. Plus, he texts me stupid memes at least twenty times a day, so it's like he never left."

After asking for the bill — one that Franco didn't let you pay no matter how much you insisted — you decided to walk back to the hotel. You were aware that his hand was close to yours as you walked side by side, almost brushing your fingers, but you didn't dare to take that step, and neither did he.

You reach the hotel, but instead of heading straight for the elevators, Franco suggests taking the scenic route through the garden. The night is too nice to end just yet.

"I have to say," he remarks as you walk, "you look beautiful tonight. That dress is…" he makes an exaggerated chef's kiss gesture, making you laugh.

"Smooth, Colapinto. Very smooth."

"I try," he winks, and you roll your eyes but can't hide your smile.

The walk to your room comes too quickly. Outside your door, Franco turns to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you for tonight," he says. "It was… nice. Really nice."

"It was," you agree, finding yourself meaning it completely. "Thank you for showing me your favorite spot."

There's a moment where you both just look at each other, the air charged with something unspoken. Franco takes a small step closer, then seems to think better of it.

"Goodnight, YN," he says softly, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

"Goodnight, Franco," you reply, watching him head down the hallway.

As you close the door behind you, you lean against it, smiling to yourself. You can already hear Max's smug "I told you so" tomorrow, but somehow, you can't bring yourself to care.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 14,892 users

f1gossip🚨 Franco Colapinto and YN spotted having dinner together in Mexico City. They spent over two hours at the restaurant according to witnesses.

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username2 This is getting interesting... 👀

username3 STOP I'M CRYING 😭❤️

username4 they're just friends guys, calm down

username4 the way he makes her laugh though!!!

username5 watch how they'll deny everything tomorrow

username6 MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS

username8 this has to be more than just friendship...

username10 I MANIFESTED THIS

username12 focus on racing instead of dating maybe?

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The Brazilian rain hammers down relentlessly on the Interlagos circuit. It's barely 6 AM, but the paddock is already buzzing with nervous energy for the early sprint qualifying. You stifle a yawn as you check your phone for what must be the hundredth time that morning. Another message from Franco pops up - a picture of himself looking comically miserable in the rain with the caption "Maybe if we all pretend we didn't see the rain, they'll cancel quali?"

The past week has been unexpected in the best way possible. After that dinner in Mexico, something shifted. What started as sharing breakfast in the hotel turned into spending every free moment together. During the long flight to São Paulo, George had dramatically sighed and switched seats with Franco, muttering something about "not being able to take the longing looks across the plane anymore."

"Someone's cheerful for 6 AM," Max comments, walking into the garage as you quickly type a response to Franco. "Let me guess - Argetinian company keeping you entertained?"

You try to hide your smile but fail miserably. "Shut up and focus on qualifying."

"Oh, I'm focused," he grins. "Unlike someone who keeps looking at their phone every two minutes."

"I'm just-"

"YN," Max interrupts, counting off on his fingers, "he waited outside our debrief yesterday just to walk you to dinner. He somehow always knows your coffee order. And don't think I didn't notice him giving you his jacket yesterday."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "We're just friends."

"Right," Max smirks. "Friends. Like how Charles and I are 'just friends' when we're trying to punt each other off track."

"Shut up, as if you weren't secretly in love with each other."

A few hours later, as you prepare for the drivers' parade, Oscar sidles up next to you with his trademark grin.

"Well, well, if it isn't the stranger," he says dramatically. "Remember me? One of your best friends? Though I suppose you wouldn't know, being attached at the hip with a certain Williams driver these days."

You roll your eyes, but there's no heat in it. "Miss me that much, Piastri?"

"Just saying, used to be we'd get coffee before parade, now it's all 'Sorry Oscar, Franco already got me coffee,'" he mimics your voice terribly.

You're about to retort when Franco appears, and Oscar's grin widens. "And that's my cue. Have fun, kids!" He winks before sauntering off.

"Ignore him," you say when you notice a small smile in Franco's face, "He's the perpetual pain in my ass."

"He's okay," Franco says, standing closer to you. You're trying to get your hair in order when you realize something's missing.

"Shit," you mutter, patting your pockets. "I forgot my hair tie."

"You always braid it before races, right?"

"Yeah," you sigh, still searching. "I'm stupidly superstitious about it. Haven't gotten into the car without a perfect braid since F3."

"Here," Franco pulls a hair tie from his wrist. At your surprised look, he shrugs. "I started carrying one after Mexico. Just in case," he shrugs, as if he was saying the most obvious thing ever, "Turn around."

"You know how to braid hair?"

"Sisters, remember? I'm practically a professional." His fingers are gentle as they work through your hair. "Besides, can't have you breaking your streak because of a missing hair tie."

You're acutely aware of the other drivers watching with varying degrees of amusement. Lewis gives you a knowing wink as he passes, while Charles not-so-subtly elbows Oscar and gestures toward you two.

"There," he says finally, securing the end with your hair tie. "Perfect braid for perfect racing."

You reach back to feel it - it is indeed perfect. When you turn to thank him, you find him much closer than expected, his eyes soft as they meet yours.

"Show off," you manage to say, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing.

"Only for you," he replies with a wink, and you hear what sounds suspiciously like Alex whispering "Just kiss already" to George.

The moment is broken by the announcement for drivers to take their places on the parade truck. As you climb aboard, you catch Oscar making exaggerated swooning gestures at you, while Max simply mouths "Just friends?" with a knowing smirk.

Franco takes his place beside you on the truck, close enough that your shoulders touch, and somehow you find you don't really care who's watching.

"Nice braid, by the way," Charles calls out teasingly from behind you. "Franco, think you could do mine next time?"

"Get your own hair stylist, Leclerc," you call back, and Franco's laugh next to you makes everything - the bad qualifying, the rain, the teasing - worth it.

The truck starts moving, and Franco's hand finds yours, hidden from view between you. You intertwine your fingers with his, and neither of you let go for the entire parade.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by username1, username2 and 21,765 others

f1_insider🚨 Christian Horner spotted leaving Williams hospitality after a 2-hour meeting in Brazil. This comes amid increasing speculation about driver changes for 2025.

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username1 They're not even trying to be subtle anymore…

username2 leave YN alone challenge

username3 Franco to Red Bull confirmed? 👀

username5 WAIT WHAT

username7 the timing of this… right before quali 😬

username8 everyone acting surprised like this hasn't been brewing for weeks username11 They're trying to destabilize her before the race

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and 2,093,032 others

yourinstagram brazil never disappoints. p15 ➡️ p2. proud of this one.

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username1 IM STILL CRYING

username2 MIC DROP

maxverstappen1 Proper racing today 💪🏻 That defense in the last 10 laps 🔥Love you kiddo, couldn't ask for a better teammate

↳ username1 max said SHE'S NOT GOING ANYWHERE

danielricciardo THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! That's my girl!

username3 EVERYONE'S PRIDE AND JOY

username4 she got lucky and still no win this season

landonorris Absolute monster in the wet

logansargeant THAT'S MY BEST FRIEND

username5 this is why she deserves that seat

username6 where are all the haters now? 🤫

username7 that battle through the midfield was masterclass

username8 Silencing critics in the best way possible

liked by username1, username2 and 14,088 others

f1gossip YN's radio messages during Franco's crash show a different side to their "rivalry." Listen to how her voice changes when she finds out it's him. Sometimes the real feelings come through in moments like these.

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username2 this doesn't sound like someone who "hates" him

username3 top I'm crying 😭

username4 "tell me he's okay" broke me

username6 forget the rivalry narrative, that's genuine concern

username7 MY DRIVERS STOOOOP

username8 this is the most emotion we've heard from her all season

username9 notice how she's been cold towards him for weeks but the second he's in danger…

username10 SOMETHING SHIFTED

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The easy banter has become your normal over the past week. Ever since Brazil, where you fought your way from P15 to P2 in treacherous conditions, something has shifted between you. The walls you'd carefully maintained started crumbling during that rain-soaked weekend.

Your phone buzzes again - this time it's Christian Horner requesting a meeting. Your stomach tightens instinctively. These meetings have become more frequent throughout the season, always with subtle undertones about your future with the team.

Franco: "Meeting with James in 10. Wish me luck not falling asleep in the sim debrief. Call you after?"

You: "Sure, good luck x"

The 'x' slips out before you can stop it - you've never added that before. Your finger hovers over the delete button, but he's already seen it.

Franco: "Did THE YN just send me a kiss? Screenshots being taken. This is historic

You're still smiling about your early interaction with Franco when you walk into Christian Horner's office, but his expression is serious enough to make your smile fade. You've been here before - these "casual meetings" that could determine your future.

"YN, thanks for making time," he gives a polite smile, "Please, take a seat."

You sit, trying to read his expression. Last week's podium trophy sits on a shelf behind him - your trophy, earned after fighting through half the grid.

"As you're aware, your contract includes certain performance clauses. While your recent results, particularly Brazil, have been impressive, we need to consider all options for the team's future."

That familiar knot in your stomach returns. "What kind of options?"

"I was at Williams recently," Christian says carefully, "discussing various possibilities, including Franco Colapinto."

The world seems to tilt slightly. Franco. At Williams. Meeting about possibilities. Just like with Logan.

"I got P2 in Brazil," you say, hating how defensive your voice sounds. "Started P15. In the rain. I battled with the entire grid while also defending for Max to secure a double podium."

"Yes, and it was an exceptional drive-"

"I'm fifth in the championship. I've scored podiums consistently despite the car being a nightmare to drive most of the times. What more do I need to do?"

Christian's expression remains neutral. "This isn't about any single result, YN. We need to evaluate all potential scenarios for the team's future."

"So you're considering replacing me," you say flatly. "With Franco."

"I trust you understand this is just business, YN," Christian says as you stand to leave. "We have to explore every option."

You pause at the door, turning back slightly. "Of course. Business." Your voice is perfectly controlled. "Just like my P2 in Brazil was business. My podiums were business. Everything I've given to this team has been business."

"YN-"

"No, I get it. Really." You manage a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I have some sim work to review."

It hits you as you drive back to your apartment - every friendly conversation, every shared coffee, every late-night text… none of it was real. Franco isn't your friend. He's just another driver who sees you as an obstacle to overcome, a seat to claim. Just like everyone else since you entered F1, smiling to your face while plotting to take what's yours.

Back in your apartment, your phone keeps lighting up with Franco's messages, each one making your chest tighter. You can't bring yourself to block him - that feels too much like acknowledging how much this hurts. Instead, you just... stop responding. Set the phone aside. Focus on your laptop, on race data, on anything else.

Your phone rings - Oscar's familiar face popping up on the screen.

"Finally!" he exclaims when you answer. "I've been trying to reach you all day. You missed the most hilarious thing - Lando tried to make vegemite pasta."

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling. "Please tell me someone filmed it."

The conversation flows easily, almost making you forget about everything else. Almost.

"Oh yeah," Oscar adds casually, "ran into Franco at paddle today. He seemed pretty worried-"

"He better focus on preparing for his Red Bull seat instead."

"His what?" Oscar sounds confused. "Stinks, what are you on about?"

"Horner had meetings at Williams. About Franco. About possibilities. Sound familiar?"

"Hang on, hang on. Did you even talk to Franco about this? Because he genuinely seemed concerned-"

"Of course he seemed concerned, Os. That's the whole point."

"YN, I know you. You're doing that thing where you push people away before they can hurt you. But stinks, I really don't think-"

"I have to go. Sim data to review."

"At least talk to him-"

You end the call, turning back to your laptop. Three races left. Three chances to prove everyone wrong. No more distractions, no more letting your guard down.

You'll do it the only way that matters in F1 - on track, where lap times speak louder than friendly texts, and championship points mean more than shared coffee breaks.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

You've managed three weeks. Three weeks of perfectly crafted indifference, of calling him "the Williams driver" in interviews, of taking different routes through the paddock just to avoid those chance encounters that used to make your heart skip. Three weeks of pretending you don't miss his stupid sparkle messages, or the way he always saves you a coffee during early practice sessions.

But now your hands won't stop shaking as you stare at your dark phone screen, trying to ignore the screens showing the mangled Williams in the Las Vegas Strip. You've watched the replay seventeen times without meaning to, each time feeling your heart stop at the impact.

"This is getting ridiculous," Max's voice is quiet beside you, making you jump. You didn't even hear him approach. "Stop with this nonsense."

"I'm fine," you respond automatically, thumb still pretending to scroll on your black screen. "Just checking the timing sheets."

"Your phone isn't even on." Max's hand appears, gently taking the phone from your trembling grip. "They've taken him to UMC. Just go."

"I can't," you whisper, finally looking up at your teammate. You hate how your voice catches. "Everyone will—"

"Who cares what everyone will say?" Max interrupts, already reaching for your bag. "Hannah's got a car waiting. Go."

"I don't want to," you protest weakly, but even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds. "I don't need to—"

"Stop," Max's voice is firm but gentle. "You're not going back to this. Not after everything. You care about him, stop pretending you don't."

You take a shaky breath, then nod once. You're out of the garage before you can change your mind and rebuild those walls you've spent three weeks perfecting. Because Max is right – you do care. You care so much it terrifies you. And right now, nothing else matters except knowing he's okay.

You hate hospitals. You've spent too many hours in them after your own crashes, but somehow this is worse. Standing outside his room, you're suddenly unsure of everything. Three weeks of carefully constructed distance seems ridiculous now.

"You can come in instead of hovering at the door," Franco's voice carries from inside, slightly hoarse but still holding that hint of amusement that always used to drive you crazy. "Unless you're planning to run away again."

You step inside, trying to maintain some composure even as your heart clenches at the sight of him. "I wasn't running away," you say automatically, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"No?" He raises an eyebrow, wincing slightly at the movement. "So you just happened to take different paddock routes?"

"Franco—"

"It's back to Franco now? Not 'the Williams driver'?" There's hurt beneath his teasing tone, and it makes your chest tight. "That last interview was particularly cold, by the way. Very convincing."

You stay by the door, arms crossed. "I thought that's what everyone wanted. Space. Distance. Rivalry."

"You're here now though."

"Max made me come," you lie.

"Sure he did." Franco's small smile tells you he sees right through you. "Nothing to do with how many times you asked if I was okay over the radio?"

You feel your cheeks heat up. Of course he's heard the radio already. "I would have asked about any driver."

"YN," his voice softens, and it breaks something in you. "Stop pretending. Please. I miss my friend."

The last words hit you hard, and you finally let your arms drop, taking a step closer. "I miss you too," you whisper, and it feels like admitting defeat and victory all at once. "I was so scared when I saw the crash."

"Come here," he says quietly, patting the edge of the bed.

You hesitate for just a moment before crossing the room, carefully sitting beside him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "For these past weeks. For being harsh. For—"

"I know," he interrupts, his hand finding yours. "I know. But you're here now."

You squeeze his hand gently, feeling the walls you've built crumbling completely. "You could have died today and I would have never—" you stop yourself, running your thumb over his knuckles without thinking. "All because of this stupid seat."

Franco's quiet for a moment, then lets out a small laugh that turns into a wince. "Is that what you think? That I'm after your seat?"

"Aren't you?" You try to pull your hand away but he holds on. "The meetings with Christian, the—"

"YN," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him. "I never got any offers from RedBull.”

You freeze. "What?"

"I'm not taking your seat," he says softly. "In fact, I still don't have a seat."

"But...the meetings with Horner?" You're struggling to process this. "He basically told me they were considering options for next season, and those options were you in my seat."

"Sounds to me that he was pressuring you." His eyes hold yours. "My team had meetings with RedBull, yes. But we never got a solid offer, not even for VCARB."

You feel slightly dizzy. Three weeks of avoiding him, of building up walls, of convincing yourself he was just another driver trying to take your seat...

"I'm an idiot, aren't I?" you finally manage.

"Well, you've taken the long way through the paddock just to avoid me," he teases, then becomes serious. "I wouldn't hurt you like that. You know that. Or at least, you used to."

"I got scared," you admit quietly. "When I heard about the meetings, I just... it was easier to push you away than to admit that I care about you."

The silence that follows feels heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Franco squeezes your hand gently.

"Well," he says softly, "nearly dying seems to have worked out well for me then."

"That's not funny," but you're fighting a smile.

"Made you come see me though, didn't it?"

"I hate you," but there's no heat in it.

"No, you don't," he says confidently. "You just admitted you care about me. No taking it back now."

You roll your eyes but don't deny it. "How are you feeling, really?"

"Like I crashed a car at 200mph," he grins, then softens. "Better now though."

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liked by francolapinto, maxverstappen1 and 1,908,479 others

yourinstagram champion x4 🏆so proud to be part of this journey. no one deserves it more than you @/maxverstappen1. thank you for being the best teammate anyone could ask for, on and off track.

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username1 IM CRYINGGGGG

username2 this is my family

maxverstappen1 Couldn't ask for a better teammate and bonus little sister. Thanks for having my back all season 💪🏻

↳ username1 HE SAID SHE'LL ALWAYS BE MY TEAMMATE

danielricciardo Look at my kids making me proud 🥹

christianhorner Fantastic team effort all year. Proud of both of you.

↳ username1 FIX HER CAR AND STOP FEEDING HER TO THE PRESS!!

username5 the way max waited to celebrate until she crossed the finish line

username6 remember when they said they wouldn't get along

username7 brother sister energy we love to see it

francolapinto Amazing work 🙌

↳ username8 bro ready to take her seat

username9 their relationship is too pure. max adores her like she's his little sister and yn would take a murder charge for him pretty much

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After showering and changing post-race, you're walking back to your hotel room when your phone buzzes. Franco's name lights up the screen: "Hey... could you come to my room? Need to get my mind off today. Room 412."

You hesitate only briefly before responding. After everything that's happened - the crash, the hospital, the conversations that followed - things between you have felt different.

Qatar had been grueling, you managed to score a solid P4 but the story for Franco had been different. He was part of a collision during turn one that ended his race right there. You heard it on the radio and your heart couldn't help but ache for him.

When you knock, Franco opens the door looking drained, his usual spark dimmed by the day's events. He's changed into soft sweatpants and a team shirt, hair still damp from his shower.

"That bad, huh?" you say softly, following him into the room.

He drops onto the bed with a sigh. "First lap incidents are the worst. All that preparation, all those hours in the sim… gone in seconds."

You settle into the armchair across from him. "I saw the replay. That wasn't your fault - Hulkenberg came across way too aggressively."

"Doesn't matter whose fault it was. Points are points, and I need them." He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you've come to recognize as stress. "The pressure's getting intense. Everyone keeps asking about next year's plans, and I just… I don't know."

"Hey," you say gently, moving to sit beside him. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there. Everyone sees it."

"Do they?" His voice is uncharacteristically vulnerable. "Because right now it feels like every mistake is being magnified. One DNF and suddenly everyone's questioning if I deserve the seat."

"I know that feeling too well," you admit. "I mean, I spent three weeks avoiding you because I thought you were after my seat."

That draws a small laugh from him. "Not my finest moment in the hospital, guilt-tripping you about it."

"It worked though, didn't it?" you nudge his shoulder playfully, "Plus, I guilt tripped you about Logan's seat for the longest time, it's only fair."

"Yeah, well, I was desperate. Do you know how hard it was watching you take different routes through the paddock just to avoid me?"

"About as hard as it was taking those routes," you say softly. "I missed you."

"You did manage to find some creative paths though," he teases, his mood lightening slightly. "I particularly enjoyed watching you duck behind Lando in the airport."

"I did not duck!"

"You absolutely did. Practically dove behind him. Poor guy had no idea why you suddenly needed an urgent conversation about sim settings."

You feel your cheeks heat up. "Well, what about you? Mr. 'Oh sorry, I didn't see you there' when we literally made eye contact in the media pen?"

"That was Oscar's fault! He told me my hair looked weird and I got distracted."

"Your hair always looks weird."

He gasps in mock offense. "Take that back! This hair has its own fan accounts."

"Yeah, horror fan accounts maybe," you tease.

"Says the person who needed my expert braiding skills before races."

"Which you learned from your sisters, if I remember correctly?"

His expression softens. "Actually… I might have YouTube'd it after Mexico."

That catches you off guard. "You… what?"

"Yeah," he rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking sheepish. "Spent like three hours practicing on a rope I found in the gym. Alex caught me and wouldn't stop laughing."

"That's…" you feel something warm bloom in your chest. "That's actually really sweet."

"Don't tell anyone," he grins. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Oh yeah? What reputation is that?"

"You know, cool, mysterious, definitely not the type to watch hair braiding tutorials."

You laugh. "Hate to break it to you, but anyone who's seen you try to work the coffee machine knows you're not mysterious."

"That machine is complicated!"

"It has three buttons!"

"Three very confusing buttons," he protests. "Besides, you're the one who always shows up right when I'm struggling with it."

"Pure coincidence."

"Right," he smirks. "Just like how you 'coincidentally' started showing up earlier to breakfast after I mentioned that's when I usually go?"

You feel your cheeks warm again. "I just… wanted to beat the rush."

"The rush of exactly two other drivers who eat that early?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you're smiling.

The air between you changes, becomes charged with everything unsaid. You're suddenly very aware of how close you're sitting, how his eyes have dropped to your lips.

He doesn't say anything else, instead, he leans forward and kisses you, soft and careful, like he's afraid you might pull away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you feel yourself melting into the touch.

When he pulls back, you blink at him, slightly dazed. "You kissed me."

His familiar smirk returns, though his eyes remain soft. "Well done, Sherlock."

You roll your eyes at his sass, but can't help smiling. This time, you're the one who leans in, capturing his lips with yours. The kiss is deeper, more certain. His hand slides into your hair as you press closer, and you feel him smile against your mouth.

"You know," he says softly, playing with a strand of your hair, "besides being one of my racing idols, you've also always been my crush."

You pull back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Don't let it go to your head," he grins.

"Oh my god," you laugh. "You were such a fan! Did you have posters too?"

He groans, hiding his face in your shoulder. "I'm never telling you anything again."

"No, no, this is great," you tease. "I'm just a year and a half older than you, Colapinto, and you completely idolized me."

"I hate you," he mumbles into your shoulder.

"No you don't," you say confidently. "You just admitted you had a crush on me."

He lifts his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. "Still do, actually. Although the real you is much more annoying than poster you."

"Poster me didn't call you out on your coffee machine struggles."

"Poster you was much nicer," he agrees, but he's smiling as he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, deeper, filled with everything you've both been holding back. When you finally pull apart, you rest your forehead against his.

"Been wanting to do that for a while," he admits softly.

"Even when I was avoiding you? Or giving you crap to defend my best friend's honor?"

"Especially then. Do you know how adorable you looked trying to pretend you didn't see me in the paddock?"

"Shut up," you laugh.

"Never," he grins, pulling you closer. "I have years of fan stories to make up for."

You kiss him again just to shut him up, but you can feel him smiling against your lips, and you think maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where you're meant to be.

"You're never going to let me live down the fan thing, are you?" he asks when you break apart.

"Not a chance," you smirk. "I bet Alex has pictures of you practicing those braids too."

"Don't you dare!"

But you're already reaching for your phone, laughing as he tries to grab it from you, and somehow you end up tangled together on the bed, both laughing too hard to care about anything else.

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You're halfway through your coffee when Franco appears, wearing his team polo and that signature grin that used to irritate you but now makes your stomach flutter. It's still surreal how much has changed - from despising him for taking Logan's seat, to avoiding him over your seat rumors, to… whatever this is now. He slides into the seat next to you, leaning in for a kiss. You quickly place a hand on his chest, pushing him back playfully.

"Easy there, hotshot," you tease. "Let's keep it professional."

"Professional?" He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come on, don't be shy now. Not after last week."

You feel your cheeks warm at the memory. "Last week was different. We were alone."

"Oh, so that's the rule? Only when we're alone?" He leans closer, lowering his voice. "Should we discuss what else happened when we were alone?"

"Franco!" You swat his arm, but you're fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, for someone who used to avoid me like I had the plague, you sure changed your tune."

"Yeah, well," you stir your coffee, trying to maintain your composure, "turns out you're not as annoying as I thought."

"High praise," he chuckles. "Remember when you wouldn't even look at me in driver briefings?"

"Remember when you replaced my best friend and then tried to steal my seat?"

"I didn't try to steal your seat!" he protests. "That was all media speculation."

Before you can respond, Max drops into the seat across from you, already looking amused at finding you two together.

"Well, well," he says, reaching for the coffee pot. "If it isn't my favorite teammate and her… what are we calling this now?"

You roll your eyes. "We're calling it none of Max's business."

"Everything is Max's business," Max says cheerfully. "Especially when said business involves my teammate getting cozy with the competition."

Franco's phone buzzes and his expression shifts slightly as he reads the message, and you catch that flicker of worry he's been trying to hide all weekend. The weight of it being potentially his last race in F1 has been hanging over both of you.

"Engineers?" you ask softly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Last pre-race meeting of the season. Hopefully not my last ever," he adds, attempting a joke that falls flat.

You reach for his hand under the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "Hey, you've shown what you can do this year. The pace is there, the talent is there-"

"The results aren't," he cuts in, running his free hand through his hair. "DNF and crashes don't exactly scream 'keep me for next year.'"

"The car's been shit though," Max speaks up, "Everyone knows that. You've outqualified your teammate and scored points."

"Try telling that to the team principals," Franco says, attempting a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, better go before they add 'chronically late' to my resume." He stands, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "See you later?"

"Of course," you say softly. "Good luck in the meeting."

Once Franco leaves, Max leans forward, "Okay, spill. Everything. Now."

"There's nothing to spill."

"Nothing to spill?" Max scoffs. "Last month you were convinced he was plotting to take your seat, and now he's kissing you goodbye at breakfast? That's not nothing."

"You don't need to know everything about my life, Max," you try to busy yourself with your coffee, that's pretty much cold by now.

"I'm the older brother you never wanted but got stuck with anyway, so I do need to know about these things."

You sigh, knowing he won't let this go. "Fine. After Qatar, things changed. We… spent time together."

"Spent time together?" Max wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"Not like that!" you protest, then lower your voice. "Well, not just like that. We talked a lot. About everything again - the rumors, the misunderstandings, why I was so angry about Logan, and… I don't know. It's different now. Good different. When I'm with him, everything just feels…" you trail off, searching for the right words.

"Right?" Max supplies, his teasing tone softening.

"Yeah," you admit. "Which makes this whole situation even harder. If he doesn't get a seat…"

"Then you'll figure it out," Max says, "But let's not write him off yet. Season's not over until the checkered flag."

You nod, but can't help glancing at the door Franco left through. "You know what's ironic?" you say, turning back to Max. "A few months ago, I was worried about him taking my seat. Now I'd give anything for him to have one, anywhere on the grid."

Max smiles knowingly. "Amazing what a few kisses can do."

"It's not just that," you protest. "He deserves to be here. He's so talented-"

"And you're completely smitten," Max interrupts, grinning.

"Shut up," You throw a napkin at him. "I'm getting a new teammate next year," you declare.

"No you're not," Max laughs. "You love me." He pauses, suddenly looking both nervous and excited. "Actually… want to know a secret?"

Something in his tone makes you lean forward. "Always."

"Kelly's pregnant," he says, a huge grin spreading across his face. "We just found out last month"

You practically leap across the table to hug him, nearly knocking over both your coffees in the process. "Oh my god! Max! I'm going to be an auntie!"

He laughs, hugging you back. "Actually…" he pulls back slightly to look at you, "What do you think about being a godmother?"

Your eyes widen. "Are you serious?"

"Of course," he grins. "Who else would I trust to teach my kid how to properly terrorize the paddock?"

You feel tears welling up in your eyes. "I'm going to spoil them so much," you warn, hugging him again. "Like, an absolutely ridiculous amount."

"I know," he laughs. "That's kind of counting on it."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Just family for now," he says. "And you, obviously. Because you are family."

You're definitely crying now. "I hate you for making me cry before a race weekend."

"Sure you do," he grins. "Just like you hate Franco, right?"

You wipe your eyes, deciding to ignore his comment. "God, I can't believe you're going to be a dad!"

"Me neither," he admits, and there's something soft and vulnerable in his expression that makes your heart squeeze. "It's scary but… in a good way, you know?"

"You're going to be amazing," you tell him seriously. "The best dad ever."

His smile turns mischievous. "Just wait until Franco gets you pregnant-"

"And that's my cue to leave," you gather your things. "Congratulations again, future dad. I love you, even when you're the worst."

His laughter follows you out of the room. "Love you too, future godmother!"

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liked by maxverstappen1, francolapinto and 2,099,437 others

yourinstagram ABU DHABI WINNER! 🏆✨ still feels surreal to type those words. to win the last race of the season, after everything… no words can describe this feeling. thank you to every single person who never stopped believing in me, even when things got tough. to my incredible team - this one's for you. we did it! 🧡

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username1 SHE FUCKING DID IT

username2 first win of the season in the last race - poetic justice

username3 the way everyone doubted her at the start of the season and now look at her QUEEN BEHAVIOR

logansargeant YESSSS! That move was legendary! So proud of you!

username4 this feels so RIGHT

francolapinto Mi campeona 🖤 That last lap move was 🔥

↳ username1 IM CRYING OMFG

↳ username2 THEY'RE SO TOGETHER I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

username5 brb i'll be crying while i watch that video of her hugging franco

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You're still riding the high of your Abu Dhabi win as you unlock your apartment door. Your first win of the season, in the last race - it feels poetic, somehow. Like a final "fuck you" to everyone who doubted you, who questioned your seat, who spent the entire season speculating about your future.

The trophy sits in your bag, along with the champagne bottle Charles insisted you keep. Franco follows you in, still wearing that soft smile he's had since he watched you cross the finish line.

He's staying at your apartment since he doesn't have a place in Monaco and the now traditional drivers dinner is happening, after all you time together, inviting him over felt...natural.

The past few days have been a whirlwind - the podium, the celebrations, the multiple kisses stolen in your motorhome between media duties. The flight to Monaco where you both pretended to sleep but kept "accidentally" touching hands. It should feel fast, rushed, but somehow it just feels right.

"Still can't believe you pulled that move on the last lap," Franco says, dropping his bags by the door. "Even Max was impressed, I think you broke his brain a little."

"Speaking of broken, try not to destroy anything while you're here," you tease. "Some of us actually live in Monaco full-time."

Franco turns to you with mock offense. "When have I ever broken anything?"

"Do you want the list chronologically or alphabetically?" you raise an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember a certain incident with Lewis' scooter…"

"That was a manufacturing defect and you know it," he protests, moving closer.

"Sure it was," you laugh. "Just like the tablet in Singapore was a 'technical malfunction'?"

He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne, the same one that's been driving you crazy since Qatar. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never," you confirm, but your voice comes out softer than intended because he's looking at you the way he has been since that first kiss in his room - like you're something precious.

"Guest room's down the hall," you say quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Bathroom's across from it, you know the drill."

Franco raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes that you're starting to know too well. "You're really going to make me take the guest room? After all our bonding?"

"Bonding?" you scoff. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Well, what would you call making out in your motorhome? And the plane bathroom? And-"

You cut him off by pressing your hand to his mouth. "Those were… moments of weakness."

He kisses your palm before moving your hand, and the simple gesture shouldn't make your heart race like it does. "Lots of moments."

"I was emotionally vulnerable," you argue weakly.

"Uh-huh," he steps closer, backing you against the wall. "And now?Are you emotionally vulnerable now?" His hands find your waist, and you try to ignore how right they feel there.

"I'm…" you start, but then he's kissing you, slow and deep, and you forget what you were going to say.

When he pulls back, you're both breathing heavily. "We should get ready for dinner," you manage.

"We should," he agrees, but kisses you again.

"Franco," you mumble against his lips. "We're already late."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck.

It ends up being fifteen minutes before you finally push him away, your lips swollen and hair slightly messed up.

"Guest room," you point firmly. "Get changed."

He grins, stealing one last quick kiss before grabbing his bag. "Yes, boss."

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yourinstagram has added to their close friends story

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You arrive at Lewis' Monaco penthouse a fashionably acceptable ten minutes late, Franco's hand resting casually on your lower back as the elevator opens to the top floor. The space is already filled with the familiar chatter of your fellow drivers, the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Look who finally made it," Charles calls out, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Got lost on the way from your apartment? It's only three blocks…"

"Traffic," you say smoothly, ignoring Franco's poorly concealed laugh beside you.

"Must have been terrible," Alex joins in, eyes twinkling. "Considering you live literally around the corner."

Lewis appears, saving you from having to respond. He hugs you warmly before turning to Franco with a grin. "No scooters allowed inside this time, mate."

"That was one time!" Franco protests as everyone laughs. "And it was definitely faulty manufacturing."

The evening flows easily, conversation and wine flowing freely as everyone celebrates the end of another season. You find yourself constantly aware of Franco's presence - the way he automatically hands you your favorite wine, how his hand finds yours under the table, the soft looks he gives you when he thinks no one's watching.

(They're all watching. These are racing drivers - subtlety isn't their strong suit.)

"Get together, everyone!" you call out later, holding up your phone. "I want a picture."

There's the usual chaos of twenty-odd drivers trying to arrange themselves, plenty of shoving and laughing as everyone finds their spot. Franco ends up behind you, his chest pressed against your back, hands resting lightly on your waist.

"Alright, someone else take it," Lando announces. "YN's too busy making heart eyes at Franco to frame it properly."

"I am not-"

"You kind of are," Pierre interrupts with a grin.

"Just like in Abu Dhabi," Oscar adds. "And the flight home. And baggage claim. And-"

"I hate all of you."

The night continues with more conversation, more drinks, and constant teasing from your friends. Even Charles joins in, muttering something about "finally dealing with all that sexual tension in the briefings."

By the time you leave, you're both pleasantly tipsy, walking back to your apartment with slightly unsteady steps. The moment your door closes behind you, the atmosphere shifts.

"So," he says finally, stepping closer. "About that guest room…"

"What about it?" you ask, but you're already moving toward him.

"I'm thinking," he cups your face with one hand, "that it would be a shame to use it."

"Would it?"

"Mhmm," he's close enough now that you can feel his breath on your lips. "Especially when the winner deserves proper celebrations."

"Or maybe you're just being a horndog," you tease, even as your hands find their way to his chest.

"Maybe," he concedes. "Or maybe I just can't stop thinking about kissing you."

Your breath catches. "You've already kissed me plenty today."

"Not enough," he murmurs, then proves his point by capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is different from all the others. Those were stolen moments, quick and heated. This is slower, deeper, like he's trying to memorize every second.

"Don't make me take the guest room," he murmurs against your lips.

You pretend to think about it, even as your hands slip under his shirt. "Well, since you asked so nicely…"

"I can be very nice," he grins, then kisses you again, backing you toward your bedroom.

"Prove it," you challenge.

The guest room remains empty that night. And many nights after.

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liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and 2,044,387 others

yourinstagram i love my little dysfunctional family !! yes i'm the one behind the camera

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username1 THIS IS LEGENDARY

username3 FRANCO'S FACE ??? DEVASTATED BC HIS GIRL IS NOT NEXT TO HIM

lewishamilton Always family ❤️

oscarpiastri Never sitting between you and your lover boy again..

↳ username1 HUH??

↳ username2 oscar spill the deets PLEASE

↳ logansargeant to the gc NOW

↳ username3 LET ME INNNNN

↳ username4 im crying

↳ yourinstagram i hate you both

francolapinto ❤️

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yn's biggest fans groupchat

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You're curled up on your couch, watching the lights of Monaco twinkle through your window as snow falls softly outside. Franco's just finished unpacking his bags, having arrived from Argentina an hour ago. The past weeks without him felt strangely empty, even though you'd been surrounded by family for Christmas.

"Mama keeps asking about the foods I mentioned you cook," Franco says, settling beside you with a grin. "She's convinced I'm making it up."

"Did you tell her it's mostly pasta and those empanadas you taught me to make?"

"Si, but she says my standards have dropped since moving to Europe," he laughs, stealing some of your blanket. "How was your family?"

"Good. Dad's still buzzing about Abu Dhabi. He's watched the replay about fifty times, especially that last lap battle with Max," you grin, throwing your legs over his lap. "How was home?"

"Hot," he sighs contentedly. "Really hot. Nothing like a proper Argentinian summer."

"Meanwhile I was freezing in London," you poke his side. "Speaking of which… don't you have some news to share?"

He raises an eyebrow. "How did you-"

"Carlos texted me. He's terrible at keeping secrets."

Franco runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture you've come to recognize. "I signed with Williams. As their reserve driver for next season, there's talk about 2026, but nothing concrete yet."

"Franco!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him. "That's amazing!"

He hugs you back, letting out a relieved laugh. "You think so?"

"Of course I do!" you pull back to look at him. "Williams is doing great things, and with Carlos and Alex there…" you trail off, seeing something in his expression. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing bad," he assures quickly. "Just… I'll be based in England a lot. For simulator work and development."

"Oh," you say quietly, understanding dawning. You'd gotten used to having him here, in your space, in the paddock, in your life.

"Hey," he tilts your chin up. "It's not that far. And I'll still be at all the races. Plus," his lips quirk up, "I hear Nice has a pretty good airport."

You can't help but smile. "True. And I suppose I could be convinced to visit Grove occasionally."

"Only occasionally?" he teases.

"Well, I am very busy and important," you say loftily, making him laugh.

His eyes drop to your lips. "I'm sure you can save some time for me," he murmurs before closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft and familiar, like coming home after a long trip. When you pull back, he's wearing that small smile that always makes your stomach flip.

You settle back against him, comfortable silence falling between you. "Talk to me about next season," he says eventually. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

"Honestly? I'm nervous," you admit. "Abu Dhabi was amazing, but what if it was just luck? What if I can't do it again?"

"The same way Suzuka was luck? And Singapore? And that insane qualifying in Baku?" Franco shifts to look at you properly, "You've been fast all season. Abu Dhabi just proved what everyone already knew."

"Smooth," you laugh, then remember something. "Oh! Speaking of next year - what are you doing for New Year's Eve?"

"Nothing yet. Why?"

"Logan's throwing a party in Florida for his birthday. Want to come?"

Franco hesitates. "Won't that be…"

"What? Weird because you stole his seat?" you tease, making him groan.

"I thought we cleared that up months ago," he protests.

"We did, I just like messing with you," you grin. "Come on, it'll be fun. There'll be cake."

“You know my weakness,” he sighs dramatically. “Does this mean I get to kiss you at midnight?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be my midnight kiss,” you tease, even as you lean into him.

“No? Planning on kissing someone else?” he raises an eyebrow, hands settling on your waist.

“Maybe. Logan might have a hot friend…”

"Terrible," he murmurs against your lips. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you whisper back, just before he kisses you again.

When you finally break apart, he's already reaching for the remote. "Want to watch Qatar?"

You groan, but you're smiling. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he says confidently, pulling up the race highlights.

And as he starts his terrible commentary, making you laugh despite yourself, you think about how easy this is - whatever this is between you. No labels, no pressure, just… this.

Outside, Monaco continues to sparkle under the falling snow, but in here, with Franco's warmth beside you and his voice in your ear pointing out "that brilliant move you did in turn 4" for the hundredth time, you think maybe some things don't need defining to be perfect.

Plus, you already know who your midnight kiss is going to be. Not that you'll tell him that - his ego's big enough as it is.

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f1gossip Spotted: F1's power couple enjoying a day out in Monaco! Franco Colapinto and YN were seen strolling around today, looking very cozy! The pair, who have been subject to dating rumors seemed to have no interest in hiding their relationship anymore.

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username1 THE FUUUUUCK

username2 i don't like this..

username3 FRANCO GET AWAYYYY she's going to distract him

username4 why is this lowkey powerful

username5 THIS PLOT TWIST OMFG

username6 i thought they hated each other ??

username7 oh how the tables have turned

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Music pulses from Logan's Miami beach house as you and Franco make your way up the palm-lined driveway. The December air is surprisingly warm, fairy lights twinkling in every tree and reflecting off the pool visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Your hand is loosely intertwined with Franco's, something that still gives you butterflies even after weeks of... whatever this is between you.

"Birthday boy!" you call out as Logan spots you from the entrance, where he's greeting guests in a ridiculous party hat and an even more ridiculous Hawaiian shirt.

"If it isn't my best friend and the guy who stole my seat," Logan grins, pulling you into a tight hug before turning to Franco with an exaggerated suspicious look that quickly breaks into a genuine smile. "Good to see you, man."

"Happy birthday," Franco offers with a grin, accepting Logan's enthusiastic handshake-turned-hug. "Nice shirt."

"Right? YN said it was terrible, but what does she know about fashion?"

"Hey!" you protest, but you're laughing. "I have great taste."

Logan's eyes drift meaningfully to your joined hands. "Clearly," he smirks, making you blush and Franco chuckle. "Drinks are everywhere, food's by the pool, try not to fall in."

"That was one time," you mutter as Logan gets pulled away by more arriving guests.

Franco raises an eyebrow. "One time?"

"Don't ask. Come on, I need a drink before I tell you that story."

After getting drinks, you find yourself drifting between groups, Franco's hand a constant presence at the small of your back or linked with yours. It's nice, you think, not having to overthink every interaction, every touch. Here, away from the paddock and the cameras, you can just... be.

It's about an hour into the party when Logan finds you again, now sporting two party hats and what looks suspiciously like glitter on his cheek.

"Stinks! Just the person I wanted to see," he announces, dragging you away from where Franco is deep in conversation with Alex. "Back in five," he tells Franco with an exaggerated wink that makes you roll your eyes.

"Subtle," you comment as Logan leads you to the makeshift bar.

"Please, subtle went out the window when you two showed up holding hands like teenagers at prom," he snorts, mixing drinks with practiced ease. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're fighting a smile.

"Me? Start something? Never," he puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I just find it interesting that the same person who spent three hours ranting to me about 'that arrogant Argentine who stole your seat' is now making heart eyes at him across my party."

"You're impossible."

"And you're happy," he says softly, his teasing tone giving way to something more sincere. "Like, really happy. I haven't seen you like this in… well, ever."

You look down at your drink, feeling your cheeks warm. "Yeah, well…"

"Hey," Logan nudges your shoulder. "It's a good thing. You deserve this, YN. Someone who gets you, who understands the pressure and the crazy schedule and still looks at you like you hung the moon."

"He doesn't-"

"He absolutely does. Trust me, I've been watching him watch you all night. It's disgustingly cute."

"I'm kind of scared, Logan," you look down at your hands nervously, "Six months ago, I hated him. And now I can't picture myself apart from him. It's all happening really fast and I'm not quite sure when everything shifted, but I feel like there's no going back now. And that's terrifies me."

"Stinks," Logan says gently, "you didn't hate him. You were hurt because of how everything went down with the seat, and you projected that onto him. I get being scared. This sport… it complicates things. But I've seen how he looks at you and how you look at him. It's okay to have feelings for him."

"How do you always know what to say?" you look up at him.

"Because I'm your best friend," he squeezes your shoulder. "Now go get your man. And please kiss him at midnight so I can win the bet with Alex."

"You bet on us?!"

"The whole grid did. I have fifty bucks riding on tonight!"

Later, as midnight approaches, you find yourself on the beach with Franco, fairy lights and stars twinkling above. Your conversation with Logan keeps playing in your mind, making you fidgety.

"You okay?" Franco asks softly, touching your arm.

"FIVE MINUTES!" someone shouts from the house.

"I have feelings for you," you blurt out. "Like, real feelings. And I know it's fast and complicated and I was horrible to you at first because I was hurt about the seat thing but then you were so nice and understanding and you brought me coffee after bad practice sessions and you defended me to the press and you make me laugh even when I'm trying to be mad and your accent gets thicker when you're tired which is unfairly adorable and-"

"THREE MINUTES!"

"-and sometimes I catch you looking at me in debriefs and it makes me forget what I'm saying and Oscar keeps making these knowing faces at us and I pretend to be annoyed but actually I kind of like it and-"

"SIXTY SECONDS!"

"-and I know this could complicate everything but I can't stop thinking about you and the way you smile when you see me in the morning and how you remember how I like my coffee and-"

"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"

"-and maybe this is crazy but I really really like you and I know we should probably talk about what this means for next season but-"

"FOUR! THREE!"

"-and I just needed you to know-"

"TWO! ONE!"

Franco cuts off your rambling with a kiss, one hand cupping your face while the other pulls you closer. You melt into him as fireworks explode overhead, your heart racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the celebration around you.

When he pulls back, he's wearing that soft smile that always makes your stomach flip. "You're so cute when you rant."

"I don't rant," you protest weakly.

"Mi amor, you just spent ten minutes listing all the things you like about me, including my accent."

"Shut up."

He laughs, pressing his forehead to yours. "I want to be with you, YN. Officially, properly, no more undefined territory. I want everyone to know that you're mine and I'm yours. I want morning coffees and post-race celebrations and quiet moments like this. I want all of it, with you."

"Yeah?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah," he confirms, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I'm crazy about you, in case my terrible attempts at flirting haven't made that obvious."

"Your flirting isn't terrible."

He kisses you again, laughing against your lips. "So… is that a yes?"

You pretend to think about it. "I don't know, Logan's friend is looking pretty good tonight…"

"Terrible," he murmurs, pulling you impossibly closer. "You're terrible."

"You like it," you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I like everything about you."

Your heart skips. "Everything?"

"Everything," he confirms. "Even your terrible taste in coffee."

You laugh, bright and happy, before pulling him down for another kiss. Around you, the party continues, music and waves and distant fireworks creating a perfect backdrop to this moment. When you finally break apart, you're both breathless and smiling.

"Happy New Year," you murmur.

"The happiest," he agrees, and as he leans in again, you think that maybe some feelings are worth being scared of, especially when they lead to moments like this.

Plus, you just won Logan a bet. Not that you'll tell him that.

[dragon-ball-meta]

Finally feel like I can say something coherent, so here goes... I say this without a shred of exaggeration: Akira Toriyama was legitimately one of the most important creative figures of the last 50 years. His work, especially Dragon Ball, has influenced SO much even outside its own medium. Movies, TV, cartoons, comic books, video games, MUSIC... all of it. You can see his fingerprints in so many other works. Even now, artists and writers, voice actors and animators, musicians and game devs are all mourning him and reflecting on the impact he had on their own work. Titans of anime and manga are sharing in this pain. The craziest thing about this though? The humility he had in spite of it. He was always reluctant to be in the spotlight, preferred to keep his head down and just work, never really worried that much about public perception of himself. Part of what makes him such an icon, man. Losing him is losing a piece of our shared history. It's something that resonates deep in the hearts of everyone his work touched. This is just... such a loss. And I can't even begin to imagine what his family is going through right now. Praying for them all. Rest in Peace to a literal Legend, an absolute Icon, and a personal inspiration in more ways than I could ever express properly.

[cinnamongrl2006]

♱ Knight!Simon Riley x Princess!reader ♱ part one | part 2

a/n: I love knight x princess stories, maybe because I want a strong capable man to take care of me, oh well, who knows. Also, I can't write accents phonetically for the life of me, so take what I give you plspls!!

warnings: fem reader, pure fluff, sfw

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♱ Knight!Simon Riley who fell in love with you the second he stepped foot in the castle. He was assigned to watch and take care of you, the princess, before a worthy suitor whisked you away to another land, where you were to rule as queen.

That was the plan your family, your kingdom had set out for you, that was the future that awaited you. That was the future you wanted, or so you thought until you met him, your knight. The townspeople and the people of the court called him Ghost, they worshipped him almost as if he was a legend, they feared him.

He was tall, big all over. He'd expected you to be somewhat reluctant at his sudden proximity, scared of him, repulsed at his appearance— at his grotesque appearance, he thought, big gloved hands gripping the sword in his belt, face covered by his dark helmet. He expected you to treat him like all royals treated the service, like a lap dog, like an appendage, a simple accessory.

But you didn't. You looked at him like he hung the moon and stars, spoke to him as an equal, regarded him with wide eyes. You sat by the training yard when he'd practice swordfighting, a hand over your eyes to shield yourself from the sun, and you'd clap and cheer him on.

A week later he told you his real name, Simon. "But you can call me Si, love." He said it softly, walking you to the drawing room with a hand on the small of your back. His fingers tightened against the fabric of your dress when you repeated his name softly, to remember it better you'd said.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who started to get closer to you, to trust you, quicker than he usually did. He thought maybe it was because of the way you smiled at him when you caught him staring, or the way you laughed at his totally unfunny jokes like they were comedy gold.

At night, after he walked you to your quarters he'd go and stand under your window, because you always wanted to keep talking to him past your bedtime. You thought it was a shame it was dark outside when he had his helmet off, his voice was so deep, and his hands so big, his touch so warm— he had to be handsome.

He'd read to you, perched against a tree trunk, looking up at the balcony where he could make out the outline of your frame. He'd stay there with you until you started to yawn, and the sky turned orange, right before the birds sang. And then he'd walk back to his quarters and get as much sleep as he could before he had to be at your door again, picking you up after you got dressed, steering you to the dining room with a hand on the small of your back.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who, after weeks of dismissing your pleas, takes off his helmet in front of you. He doesn't like taking it off when he's at work, doesn't like being Simon when he's in the suit and armor, but for you he's already made an exception. He's surprised when you pull him down for a kiss behind a tree. You're taking a walk on the far side of the gardens, where the trees are tall and the foliage thick, and the sun doesn't get in your eyes.

After that day it became a common occurrence; you'd pull on his arm and steer him outside of the throne room. Tell your mother you were going for a walk, you'd be back before dinner, and you'd spend the entire afternoon tangled together under a weeping willow.

♱ Knight!Simon Riley who told you he loved you one of those afternoons. Your head rested on his chest— armor discarded a while ago, his undershirt billowed in the wind— listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart and the rumbling anytime he spoke.

You had been telling him about a painting class you'd taken that day, his hums and caresses lulling you to sleep. It was the perfect occasion for him to say it, he couldn't hold it in any longer but he feared scaring you away if he said it out loud, the reality of your situation weighed heavy in his heart.

So he leaned his head down and kissed the top of your head, and with his lips pressed against your hair he said it.

"Love you s' much, sweetheart."

For a second he thought you really were asleep, and his words, his adoration for you, would stay a secret that only the trees that grew among you would know. But he felt you stir in his embrace, felt your hands snake around his neck, your lips find his jaw.

"Love you too, Simon."

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@cupidsworstcrime convinced me to write this 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Requests are open!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[fishofthewoods]

I see a lot of people clowning on the people of Pelican Town for not repairing the community center themselves or clowning on Lewis for embezzling and. like. Those criticisms aren't entirely unfair. But I think instead of coming at it from a perspective of "why can't the townspeople do this" we should be asking "why and how can the farmer do this?"

Like. Think about it. The farmer arrives in Stardew Valley on the first day of spring. By the first day they're obviously different. By day five the spirits of the forest who haven't been seen by the townsfolk in years or generations are speaking to them. By the second week they've developed a rapport with the wizard that lives outside town.

In the spring they go foraging and find more than even Linus, who's spent so many years learning the ways of the valley. Maybe he knows, when he sees them walking back home. Maybe he looks at them and understands that they're different, chosen somehow.

In the summer they fish in the lakes and the ocean for hours on end, catching fish that even Willy's only ever heard of, fish that he thought were the stuff of legend. They pull up giants from the deep and mutated monstrosities from the sewers.

In the fall, their crops grow incredibly immense; pumpkins twice as tall as a person, big enough that someone could live inside. The farmer cuts it down with an axe without even batting an eye. Does Lewis wonder, when he checks the collection bin that night and finds it full to the brim with pumpkin flesh? What does he think? Does he even leave the money? Does he have the funds to pay the farmer millions of dollars for the massive amounts of wine they sell? Or is it someone--something--else entirely?

In the winter, the farmer delves into the mines. No one in Pelican Town has been down there in decades. No one in living memory has been to the bottom. The farmer gets there within the season. They return to the surface with stories of dwarven ruins and shadow people, stories they only tell to Vincent and Jas, whose retellings will be dismissed by the adults as flights of fancy. People walking by the entrance to the mines sometimes hear the farmer in there, speaking in a language no one can understand. Something speaks back.

The farmer speaks to the the wizard. They speak to the spirit of a bear inside a centuries-old stone. They speak to the shadow people and the dwarves, ancient enemies, and they try to mend the rift. They speak to the Junimos, ancient spirits of the forest and the river and the mountain. They taste the nectar of the stardrops and speak to the valley itself. They change Pelican Town, and they change the valley. Things are waking up.

And what does Evelyn think? She's the oldest person in the valley; she was here when the farmer's grandfather was young. (How old *is* she, anyway? She never seems to age. She doesn't remember the year she was born.) Does she see the farmer and think of their grandfather? Does she try to remember if he was like this too, strange and wild and given the gifts of the forest?

And does their grandfather haunt the valley? He haunts the farm, still there even after his death; his body died somewhere else, but his spirit could never stay away for long. Does Abigail, using her ouija board on a stormy night, almost drop the planchette when she realizes it's moving on its own? Does Shane, walking to work long before anyone else leaves their house, catch glimpses of a wispy figure floating through the town? Does the farmer know their grandfather came back to the place they both love so much?

Mr. Qi takes interest in the farmer. He's different, too; in a different way, maybe, but the principles are the same. They're both exceptional, and no matter what Qi says about it being hard work and dedication, they both know the truth: the world bends around the both of them, changing to fit their needs. Most people aren't visited by fairies or witches. Most people don't have meteorites crash in their yard. Most people couldn't chop down trees all day without a break or speak to bears and mice and frogs.

The farmer is different. The rules of the world don't work for them the way they work for everyone else. The farmer goes fishing and finds the stuff of fairy tales. The farmer goes mining and fights shadow beasts and flying snakes. The farmer looks at paths the townspeople walk every day and finds buried in the dirt relics of lost civilizations.

The farmer is a violent, irrepressible miracle, chosen by the valley and destined to return to it someday. Even if they'd never received the letter, they would've come home.

They always come home eventually.

[societyfolklore]

Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ��️

Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader

Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.

A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.

All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.

You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.

No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.

And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.

You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.

What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?

Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.

“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.

She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”

It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.

You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”

"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.

“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.

She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.

"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."

You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"

"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.

"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."

The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.

So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.

You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?

~#~#~#~#~#~

Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.

He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.

“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”

Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”

Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.

“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.

Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”

Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.

Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~

You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.

The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.

You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?

You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.

You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.

You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.

And he was... everything.

He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.

The phone buzzed again.

Guilt stabbed through your chest.

He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.

“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.

“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”

There was a pause.

“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.

You closed your eyes. He knew you.

“No.”

Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”

Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.

He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.

You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.

You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.

You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”

You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”

“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.

“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”

His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.

“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.

You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”

There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

“You see these?”

You nodded.

“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”

You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.

He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.

“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”

Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”

He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”

You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.

“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”

~#~#~#~#~#~

In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.

He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.

“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”

His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth. 

“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”

His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants. 

“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”

His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.

He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.

He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.

“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”

He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.

He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.

“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”

You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.

When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.

And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.

Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”

You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.

His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.

When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.

And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.

It was coming home.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.

“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”

You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.

He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[sugarlywhispers]

viking!b.katsuki x fem!reader

a.n; i wanted to give viking!bakugou a try, and honestly, this is all @imaginationmess fault for feeding me fanarts of bakugou and his dragon🙃 luv you tho🤍

Viking Bakugou Katsuki who rides the biggest and most terrifying dragon that has ever existed.

A legend said that his dragon in particular had been going on for generations in his family, no one willing to risk their life to tame it. Until Katsuki’s uncle, Bakugou Kudo, did it. He had been the first in generations to ride this dragon. Yet he understood that the bond between dragon and riders was not consolidated between them.

When Katsuki was eight, the little shit escaped the hut and went towards where the nests were. Kudo almost had a heart attack when he saw the brat far off and almost there. He sprinted as fast as he could, a tragedy already displaying in his head –the kid being incinerated, turned to ashes, and his sister cutting his dick off for being a sorry ass uncle. Fuck, and he would had deserved it. Because even though he had tamed the beast, it was still very unstable to let anyone close to it; one of his own men had suffered the consequences of trying to get close, more than half his body had been burned. He was no longer part of their battles.

However, Kudo saw in first person how a dragon’s bond was created. Between his terrifying dragon and his little nephew.

It hadn’t looked much from his perspective, yet he felt the magical aura surrounding them. Katsuki laughed as he touched the dragon’s snot like it was a mer pup, happy and excited while climbing its leg with such ease until he was up on its back, right behind the head. The dragon himself helped the kid to reach the place. Kudo noticed then the beast’s eyes shining a very resplendent gold. Yep, that was definitely a bond.The kid was anything but scared, as he caressed the dragon's head, hugging it even.

Kudo smiled, shaking his head, hands over his hips as he took a deep breath, relaxing. The dragon was only letting him ride it because it knew that Katsuki was his bonded rider and Kudo was related by blood to the kid.

As years went by, the bond only became stronger and deeper. Kudo would ride it in battles, but once at home, the brat and the beast were like one. When Katsuki turned eighteen, Kudo retired from battles and settled down with a wife and kids at the village located next to that of where their family originally came from. From that day on, the brat became the dragon’s one and only owner.

Katsuki was the only human being able to control, care for and command this massive dragon, also becoming the nightmare of most villages in the world. Both, dragon and rider were vicious, deadly and feared.

You still remember the day Bakugou Katsuki landed on your lands. The bright blue sky suddenly turned dark, the huge dragon he rode clouding the sun above. Everyone knew what it meant. Destruction and chaos, the end of their peaceful lives.

The Leader of the village, your dad, didn’t waste time in trying to negotiate a truce between them.

And that truce is you.

You are forced to marry him, to leave your family, friends and life there and go with this barbaric man. You are a bit afraid he is some sort of savage. Rumors told how violent he was, how scary he looked with his scars and aggressive attitude towards everyone. Now that you have said man in front of you, you agreed with all of them.

You were expecting him to manhandle you, to treat you like another woman he picked to use for his own pleasure. Yet all you received since you stepped foot in his village, in his home, had been nothing but coldness and distance. He has kept to himself, doing his stuff and trying not to get in your way. Least to say, it has been completely awkward since the ceremony.

When you are getting ready for it, his mom enters his-your hut. She smiles, a sincere feeling in her eyes, “Being the daughter of a Leader sucks, ain’t it?”

You look down, a slight smile on your face that agrees with her but eyes filled with tears you’re holding back. “It does.”

You feel her hand on your shoulder, and the little squish she gives it in reassurance makes the knot in your throat tighter.

“My son is not a charming prince; however, I know the kind of man I raised him to be. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t say anything in response. You don’t even look back at her, but you think she didn’t expect it either as she walks out, leaving you alone. As you walk towards the entrance, fully knowing that once you cross it, your soon to be husband will be waiting at the end of the aisle, all you can wish is that Ms. Bakugou is right.

When the ceremony reaches its end, the old lady of his village drawing the symbols of union, love and family in your foreheads, Bakugou extends his hands for you to lay yours over his. You still haven’t looked him in the eyes, but you do what's expected for the ceremony. When your hands touch the skin of his, you can't avoid thinking how warm they feel. Big calloused, rough and strong hands surround yours, and you don't hate the feeling. On the contrary, it’s quite comforting. The old lady ties a beautifully white and gold silk ribbon around your hands, symbolizing the union of the souls.

While everyone cheers, you finally decide to raise your eyes towards him. Deep red eyes collide with yours, making a shudder run your body at their intensity. Surprisingly, it isn’t a bad feeling, but it is something you have never felt before.

A tingly feeling swirls in your stomach as you realize Bakugou Katsuki's face is getting closer and closer to yours, his intent clear. He is going to kiss you. Your first kiss. You close your eyes instinctively and his lips touch yours in a quick and short peck. Yet it feels like all the tingles in your stomach exploded, sending warmth throughout your whole body.

That has been the only close and physical interaction you have had until today.

Bakugou Katsuki decides to give you space to accommodate and get to know his village and people around.

It doesn't mean he doesn't want you. However, he never makes any sort of move towards you.

Until one day…

Bakugou got back that morning to the village after being away for almost four days with the victory of conquering another village, so you decide to bring him some of the sweet bread you have cooked as a welcome back. You have to admit, this time with him since the marriage ceremony hasn’t been bad. Civil, even. Despite his distance and cold attitude, he has never disrespected or forced you to nothing. Not even that first night as husband and wife. He didn’t even try, he simply picked one of the pillows and clothes to make a bed on the floor, closer to the entrance door, and slept there. You have been very confused. Your mum had previously told you everything of what was expected from a woman on the night of the ceremony. You expected even a fight between you two, because of course you didn’t want that to happen with a complete stranger like he was still to you.

Nevertheless, he never hovers over you. But you do feel his eyes on you whenever he’s around. He always makes some sort of sound for you to acknowledge that his presence is close. Katsuki is attentive to your reactions whenever you are both alone and doesn't even raise his voice at you. Ever.

Then again, he is his ruthless self with everyone else.

You tried looking for him around the village, but couldn't find Bakugou anywhere. So you walk towards the woods where you know the dragon's nests are, where they rest. Even though Bakugou has explicitly forbidden you to go near there, due to the danger their dragons were most of the time, even for the riders.

You are confident Katsuki will be there, so probably he will see you from a distance and you wont need to get that close. But when you arrive, you come face to face with the massive beast: Bakugou's dragon, Cweorth.

You have seen it at a distance, but having the beast up close is a completely different experience. Its whole body is red, with golden piercing eyes that feel very much like Bakugou’s itself. Its wings are huge as they spread in a stretching movement up high, almost taller than the big trees that surround the woods. You can even see some flare of gold in its scale that actually looks mesmerizing. Majestic.

Your basket falls to the floor in shock when the beast finally looks down at your small, minuscule being. It watches you intently, with a scowl on its face –like beast, like owner. But far away from feeling scared by it, you feel intrigued. You feel enamored even as you stand there, looking at such majestic creature.

Bakugou is actually several meters away, taking a bath in the lake close to the nests, cleaning all the blood and dirt off his body before going to the hut he shares with you. He has some scratches and cuts from the fights, but nothing deep or worrisome. He is very proud in saying he is the fucking best out there.

When he's walking through the woods back to the nests of their dragons, he sees it.

His whole body freezes. You are standing there, your arm and hand stretched upwards. His own dragon, the one who eats men like candy at Katsuki's own command, the one who has burned villages in seconds with his strong fire, the one who hates anyone’s touch or closeness that isn't Bakugou himself... His dragon has his snot close to you, letting you pet him with its eyes closed, enjoying your affection like a small puppy dog.

And he can not fucking believe what his eyes are seeing.

Of all the women he has had before you, none were brave enough to even look at the beast. They had all been afraid to death.

And there you stand, looking even fascinated by it. Eyes shining and smiling as you feel for the first time what its skin is like under your touch. You look… beautiful. Gorgeous. Heavenly sent. Fuck. You have him in your hands already.

Bakugou Katsuki then decides:

He will fucking kiss the ground you walk. He will give you everything you ask of him.

You want certain clothes to wear? He will search for them for you. You want certain foods? He will fly his dragon to wherever they are made or grown on. You want a land? He will fucking burn every single thing or life it takes to give it to you.

You want him? He will gladly give himself completely to you.

Well, he already is.

[bluskaiwriting]

fetor & fertile | sergei "kraven" kravinoff

➤ pairing: AFAB reader x Sergei Kravinoff / Kraven

➤ warnings: Smut, mild predator/prey play, having a heat, animal play (a smidge), fuck or die because why tf not

➤ notes: Since y'all loved the last one so much, a little more filth for the people. dialogue in italics means it's in Russian but I'm not gonna Google translate and butcher Russian so just imagine~

➤ more: masterlist | smut reblog blog 

She hadn't realised her heat was so close when she'd made the journey out here.

It shouldn't have been for another few months at least. An early heat only meant one thing, there was a viable mate nearby.

It also meant she was fucked.

She'd barely trekked for another hour or so before she realised she wasn't alone.

Whatever it was had been following her by scent, her stench getting stronger as her body temperature rose.

She was in no state for a fight, if it came down to it.

Gritting her teeth, she knew that she had to make it to The Hunter's lair before sunset if she wanted to survive.

According to her map, it should have been only another few kilometres to the dome she was told to look out for.

Her rucksack was feeling heavier, the exhaustion and lethargy of the heat catching up to her. Her hair started to plaster to her forehead, and clothes stuck to her clammy skin.

As she walked, her mind wandered, and she recalled what her mother taught her about the symptoms of an unignored heat.

Fever, muscle spasms, uncontrolled perspiration, accelerated heart rate, and in some cases, death.

Usually, she'd have access to chemical suppressants or her mating simulator in the city. However, with the death of her uncle and the entire operation going to shit in the mess, things were not going as planned.

So her grand plan to save her family was to throw everyone under the bus, giving up her uncle's associates to a figure known as The Hunter.

He was supposed to be a legend, a boogie man to scare convicts and criminals into behaving. But a revelation came in the form of a file that she received after she called in a favour from law school.

He was very real and very effective.

If he could take care of the problems at hand, she was willing to pay whatever he wanted. But from what she heard, he wasn't interested in money, only justice. She could work with that.

As the dome came into sight, she heaved a sigh of relief, but before she could take another step the hairs on her neck stood on end.

Whatever had been following her, finally caught up.

Turning around slowly, she came face to face with a man with eyes like a lion's.

The Hunter.

He was tall and built like a warrior, with dark, long hair. Broad shoulders and endlessly long arms. His fists were clenched by his sides, bulging veins crawling up his forearm. Her heat-glazed brain seemed to focus on his thighs, thick and strong, his pants leaving nothing to the imagination. His face had to have been sculpted by the gods. Gaze dark, he scanned her head to toe, pupils narrowed.

Silently, she hoped that he liked what he saw.

He upturned his head, taking a deep breath before huffing and looking at her with something curious in his eyes.

"You're real brave, coming out here smelling like that."

His brow quirked, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. She ignored her hormones screaming for her to submit to him.

"I'm looking for The Hunter."

His eyebrows raised, something akin to amusement colouring his features.

"Who's asking?'

She shared her name and mentioned that she got her information from a friend from law school.

His stance seemed to soften, less offensive, more defensive. Which meant he recognised what she was saying. Thank god.

"Why are you here?"

"I've got names for you." His eyes gleamed with determination.

Hook and centre.

He invited her into his home, and offered her a snack and drink, said that she could stay the night, on account of the trek she'd made to get to him.

At this point, her heat was accelerating, her breaths coming out in short pants and her skin was flushed and hot to the touch. If he noticed, he didn't mention it.

He still seemed to be taking deep breaths, especially in her direction, but didn't bring it up again, she wasn't sure if she was relieved or not.

She vaguely realised that he was asking her a question, but she barely registered it.

Her head felt like she was underwater. She could hear an odd ringing and spots were dancing before her. The world suddenly seemed much too bright and it spun deliriously. She found herself on the floor before she could catch herself.

When her eyes opened, she found him knelt beside her, eyes wide with desire.

"You're not human, are you?"

She barely managed to shake her head while shivering. She could feel the cramps now, and if she didn't take care of it soon, she would pass the point of no return.

"Fuck."

He inhaled sharply, eyes glowing brighter.

"You smell..."

She knew that suppressants were only going to do so much now, her body sensed a viable mate and it seemed she would have to give in to her baser self.

Though, it didn't hurt that the specimen before her was most certainly satisfactory.

"Please, help me. It hurts." She whined, tearing at her clothes desperately.

She felt so hot, a fire burning her everywhere. When he placed a hand on her arm, she moaned instinctively and felt a small sense of instant relief.

He looked toward her, the vein on his jaw pulsing as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

"Are you sure?"

She grabbed his hand, shoving it lower as she nodded, pouting in frustration.

He took that as his sign and surged down toward her, pulling her deep into a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft but commanding, pulling gasps from her as he worked his tongue past her lips. He massaged at her tongue with his own and suckled on it lightly, before pulling back and nibbling on her bottom lip.

It was everything she needed and yet entirely not enough. Her hands roved over him desperately attempting to pull him impossibly closer.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, moving down to a spot behind her ear that had her moaning out loud.

He nipped at it gently, nuzzling against her hair while his hands moved over her underwear, pants long forgotten somewhere around them.

The Hunter slid his middle finger up and down her slit, putting pressure near the top where she needed more.

She whimpered with need, almost thrashing around from the overwhelming sensations that brought her relief while simultaneously being not enough. He chuckled at her neediness, and she felt a sense of embarrassment wash over her.

He kissed his way down past her collarbone, sliding her shirt off and baring her to him completely, he nipped at the side of her breast and continued downward.

As he peeled her underwear back his eyes sparkled at the sight of her glistening pussy. Groaning, his breath blew puffs of air onto her sensitive lips, causing her to clench around nothing.

Lowering his face to her core, he licked a tentative stripe up her slit. Moaning at the taste, he dove in like a man starved. Licking into her so enthusiastically, she could swear she saw stars.

Alternating between fucking her little hole with his tongue and sucking and nibbling at her sensitive clit, he had her writhing about in minutes.

Frankly, it was embarrassing.

"God... You taste heavenly."

"Shut up."

He grinned up at her like the Cheshire cat from his place between her legs, sending a shiver up her spine.

As his tongue continued its exploration of her, he added a finger, pumping in and out of her at a torturous pace. Her breathing got heavier, and the coil in her belly got tighter. Her fingers tugged at his hair, tangling in the strands. Pathetic mewls escaped her mouth.

"i-I'm close" She breathed, eyes rolling back.

"C'mon sweetheart, give it to me." He mumbled into her skin, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He added a second finger, scissoring them inside her and found a spongey little spot that made her let out a noise like a wounded animal. He huffed a laugh and continued bullying the spot relentlessly.

She saw stars as she crested over, a shiver running from the top of her head down to her toes. Even as the sensations got too much, he didn't let up.

She kicked at him, attempting to shove him off. But his mouth stayed plastered to her mound, licking and sucking and nipping indiscriminately.

His fingers did not stop their assault on her poor abused hole, still fucking into that little spot that had her eyes rolling to the back of her head. She felt an odd sensation building in her tummy.

"Wh-wait! It feels-"

She tried to push him off, but he shushed her and kept going. The feeling grew bigger and rolled higher, and she wailed as she felt her orgasm crash over her in violent waves, shaking her body and causing her to curl in on herself.

When the feeling finally subsided after what seemed like forever, she breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath.

It wasn't until he looked up from between her legs, beard wet and grin wide that she'd realised what had happened. She squirted.

She opened her mouth to apologise but another cramp hit her, and she knew her heat wasn't done.

He looked over her as if checking she was alright. He locked eyes with her and gave her a questioning look, she smiled back at him lazily and nodded.

Pulling her up, he looped his arms under her knees and shoulders, carrying her to his bed.

He wasted no time, lining himself up with her entrance. She got a proper look at him for the first time, and God, he was thick.

He was a good length, enough that she knew she'd feel him inside her for a bit. But his girth was ridiculous, so thick that she most certainly would not be able to wrap her hands around him fully.

A tingle of fear shot through her and she worried if he'd fit or rip her apart. As she looked into his eyes and saw the hunger in them, she decided that she didn't mind going out this way.

He pushed into her in one go, and she felt her breath stop in her throat. She could feel all of him just nestled past her entrance, the heat emanating from him elicited a low moan from her. The stretch was intense, the burn travelling through her nerves, but she could also feel the heat of the pleasure from him pressing against her walls so deliciously.

He let out a long exhale as if reigning himself in for a semblance of self-control. He tried to look into her eyes, before fixating on a spot just above her head, a faraway look in his eyes.

Once the crazed look in his eyes softened somewhat, he began to move, sawing in and out of her.

Each drag of his length in and out, had him grinding against her clit perfectly. She felt the trembles of pleasure all over her body, and a heat in her ears from the sensations.

His chest pressed against hers, creating a wonderful sensation against her erect nipples. She gasped at the feeling arching her back in chase of the contact.

He grinned at her, enjoying the way he was destroying her fully.

As her orgasm built up in the base of her spine, he could feel her clenching around him harder and more sporadically.

Picking up the pace, he drove into her harder and faster, drawing out sounds of uh, uh, uh from her lips.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, trapping him against her. Encouraged by the act, he brought his teeth to her ear and nibbled lightly, enough to have her driven mad by the slight pinch.

He brought his hand down between her legs and drew tight circles around her swollen bud.

That was the last thing she remembered before fireworks exploded beneath her eyelids, and she couldn't remember exactly when she had shut them.

An electrifying jolt shot through her and she felt the tingles all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

She clenched down on him, drawing a grunt and as she felt him tremble above her she also felt his warmth spread between her legs, filling her up as he let out a low groan into her ear.

The sound shot straight to her pussy. As she came back down, she felt the feeling return in her legs and the ringing in her ears faded.

She opened her eyes and found him lying next to her just watching. He had questions in his eyes now, though the desire had subsided somewhat, though not a lot.

So she explained how she came from a long line of people who weren't ever quite right. How they all seemed to become more animal than human when they got angry, and how regular human spouses never lasted very long in her family.

She told him about her uncle and the horrors that came with her family the empire they had built, the mess that became of it all now in the wake of his death.

Then finally, she could barely look him in the eye when she told him that what had just happened was her heat, and they were now mated and she could not leave him, even if she wanted to.

Finally, she avoided facing him at all when she rushed out in one breath that she might be with child, and her heat was far from over.

She waited, holding her breath for a reaction. But the silence stretched out, so she turned to face him, a weight settling on her shoulders.

But as she looked into his eyes, she saw some hope in them.

"I understand heats and mating, I'm more animal myself most days;" He started, offering her something of a comforting smile.

"I just never believed there were others like me out there."

He smiled at her warmly then, and she felt a sense of relief. They'd be alright.

[sunshineangel0]

𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 도망가다

pairing- stray kids hyung line x reader summary- given a situation, you and member are running away together. whats the reason and how will it go for you? word count- 1.2k warnings- criminal behavior (theft, fraud, implied violence), toxic family dynamics/emotional neglect mentioned, mentions of law enforcement, surveillance, accidental pregnancy, soft angst/comfort-heavy romance, a/n- so i feel for a little darker themes i have to say: they’re all fictional—built on what-if scenarios and deep, messy emotions. Enjoy the ride !!!!!!! ahhh maknae line

CHAN — "𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘭𝘺𝘥𝘦"

ride or die crime partners

The motel TV hums with static as you count stacks of stolen cash on the bed. Chan’s leaning against the wall, shirt half-buttoned, gun tucked in the waistband of his slacks like it belongs there. “We're legends now,” he says with a crooked smile, tossing your passport into your lap. New name. New start. You grin, blood still rushing from the getaway. “Think they'll catch us?” He laughs once, low and reckless. “They can try.”

You and Chan are smooth-talking, quick-moving, adrenaline-chasing chaos. But damn, you’re good together.

He does the planning—routes, disguises, backstories. You do the talking—charming your way past guards, sweet-talking anyone who gets suspicious.

After a job, he always takes care of you first: checking for bruises, giving you water, making sure you’re still riding the high, not the crash.

You steal a sports car once, just for fun. He lets you drive it. You’re laughing like you’re 16 again, no rules, no regrets.

In the quiet, he gets soft—telling you how he used to dream of this kind of freedom. Not the crime, but you. The “us against the world” kind of love.

One day, you watch the sunset from a rooftop in Prague. “If we go down,” you say, “we go down together.”

He grins, presses his forehead to yours. “You and me, baby. Until the end.”

with him its...

Lipstick-stained passports – new identities, new lives, but still the same reckless love

Bullet casings in a jewelry box – mementos of your past jobs, hidden like treasures

Motor oil on his hands, lip gloss on yours – partners, opposites, balanced chaos

A black duffel with multiple IDs and one photo of you two – the only constant in every version of your lives

Champagne in a convenience store cup – celebration anywhere, any time—because you survived again

MINHO — “𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦”

healing from toxic pasts

You leave a note on the table. Nothing dramatic—just “I’m sorry. I can’t stay.” Outside, Minho’s waiting in his car, engine idling. He doesn’t say a word when you slide into the passenger seat, just reaches over and puts your hand in his. The road ahead is quiet. No sirens. No calls. No one yelling for you to come back. Just the soft sound of tires on pavement, and Minho whispering, “We’re gonna be okay.”

The first few days feel surreal. No screaming. No walking on eggshells. Just you, Minho, and silence that finally feels safe.

You stay in a tiny apartment with peeling walls and creaky floors. He makes it feel like home in a week—plants in the windows, a cat named Peach, warm soup on the stove.

He doesn’t talk much about what you left behind. Neither of you do. But when you wake up crying, he’s there. Quiet. Holding your hand until it passes.

He falls asleep with his head on your lap some nights, a soft smile on his face. You trace your fingers through his hair and think, I never thought peace could look like this.

He takes photos of you when you’re not looking. Says it’s so he “won’t forget this part of life.” You pretend not to notice, but you always smile.

One night, out of nowhere, he says, “Thank you for leaving with me.”

You whisper back, “Thank you for giving me something to run to.”

with him its...

Cat fur on everything – home is where Peach sleeps

Soup simmering at 3AM – because trauma doesn't keep regular hours, and neither does care

An old Polaroid tucked in your wallet – the only photo from the day you left

A chipped mug you both fight over – mundane arguments now feel like love

Sticky notes on the fridge with hand-drawn hearts – “Bought snacks,” “Feed Peach,” “I love you.” No grand speeches—just daily proof

CHANGBIN — “𝘞𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘕𝘰 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘉𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘜𝘴”

"framed" lovers on the run

The moment the security camera photo hit the news, you knew it was over. Your phone rang once—Changbin. “Pack a bag,” he said. “Only what you need. I’ll be there in ten.” Now you’re in the backseat of a stolen car, hands shaking, his hoodie draped over your shoulders. "Do you trust me?" he asks, eyes locked on the road. You don’t even hesitate. “Yeah.” The city lights blur behind you like a life you don’t want anymore.

Every gas station is a risk. Every knock at the door makes you freeze. But Changbin always stays calm—for you.

He keeps your fake IDs in his boot and a map in the glovebox, tracing out routes like you’re in a spy movie.

When things get really bad, he’ll hold your face, eyes locked on yours, and remind you: “We didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t let them make you forget that.”

In between the chaos, he finds little ways to bring you peace—humming your favorite song, buying your favorite snack, brushing your hair behind your ear.

He tells you once, under a thunderstorm sky, “If we have to spend our lives running, I’ll still choose you every time.”

You start to believe it. Even when the world wants to paint you guilty, you know what’s real—him, and the way he loves you like it’s all he’s got.

with him its...

Cigarettes out the window – not because you smoke, but because someone else does. And that means you’re being followed

Cash in a shoebox under the passenger seat – your safety net, escape fund, lifeline

Burner phones wrapped in napkins – disposable lives, but still texting each other goodnight

A cracked mirror in a motel bathroom – distorted reflections, unclear futures

His hoodie always on you – his way of keeping you safe, even when he can’t protect you from everything

HYUNJIN — “𝘞𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘛𝘰, 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘞𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘥”

accidental pregnancy + quiet escape

You stare at the test in your hand like it’s not real. One pink line, two pink lines, whatever—it doesn’t matter. Your world’s already changed. Hyunjin walks in barefoot, hair damp from the shower, and freezes when he sees your face. You don’t speak. You don’t have to. He crosses the room in two steps, takes the test from your hand, and says, “Okay. We’re leaving.” Just like that. Like love is enough.

Hyunjin doesn’t freak out. Doesn’t question. The second he sees you’re scared, he shifts into full comfort mode.

He books a train ticket to a quiet town by the sea. No paparazzi, no pressure. Just you, him, and the sound of waves.

He paints all the time now—your growing belly, your sleepy smile, your fingers wrapped around a coffee mug.

Talks to the baby like they’re already here: “Hey, little one. Your mom’s the strongest person I know.”

He’s overprotective but sweet about it—holding your hand when you walk, cooking every meal, refusing to let you lift anything heavier than a book.

You cry one night, scared of what’s next. He just holds you and says, “I don’t know how we’ll do it. But we will. Together.”

with him its...

Paint stains on your clothes – you stopped caring if you get messy; life’s already full of color now

Socks hung out to dry on a line – homemade life, gentle routines, building something quiet but real

A worn baby book at the bedside – filled with notes in Hyunjin’s handwriting, doodles in the corners

His rings left in a ceramic bowl – he takes them off now, wants nothing flashy, just you and peace

Sunlight through gauze curtains – a new kind of morning, one that doesn’t rush you

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx @channiesluvrclub

(if you wanna be added to the taglist comment below!)

[akawifeyy]

cologne | fic (OP81)

description: wanting to prank your boyfriend, oscar piastri, you decide to spritz some cologne on yourself.

tropes: prank, established relationship

face claim: none

trigger warnings: mentions of cheating, suggestive content, swearing

| note: it’s a bit late but i wrote this in honor of oscar’s CHINESE GP WIN 😮‍💨 my icon and legend

It was just half an hour before your boyfriend, Oscar Piastri, would arrive home from yet another grueling day of testing. The papaya McLaren he loved so much was sapping up all his energy, and you wished you could get the old Oscar back. You had the perfect idea — the two of you loved to prank each other, so maybe this would be the way to go?

Standing in front of the mirror in your bathroom, you held the clear glass cologne bottle in your hand. It was your father’s, definitely not familiar enough for instant detection, but distinctly masculine.

You took a deep breath and gently sprayed, letting the smell waft over you. Eyes watering, you set it down, adjusting your shirt and plastering on an innocent expression.

Later, Oscar stumbled through the door, his eyes bleary with exhaustion. His muscles bunched with stress, but he looked at you just as lovingly as he did the first time he met you.

“Hello, darling,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

He pulled you in for a hug, arms cocooning you in his blissful warmth and comfort. A moment passed, and you felt him tense. Oscar pulled back, worry lining his face. “Y/N…What’s that smell?” He sniffed you again, confused. “Baby, I’m so — why do you smell like cologne?”

You cocked your head to the side. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You twirled around, walking into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. “I think you’re too sleep deprived.”

“No,” Oscar said, following behind you determinedly. “I swear…”

You rolled your eyes.

“Did you go somewhere? Was someone with you in the house?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “If there was, you can tell me. I won’t be mad. I just want the truth.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of the cool liquid and letting it settle in your stomach before responding. “No one was here.”

“Y/N, if you’re seeing someone, I’d like to know.”

You froze. “I’m not seeing anyone, Oscar. Jeez.”

“You smell like another man’s cologne, you’ve been home alone while I’ve been away, and you’re really trying to gaslight me? I’m sorry, but I think I deserve to be a little concerned.” Oscar crossed his arms, staring at you with a cold expression. “I’m working hard to provide us with a life, and you could be sneaking around, with someone else? It hurts, Y/N.”

You scoffed, hackles rising. “So you’re calling me a slut? Saying that I’m lying? Fuck you, Oscar.”

“Woah, Y/N, I never said that,” Oscar shot back, voice edged with tension. You knew he hated arguments. “I’m just worried.”

“I’m not fucking another man.” You stormed away from him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Oscar.”

“Then why do you smell like another man?”

You threw your hands up in the air. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough of an answer.” Oscar rubbed his hand across his face, clearly fed up. “I want to believe you, but…”

Incapable of keeping the prank going, because you knew doing so was the wrong thing to do, you huffed. “It was a prank.”

Oscar’s mouth opened as he processed what you had said. “Pardon me, darling?”

“It’s my father’s cologne.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, baby. I’m sorry for yelling at you, and accusing you of things you didn’t do.” Oscar stepped close to you, kissing you on your forehead. “I just love you, is all, and I thought… I thought maybe you didn’t love me anymore. That I wasn’t enough.”

You pouted. “You’re perfect, Oscar.”

“Sure.” He kissed you again, his hand resting on your jaw. “I really hope you think so.”

“I know so.”

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[holyblonded]

putellas vs. putellas | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: usa and spain play each in a friendly, making it the battles of the putellas

warnings: none

notes: enjoy! i also think this was requested but i can’t find it

You sit in the locker room, legs crossed and eyes closed, breathing steadily as the music pulses through your Beats headphones. You’ve been in this position for nearly half an hour, unmoving and silent, a sharp contrast to your usual chaotic energy. The tension is electric. You’ve been counting down the days to this game, but now that it’s here, you’re trying to keep yourself grounded. You can’t afford to lose focus. Because today, you’re facing Spain. And not just Spain. You’re facing Alexia.

Your jaw tightens. You’ve gone against her before, in practice, in pickup games at the park, even in one-on-one battles in your backyard. But this is different. This is for real. On the world stage, with fans watching and commentators ready to analyze every move. It’s Putellas versus Putellas.

Your stomach twists. You know how she plays. You’ve studied her since you were a kid. You’ve learned from her. Hell, you probably mirror her more than you care to admit. Which means she knows exactly what to expect from you too.

“Wow,” Alex Morgan says, leaning against her locker and staring at you. “I’ve never seen her this quiet.”

Megan Rapinoe slips on her jersey, raising an eyebrow. “I know. It’s unsettling.”

“She’s in the zone,” Crystal Dunn observes. “Leave her alone.”

Tobin Heath chuckles from across the room, watching you with curious eyes. “Apparently she’s been playing with some of them since she was a kid.” She jerks her chin towards Emily Sonnett, who’s standing awkwardly in front of you, waving a hand to get your attention. You don’t budge.

“Hey, Estrella!” Emily calls out, voice cheerful. “You good?”

You don’t even blink.

“Wow,” Emily mutters, shaking her head. “She really is ignoring me.”

“It’s weird,” Megan comments, eyes wide. “She usually never shuts up.”

You take a deep breath, the music in your ears pounding rhythmically, blocking out the noise of the locker room. You’re in your own world, visualizing the game, running through scenarios in your head. You’re going to mark Alexia. You’re going to defend against her, attack her, beat her. Because for ninety minutes, she isn’t your family, she’s not your mother. She’s your opponent.

The tunnel buzzes with energy as you step onto the pitch, shoulders squared, face set. The Spanish national anthem plays, and you sneak a glance down the line. Alexia stands tall, hand over her heart, eyes fixed straight ahead. A chill runs down your spine.

She looks different. Not the warm, caring Alexia from home. Not the one who nags you to clean your room or sneaks extra food onto your plate when she thinks you haven’t eaten enough. This Alexia is cold, focused, every bit the captain and legend the world sees her as.

Your chest tightens, but you refuse to let it shake you. The whistle blows. The game begins.

The first time you encounter her, it’s in midfield. You step up to intercept a pass, only for her to sidestep with effortless grace, flicking the ball past you like it’s nothing. You spin around, chasing after her, teeth clenched. She’s fast, faster than you anticipated.

She glances over her shoulder, smirking. “Too slow, Estrelleta.”

Your blood boils as you double your efforts, pressing hard every time she gets the ball. She spins away, shielding it like she’s done a thousand times in your backyard battles. But this isn’t home, and you aren’t backing down.

You shoulder into her, disrupting her balance just enough. She stumbles, and you steal the ball, sprinting down the field.

She’s fast, but you’re faster. You hear her footsteps behind you, feel her breath on your neck as she tries to close the gap. You drop your shoulder, feint right before cutting left, leaving her a step behind. The crowd erupts as you whip a cross into the box, inches from Cata’s head.

Alexia glares at you, eyes blazing. “Really?”

You grin, cocky. “What? Can’t keep up, vieja?”

Her jaw drops and you take the opportunity to bolt down the field before she can retaliate.

The game is brutal. Every time you touch the ball, she’s there: marking you, blocking your path, using every trick in the book to throw you off balance. You shove back just as hard, elbows digging in, shoulders colliding. Neither of you hold back, each challenge fiercer than the last.

You swipe the ball from her again, twisting sharply, but she’s on you like glue. No passing lanes. Nowhere to go. You struggle for control, twisting and turning, and then she leans in, voice low and smug. “You’re predictable.”

Your vision goes red. “Shut up.”

She laughs, and you can hear the satisfaction in it.

You dig in, using your body to shield the ball. And then, with a quick backheel nutmeg, you slip the ball through her legs. She freezes and the US bench erupts.

Sonnet’s cackling reaches you over the chaos. “OH MY GOD, SHE JUST DID THAT TO HER OWN MOM!”

Alexia recovers fast, chasing after you, her voice sharp. “That was dirty.”

“You’re just mad I got you.”

She shoves you as she runs by, not enough to foul, but enough to make her point. You laugh, knowing you’ve gotten under her skin.

The game is a war of attrition. You get fouled, hard, and before you can even react, Alexia is towering over you, hands on her hips. “Get up.”

You smirk. “Worried about me?”

“Not even a little.”

When she falls, you stand over her, offering a hand. She slaps it away, getting up on her own.

“Nice try.”

You laugh. “Still stubborn, huh?”

“You’d know.”

The match drags on, intensity never dropping. With ten minutes left, Spain equalizes, and you curse under your breath. 2-2.

You and Alexia battle until the very last second, neither willing to concede an inch. The final whistle blows. A draw.

You’re drenched in sweat, bruised, exhausted. You turn to Alexia, expecting a glare, but instead, she walks over and slings an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Good game, Estrelleta.”

You roll your eyes, shoving her off. “I hate you.”

She laughs, ruffling your hair. “Sure you do.”

Tobin jogs over, shaking her head. “That was insane. You two are menaces.”

Alexia grins, eyes softening. “She’s worse.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, she pulls you into a hug, tight and warm.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, voice quiet against the noise of the stadium.

Your chest tightens, the fire in your belly fading.

“I’m proud of you too,” you mumble into her shoulder.

Alexia guides you towards the stands, neither of you say anything, just exchanging a glance before scanning the crowd for the three people you know will be waiting.

Eli stands near the barrier, wearing a jersey, stitched perfectly down the middle. One side is the deep red of Spain, ”PUTE” written on it and part of the number eleven proudly displayed. The other is white, “LLAS” on the top and the rest of eleven emblazoned across it. It’s ridiculous, it’s dramatic, and it’s so Eli.

You grin. “Dios mío, you actually wore it.”

“I had to,” she sniffs, eyes suspiciously shiny as she tugs it tighter around herself. “My girls, both of you, playing on this stage, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”

Alexia sighs, shaking her head. “You’re getting sentimental.”

“Of course I’m getting sentimental!” Eli huffs, grabbing Alexia’s face with both hands, ignoring her protests as she presses a loud kiss to her forehead. “My little alegría captaining Spain! And you—” She turns to you next, gripping your face just as tightly. “My estrella, playing like you were born for this.”

You groan but lean into it anyway. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Alba and Olga stand just behind her, both of them grinning. Olga crosses her arms, nodding toward Alexia. “You got cooked by a teenager, mi amor.”

Alexia scowls. “I did not—”

“Nutmegged,” Alba chimes in, biting back a smirk.

“That was one time!”

You preen, puffing your chest. “And I’ll never let you forget it.”

Alexia turns to Eli, desperate for backup, but Eli just sighs dramatically, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t even care about the score,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “Seeing you two out there, fighting, giving everything, I am just so, so proud.”

You glance at Alexia, expecting another eye roll, but she just nods, quietly accepting the words.

Eli pulls both of you into a crushing hug, and for once, neither of you resist.

You’re barely settled in your chair when Alexia, sitting beside you, nudges you with her knee.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” she murmurs, just low enough for you to hear.

You scoff. “That’s your job.”

The interviewer, clearly amused by the dynamic already, starts with the obvious question. “Estrella, this was your first time facing Alexia on the international stage. What was that experience like?”

You lean forward, resting an elbow on the table. “Terrifying. She’s so serious when she plays, I thought she was gonna disown me on the spot.”

Alexia rolls her eyes. “That almost happened after you nutmegged me.”

“Nutmegged?” The interviewer’s eyebrows shoot up, and you grin as Alexia groans.

“Oh yeah,” you say smugly. “Clean through the legs. The bench was losing it.”

Alexia shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I have to deal with this publicly now.”

The interviewer laughs. “Alexia, what was it like playing against someone you’ve practically raised?”

Alexia exhales, glancing at you before answering. “It was… strange. I’ve seen her grow up, seen her train, so I knew she was good. But today, I realized just how good she is.” She pauses, then smirks. “Still reckless, though.”

“Reckless?” you echo, affronted. “You fouled me like five times!”

“You were running straight at me like a bull! What was I supposed to do?”

The interviewer can barely contain their laughter. “It was a very physical game between you two.”

You cross your arms, mock-offended. “She’s mean.”

Alexia scoffs. “And you called me vieja on live television.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn’t America.”

The interviewer shakes their head, thoroughly entertained. “Final question, what was said between you two after the game?”

Alexia glances at you, something softer in her gaze now. “I told her I was proud.”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling warm under the attention. “And I said the same.”

For a moment, the playful banter is gone, replaced by something genuine, something real.

The interviewer smiles. “That’s beautiful.”

Then Alexia turns to you. “But I’m getting you back for that nutmeg.”

“Oh you wish.”

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

There's Sam girls and Dean girls (Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

A case leads you to a Supernatural convention. You can't help but tease Sam and Dean about their notoriety, but then it turns out you are in the books, too. And there's some stuff in there you don't want the brothers to know about.

Read it on AO3

Rated T. 3.7k words. Sam x reader x Dean. Sexy thoughts but no sexy actions. Supernatural book series. Conventions. Awkwardness. Cheesy book covers. Secret crushes.

“It’s so… lifelike,” you say, moving your head a little so you can see better through the reflection of the glass.

“Very funny,” Sam says, and his voice tells you that he doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest.

“I mean the hair, the shoulders, the ripped jeans, blood-dripping axe, the…”

You narrow your eyes, trying to see. “Is that a harmonica?” you ask. Sam leans over you, so close you can smell his aftershave.

“I think it’s supposed to be a knife?” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“I think it’s a harmonica,” you say, turning around and he leans back, while he looks at the glass case behind you with pain in his eyes. “I mean you’re famous for your mouth organ skills,” you conclude, grinning proudly at making that sound as dirty as it does.

Sam doesn’t appreciate the joke, his face full of horror while he does the cutest little pout.

“I hate this,” he says, still looking at the book in the case behind you. Supernatural, by Carver Edlund. Whichever volume this is, it has Sam and Dean on the cover in worrying and completely impractical states of undress, fighting hordes of what are meant to be demons but look more like gremlins.

It has been your utmost pleasure in the last fifteen minutes to torture Sam with how he is portrayed on these covers. They’re ludicrous and over-the-top but if anyone could pull off the no shirt, ripped jeans, harmonica playing look it would be Sam. Or Dean.

Speaking of, he walks up in just that moment. “I hate this,” he says, echoing his brother. You don’t. You actually love this.

Sam looks at Dean. “Anything?” he asks. Dean shakes his head.

“I guess Chuck isn’t here so he can’t help us,” the older Winchester replies, and then asks immediately, voice annoyed: “How in the world is this happening again? The second time people are getting attacked by ghosts at a Supernatural convention? How?”

Sam nods, then scans the crowd moving around you in the lobby-turned-fan-shop of the hotel you’re in.

“At least Becky’s not here this time,” he mutters.

“Guys, guys, guys,” you say, raising your hands, “you are looking at this completely the wrong way.”

Both brothers look at you, Sam still like he is about to panic, Dean like he is about to punch someone in the face.

“You guys are legends here,” you tell them. “Rockstars. WWE champions.” The last one you direct at Dean, but the angry look doesn’t leave his face.

“Except nobody knows that we are real,” Sam says, “and no one can know.” You shrug.

“But still,” you say, “don’t you think it’s kind of cool? That all the people here adore you?” Another shrug, and then you add: “At least in theory.”

Sam gives a deep sigh and Dean looks at the book on display behind you.

“Alright,” he says finally, slapping his hands together. “I say we go with journalists. We’re here to cover the convention for a local paper.” Sam nods.

“Sounds good, let’s get going,” he says and starts walking.

Dean hangs back just a second, turns to you. He points at the book cover.

“My hair doesn’t look like this, does it?” he asks, voice lowered. You suppress a grin.

“No, of course not,” you say, giving an assuring nod as you pat him on the shoulder. Dean doesn’t look convinced and then you follow Sam.

Several guests in the hotel have reported sighting of people in their rooms at night, some saying they were flickering, like on an old TV. There’s been cold spots and things moving, but no one’s gotten hurt yet, except for one guy who got freaked out and fell down a few stairs, spraining his ankle.

The only reason you’re even checking it out is because you were just a few towns over, finishing up a case.

When you pulled into the hotel parking lot and saw the banners, Dean nearly turned the Impala around on the spot. It was only after you told him that innocent people might be getting hurt that he begrudgingly parked the car. Sam meanwhile had gone quiet and a little pale.

So often, they’re so similar but so often they’re not.

“It’s easy for you, you know,” Dean is saying to you while you are walking through the lobby, “it’s not like your every thought and private life is just put on display, for everyone to read.”

“Hey!” you say, sounding a little offended. “I must be in there somewhere, right? I’m your trusty sidekick, I don’t at least get a mention?” Sam chuckles a little.

“Probably,” he says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Would be weird if you weren’t.” You nod.

“Damn right it would be,” you reply. “It would be downright—”

“Oh my God, you guys look great!” you hear a voice close behind you. All three of you turn around.

There’s a couple standing behind you. He’s got his arm around her shoulder and she has a hand on his chest and is grinning at you, eyes wide. They’re not in costume like the majority of the other convention goers are, but they are merched the hell out. His t-shirt has one of the book covers on it and hers the words Winchester Family Business. It’s actually kind of nice.

“Thanks,” you say instinctively, although you’re not sure why. The guy points at Sam, and goes: “Let me guess, you’re Sam, right?”

You think duh before you understand what he means. He thinks he’s cosplaying as Sam.

Sam takes a second to get it as well. “Uh yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

“Makes sense because of the height,” the girlfriend says, “but I think you’d be a better Castiel, looks-wise.”

You look at Sam just to see an entire identity crisis go over his face.

“And you,” she says, looking at Dean now. “You look great!” Her boyfriend nods. “Real strong on the whole Dean vibe.”

Dean actually looks flattered and you make sure you remember to tease him about that later.

“But,” the girlfriend says, and then her eyes land on you and you panic for a second. She shakes her head appreciatively. “You know a lot of people don’t manage to pull it off, but you’re rocking it.”

“Rocking…it?” you ask, feeling your mouth go dry.

“Yeah!” she says, her face excited and she says your name. When she sees that you’re not picking up what she’s putting down, she waves her hand, gesticulating towards you. “I mean you got her down perfectly. The hair, the outfit, the devil-may-care attitude while still being a little cutie.”

And yeah, okay, it is flattering, so you can’t really blame Dean, especially not when the guy says: “Like Faith and Buffy had a kick-ass baby! Basically the perfect woman!”

His girlfriend pokes her finger into his side, but she’s laughing. You shrug, the comparison definitely getting to you.

“I’ve often thought so,” you say. The girlfriend squeals. “That’s totally something she would say!” Looks like your character work is on point.

Of course Sam has to ruin the rainfall of compliments. “We’re actually here from a local paper,” he’s saying, and if there was a subtle way to throw him an annoyed look you would do it. “Anything… unusual happen since you guys have gotten here?” The couple look at each other.

“Not really,” she says, “but we only got here this morning. We couldn’t get time off work earlier.” So they probably can’t tell you anything regarding the sightings.

“Thanks anyway,” Dean says, and you’re about to turn away, when the woman says: “It’s a fun idea, by the way, going as the love triangle. Just makes sense.”

You freeze and you’re pretty sure so do Sam and Dean.

“The love what now?” you say after a second.

“Love triangle?” she confirms, looking at you. When she sees the clueless look on your face, she puts her hand over her mouth.

“Oh crap,” she says, “are you not that far in the books?” Then she’s motioning towards her boyfriend’s shirt. He pulls the strap of his bag away so that you can see better as you take a step closer to him.

Like you already saw earlier it’s one of the book covers, the number telling you it’s a recent one. It has Sam and Dean on it, again, half-naked, looking like they work for Rent-a-Highlander. But there’s a third figure on the cover. You step even closer to see.

It’s a woman. She’s wearing a red, skin-tight dress that’s flayed in places and has a sword in her hand. She’s also leaning her back against one of the guys, the one who’s supposed to be Sam, long hair blowing in the wind, his hand on her hip and his sculpted chest pressed against her back, while the other guy, who’s supposed to be Dean, ripped shirt barely covering anything, is facing her, cupping her chin.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God.”  

“Oh my God,” you say, again.

You can’t stop saying it, as the three of you weave your way through the crowd, Sam leading since he can see best where you’re going.

You say it again because what you just saw isn’t sinking in.

“What’s the matter?” Dean says behind you, snarkiness in his voice. “Isn't it nice to be adored?”

You whip around to throw him an angry look and promptly walk into Sam’s back, since he’s stopped. You almost jump back. Any kind of physical contact seems loaded right now.

“Let’s go over here,” Sam says, pointing to a seating group in a quiet corner. When you reach it, you plop down in one of the chairs. You’re tempted to say oh my God again but luckily Sam starts talking first. “Okay, we gotta find some people who have encountered the ghosts, assuming it is ghosts.”

He’s purposefully not looking at you, instead scanning the room. “Maybe we should split up, meet up again in an hour and see what we found.”

Okay, so he is just completely ignoring this. Very Sam. Dean, on the other hand, is not.

“That dress would just be so unpractical,” he says, apropos of nothing. “But damn, it was ripped in all the right places.” You look at him, eyes wide as saucers.

“Seriously?” you hiss at him.

“What?” he says, raising his hands. “You’ve been making fun of us from the moment we got here. I can’t do the same?”

You’re lost for words because as uncomfortable as it is, he’s not totally wrong. You’re kind of reaping what you sowed. You make a secret vow to yourself to never, ever do any sowing again.

“Guys!” Sam says, making you and Dean look at him. “Focus?” You shake your head. “Yes, you’re right. Ghosts. Hauntings. Work.” Then you take a deep breath.

You can’t get that cover out of your head. It’s so cheesy, over the top. Silly. But damn it if the idea of being between Sam and Dean like that isn’t making you feel some things. Clearing your throat, you bring yourself back to reality.

“Maybe splitting up is a good idea. And like you said, we meet back here in an hour and compare notes,” you say. Sam nods.

“Okay,” he says and then he is walking away. No see you later, no good luck. He is just walking off. What the hell?

You look back at Dean and you are about 99% sure you catch him looking at your boobs.

“I really hope you’re not imagining that dress on me, Dean Winchester,” you say, and Dean makes a face that tells you that is exactly what he was doing.

You huff, then get up and walk away too.

Love triangle is ridiculous.

For a love triangle to happen, there would need to be flirting. Maybe kissing. There hasn’t been.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Flirting with Dean is easy and you slip into it all the time. Sometimes it’s just teasing, but other times…

Other times it takes on a different quality. Dean looks into your eyes a second longer than he needs to, until you feel your breathing getting a little heavier. He checks you out and compliments you but some of his compliments are so specific, so genuine that it flusters you.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t flirt with you at all, but then you don’t know what it would look like for Sam to flirt. Instead, he does small things he doesn’t need to do, pays attention to things that would escape anyone else's notice. He helps you take off your jacket when you’re hurt and can’t move your arms or shoulders so well, his fingers grazing your skin lightly, making it feel like they’re shooting off electricity. He stands close to you, closer than he needs to, so that you brush up against him when you move.

But love triangle? you think, as you’re talking to the third group of people that hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Love triangle is just ridiculous.

The group you’re talking to is two young women and a guy. They’re nice and are happy to talk to you, but no ghost sightings.

Ironically, one of them is dressed as a ghost. “Old Halloween costume,” she grins when you complimented her on it.

You’re chatting about the convention and that everyone’s waiting for a new book to come out, while you hold a little pad and a pen in your hands, to look all journalist-y. They’re talking passionately amongst themselves about where the story is going. You can’t help yourself – you have to ask.

“So what do you guys think about the love triangle?” you ask, trying to act as unaffected as possibly.

“I know some people don’t like it,” the girl dressed as a ghost says, “but I love it.”

The guy, dark hair and glasses, nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I think she’s a great addition to the story. I mean, no offense, I like the old books too, but geez, I think we all had enough of that sausage fest.”

The second girl, short bob and freckles, laughs. “There’s only so many scenes you can have with the brothers miscommunicating while they are in emotional turmoil. These books need some sex!”

You all laugh. The books aren’t the only ones, you think.

“Plus,” ghost girl says, pointedly looking at you, “she is super hot. Have you seen those covers?”

You remember the cover, of course, remember the way Sam was grabbing your hip and Dean tilting up your face. Well, not your face, not your hip.

Whatever. This is confusing.

“But isn’t it awkward?” you ask, still not able to stop yourself. “I mean someone’s bound to get hurt, right?”

Freckles shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, “I just hope she ends up with Sam. I mean, Jesus, he’s so controlled and then there’s that scene where he thinks about what he wants to do to her? How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his?”

You swallow, just as Freckles makes a head-exploding-sound. “Too hot.”

“I don’t know,” Glasses says. “I like her with Dean.”

“Dean’s too much of a playboy,” Freckles interrupts him. “He’ll never settle down.”

“That’s what makes it so romantic,” Glasses responds, leaning forward. “He’s never been in love and then he meets her and he can’t have her? Duuude.”

He sighs, then grins, before he adds: “Plus you know he must be a beast in bed.”

Laughs all around again while you pretend that you are totally fine and not turning into molten lava. To distract, you turn to ghost girl.

“Who do you think she should end up with?” you ask. Ghost girl shrugs.

“Why pick one?” she says. “She should just take both. She fantasizes about it, after all.”

You just have enough time to think holy crap, your spank bank material is in these books, when you hear Dean behind you: “Who fantasizes about what?”

You whip around, and Sam and Dean are standing right behind you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately. You turn back to the group.

“Thank you,” you say, raising your note pad that you have written absolutely nothing into. “I appreciate you talking to me.” The wave at you and then you get up.

“Anything?” you ask Sam and Dean in a low voice, hoping they won’t ask what you were talking about.

“I think I got something,” Sam says. He fills you both in: the people who have notices the cold spots are all on the same floor. So that’s where you go.

The hallways of the hotel are abandoned since everyone is downstairs at the convention. There’s no sign of any ghostly activity, at least not until you walk ahead, scanning the hallway in front of you, and suddenly Sam says your name and you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

He pulls you back and you just see a presence appear in the exact spot where you were standing a second ago. It shrieks and then disappears.

It would be scary but you are very much distracted by the fact that when Sam pulled you back he pulled you towards the wall and you are now between it and him, his heaving chest at the surprise right in front of you.

How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his.

You need to take a deep breath. Sam looks down at you, his big hand still around your arm.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmh hmm,” you reply, since words are hard.

“That wasn’t a ghost,” Dean says, stepping closer to you two. Sam turns to him and lets go of your arm.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Death echo,” you just manage to mutter. They both look at you.

“It was quick but I think I saw a gunshot wound,” you add, sort of proud of how steady your voice sounds now that you're saying more than two syllables. “If it was a ghost it would have attacked me. I mean, I basically walked through it.” Sam nods, thinking.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Dean nods as well, looks at you. “Smart. That’s our girl.”

He must be a beast in bed.

And yeah, your voice probably wouldn’t be so steady after he says that, so you decide to just smile and nod.

“Death echoes are harmless, right?” Dean asks, turning to Sam. His little brother nods. “They are. They can be reminded that they’re dead, but it usually just works if someone they have a connection to does it.” You swallow to steady yourself.

“I think I might have an idea,” you say.

It's a minor spell that you learned years ago. The ingredients are basic and easy to get, and Sam says the incantation while Dean draws the pentagram on the wallpaper in the hallway.

“They’ll just think it was some fans,” he shrugs at you.

The death echo makes another appearance and the spell helps to remind it of its death. The spirit passes on, the cold spots disappear and it’s another day of work well done.

You’re almost sad to leave because the people you were talking to were nicer than the folk you run into on your normal cases.

But you’re also glad to be getting out of there. You don’t need anymore reminders of how hopeless and complicated your crushes on the two brothers are, and you certainly don’t need any more sexy ideas put in your head.

You climb into the back of the Impala, sitting in the middle, while Sam and Dean get into the front. A big sigh leaves you involuntarily.

You gotta put this behind you. Nothing good lies that way.

You notice then that Dean hasn’t started the car, so you look up, and you see both of them looking back at you.

“What?” you ask, already defensive.

“Look,” Sam says, sounding a little uncomfortable, “do we need to talk?” At your wide eyed stare, he adds: “About the love triangle thing?”

Oh God, you cannot even express how much you do not want to talk about that. So you decide to just lie.

“It’s just part of the book,” you say, doing your best to sound convincing. “I mean I know Chuck’s a prophet and all, but come on, he must have made some stuff up, you know? Besides, sex sells! Everyone knows that.”

Sam nods, but Dean doesn’t drop it.

“Right,” he says, and then sort of looks down, you don’t know at what, “so you’ve never dreamed of two pairs of strong, calloused hands running over your body, exploring every inch of you, making you feel small and desired?”

Your eyes go even wider, if such a thing is possible, because, yes, absolutely you have, but how in the world does Dean know that?

“Or,” Sam adds, suddenly not so awkward-looking anymore. He reaches his hand and Dean hands him whatever he’s been holding. Sam brings it up over the seat where you can see it, and it’s an edition of the book that has the three of you on the cover.

Sam reads from it, eyebrows raised. “Or lying between two big, solid bodies while their practiced mouths make you shudder in ecstacy, screaming your lust to the heavens as their manhoods undo you again and again?”

Dean guffaws.

“Damn,” he says, “you have a dirty mind.”

He turns and starts the engine, music blaring from the stereo.

You slip lower in your seat, your hands going over your face, hoping the earth will simply open up and swallow you down as the car starts moving.

“This can’t be happening,” you mutter.

You peek between your fingers and Dean is drumming on the steering wheel, while Sam grins at you.

“Pretty hot,” he says, and then turns forward as well.

You can’t help but grin a little.