donaidk

[donaidk]

Franco Colapinto - Cracked Silk VIII

Summary: Franco Colapinto, a young, charismatic Argentinian businessman living in Madrid, known for his charm, success, and spotless reputation. Cara Aros , a sharp, elusive woman who refuses to play by anyone’s rules, especially his. No one would have expected the two of them to fall into a flirty game of guesses over coffee, but what starts as playful curiosity slowly unravels into something deeper, riskier, and dangerously close to the truth about the world Franco was born into, the one Cara is determined to expose.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Pairing: mafia!Franco Colapinto x oc!female

Warnings: it is a mafia fic... so... the usual? lol

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

Monday started the same as it always did. Franco arrived at 7:43. Greeted Dani with a lazy nod. Ordered her coffee - soy milk latte, cinnamon on top, medium - and his own without having to say a word. Dani just grunted in that way he always did when he knew the script by heart.

Franco took his seat. Opened his laptop. Pretended to work. Every few minutes, he glanced up toward the door, not eagerly, just casually, like he wasn’t keeping track of time down to the minute. He hadn’t seen her since Friday. Thursday and Friday had been their last little dance. Warm coffee, sharp words, those weird, quiet truths they’d started swapping like secrets they weren’t ready to own. 

Then, at 7:51, she walked in. He looked up, ready to smirk, to tease, to throw some ridiculous guess her way about how she probably spent her Sunday in a soundproof room organizing court documents alphabetically just for fun… But she wasn’t alone.

The guy came in right behind her. Tall. Crisp haircut. Dark button-down and slacks that looked tailored. His coat was draped over one arm, like he was too comfortable to carry it properly. They were laughing and she leaned in to say something low and fast as they approached the counter.

Franco watched from his table. She didn’t look over. Not once. She was too busy talking, pointing at something on the menu, nodding at the barista. Dani gave Franco a quick glance like he wasn’t sure what to do with the second latte now, then looked away. Franco sat back slowly, heart tapping at the inside of his chest in a way that felt unreasonably loud. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just kept his eyes fixed on the space she wasn’t looking at.

It didn’t make sense. She always looked. That was their thing. Eye contact, quiet understanding, the sharp edges of their conversations clicking like puzzle pieces neither of them knew how to finish. But now? She was smiling. Talking to this guy with a kind of ease Franco hadn’t seen before, not even with him. She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, laughed at something the guy said. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t her teasing, smug smirk. It was soft. Real.

Franco’s jaw tensed. He looked down at the untouched coffee cup in front of him. Still blank. Dani hadn’t even bothered writing her name this time. It hit him in a strange, dull way, like when you hear a crash in the other room but don’t realize what broke until later.

Who was he? Someone they hadn’t talked about. Someone she'd never mentioned. Not even in their guessing games. Franco thought they were past pretending other people didn’t exist. But maybe she hadn’t been playing the same game at all. Maybe she was just letting him think he was winning something that never had a prize to begin with.

Had he misread all of it? She had to know he was here. She always knew. The layout of the café hadn’t changed. Their table hadn’t moved. But she didn’t glance. Didn’t wave. Didn’t even give him the basic courtesy of acknowledgment. Just ordered her drink. Stood beside the guy while it was made. Still talking. Still smiling. No hesitation. No break in rhythm.

Franco sat there, every part of him frozen but his thoughts. Those were running in circles now. Was this what it had been the whole time? A clever little game for her amusement? A morning distraction? Something she never took seriously because she had someone else the whole time? Maybe he’d imagined the weight behind her words. The small cracks in her defenses. The moments she let him believe she wasn’t just screwing with him for sport. Or maybe he’d just walked into a web without realizing it had already been spun around him.

When Dani handed her the coffee, she took it with a quick thanks. The guy touched her elbow lightly as they turned to go, nothing dramatic, nothing territorial, just... familiar. They walked out together. No glances back. No stolen looks. No games. Just the soft chime of the café door, and then they were gone.

Franco stared at the table across from him even as Dani brought the coffee he paid for. She didn’t take it but let that other guy pay for it today. Probably better this way, without any conflict bubbling up. His eyes were stuck on the empty chair, the untouched coffee meant for someone who hadn’t looked at him even once. His throat felt tight, like he’d swallowed a stone. Maybe she was never his mystery to solve. Maybe she was already solved by someone else, and he was just too late.

After hours of silent sitting around, he drove straight to the office, letting muscle memory guide the car through midday traffic. The security guard barely looked up as he passed through the entrance, and the elevator ride was quiet, filled with the kind of silence that makes you hear your own heartbeat.

Franco sat behind his desk, hands idle on the surface, the city stretching out behind him through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Emails blinked on the screen, but none of them mattered. He scrolled halfheartedly, not really reading, just keeping his fingers busy so his brain wouldn’t swallow itself.

It was absurd, he told himself. Irrational. They hadn’t made any promises. No declarations. No lines drawn in the sand. Just coffee and conversation. Glances and guesses. A game. One she’d always played better. Still, something clawed at his chest. The memory of her rare laughter - something that guy must be lucky to have more often. The way she’d leaned in close to speak low to that guy, like it was something she’d done before. Like she trusted him. Like he belonged to a version of her world Franco hadn’t even been invited into.

He had no right. That was the truth of it. No right to feel jealous, or hurt, or replaced. They hadn’t even defined what they were. If she wanted to walk into that café with someone else, she had every right to. But knowing it and accepting it were two different things.

He looked down at his desk. The reflection of his face in the glass looked tired. Not from work. From thinking too much. From caring. From watching someone who felt like a secret start to seem... not so secret anymore. He closed his laptop without saving anything and sat back, eyes on the ceiling. She hadn’t looked at him. Not once. And somehow, that said more than any explanation could.

He didn't know if she'd show up again the next morning. He didn't know if he'd want her to. But he did know this: something had shifted. And he couldn't pretend not to notice. Not anymore.

[donaidk]

6 Quick Writing Exercises to Wake Up Your Imagination

We all hit those blah writing days. Your fingers are ready, your doc is open... and your brain goes static. That’s where writing exercises come in — small creative boosts to shake off the dust and get back into your story flow. Here are six to try when your words feel stuck in traffic.

1. The 5-Minute Word Sprint

Pick a random word (use a generator or close your eyes and point at a book), set a 5-minute timer, and write anything involving that word. No stopping, no deleting.

2. Dialogue Without Context

Write a short convo between two people. No descriptions. No setting. Just back-and-forth lines.

3. Rewrite a Scene in Another Genre

Take a scene from your current story and flip the genre. Drama becomes comedy. Fantasy becomes sci-fi. Romance becomes horror.

4. Describe a Place Using the Five Senses — No Sight Allowed

Can’t mention what anything looks like. Only sound, touch, smell, taste, and intuition.

5. Character Swap POVs

Write a paragraph from the POV of a side character reacting to your main character. Bonus if the POV is brutally honest or completely wrong.

6. One Line Story Hooks

Write 3 one-sentence story starters that make you want to keep writing. (Example: “I woke up married to my enemy, and worse — he knew it before I did.”)

You don’t need to write a masterpiece every day. But showing up — even for a silly exercise — keeps the creative part of your brain warmed up. Try one of these before your next writing session, and see where it takes you. 🍒

[donaidk]

Little rant.

Gabriel said that Lando wrote him a congratulation text after getting his seat.

Franco said that Lando was the first one to contact him and that they organised a lunch with him and his manager to talk about what were Franco’s preoccupations.

Susie said that Lando frequently visits the F1 Academy paddock.

Multiple fans at multiple races or F1 events said that Lando went out of his way to greet them and give them as much time as he could.

As of recently, fans said he even went to the fans that were outside of the very expensive red carpet.

And the thing that I love the most about all of this is that it’s never Lando saying these things, that we always hear it from third parties. It’s simply amazing.

[donaidk]

No one tells you that one day you will get older and look around and notice that 95% of ppl who own a dog should not own a dog

[donaidk]

Franco Colapinto - Cracked Silk VII

Summary: Franco Colapinto, a young, charismatic Argentinian businessman living in Madrid, known for his charm, success, and spotless reputation. Cara Aros , a sharp, elusive woman who refuses to play by anyone’s rules, especially his. No one would have expected the two of them to fall into a flirty game of guesses over coffee, but what starts as playful curiosity slowly unravels into something deeper, riskier, and dangerously close to the truth about the world Franco was born into, the one Cara is determined to expose.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Pairing: mafia!Franco Colapinto x oc!female

Warnings: it is a mafia fic... so... the usual? lol

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

Franco didn’t plan to visit his parents that weekend until the day before. Even then he was close to changing his mind, but somehow telling Leonor made it feel like a promise. He wasn’t in the habit of showing up unless summoned, and even then, it was usually for something vaguely ceremonial. His father needing to be seen with his “heir,” or some event that required sharp suits and tight smiles. But on Sunday morning, just 24 hours after seeing Leonor and exactly 24 hours of thinking about her without meaning to, he got in the car and drove out to the Colapinto house in Pozuelo.

It wasn’t a palace, but it could’ve passed for one to anyone outside the family. White walls, high hedges, old trees heavy with early spring green. Isabel Colapinto kept the house immaculate, like she was always expecting a guest she’d rather not receive. Every table was just a little too clean. Every painting hung perfectly centered, even the abstract ones that were probably designed to look tilted. The silence in the place had an elegance to it, measured, practiced, almost clinical.

He found his mother in the back garden, pruning roses with gloves so white it looked like she was playing surgeon with the flowers.

“You came unannounced.” she said, without turning around. Her senses were always almost similar to a cat’s, like she had to be on high alert most of her life.

Franco smiled faintly. “Isn’t that what sons are for?”

Isabel clipped a stem cleanly, then straightened and gave him a long, quiet look. Her dark hair was pinned back in a neat twist. No jewelry today. Just a simple linen shirt and pressed beige slacks. Somehow she still looked like someone who could run a country club.

“Something’s going on.” she said.

Franco blinked. “You always do this.”

“Because I’m always right.”

He sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked out across the lawn. “It’s not that serious.”

“Is it work?”

“No.”

Her gaze didn’t move. “Is it your father?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a woman.”

He didn’t answer.

“That’s a yes.” Isabel said, peeling off her gloves and folding them carefully. “Who is she?”

Franco looked at her, then away. “No one.”

“Franco.”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “She’s... different.” And in a way it actually wasn’t a lie. He barely knew something about her after all.

Isabel didn’t speak, just waited.

“She’s smart. Sharp. She sees through people in a way that’s... scary sometimes. And she’s not afraid of anything, or at least not that she’ll admit. It’s like she walks around the world with this armor on, but somehow still makes you want to know what’s underneath, no matter how scary she is.”

Isabel gave him a look, somewhere between curiosity and worry. “And she doesn’t know about your life.”

“Of course not.”

She nodded slowly. “And you’re thinking about what it would mean if she did.” He may not have gone that far just yet in his head, but now couldn’t forget about it even if he tried.

He looked at her, more serious now. “Did you know? About Dad, I mean. Before.”

“No.” she said softly, almost instantly. “Not until we were married. Not until you were already on the way.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“I thought he worked in real estate. That’s what everyone else thought too. And when I started to wonder, it was already too late to do anything with the answers.”

Franco sat down on the bench near her. “Why didn’t you leave?”

She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were slim, elegant, but there was a slight tremble there he’d never noticed before. “Because I loved him. And because I was scared. Not of him. Gabriel never raised a hand to me. Not once. But scared of how far down I already was. What would happen if I tried to climb out.”

The air was quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of leaves shifting overhead.

“I tried. Just once.” she added. “I packed a bag. Took you and the girls with me. Got as far as the station before I realized there wasn’t anywhere to go that wouldn’t come with consequences.”

Franco swallowed hard. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t want you to think of him like that.”

“I think I need to.”

Isabel sat beside him now. Not close, but near enough that he could hear her breathe.

“Bringing someone in from the outside…” she said, quietly, “it sounds romantic. It sounds like a way out. But it’s not. Not for them. It’s a way in. And there’s no way out after that. You don’t get to be half in. You’re either in, or you’re gone. And most of the time, if you’re gone… you’re gone.”

Franco stared straight ahead. “I know.”

“She doesn’t deserve that.”

“I haven’t even told her anything.”

“But you’re thinking about it.”

He didn’t respond.

“You think you’re different from your father,” Isabel said, looking at him now. “But you’re not. You’re slowly following in his footsteps. Learning how to smile genuinely while you lie.”

He stood slowly. “You don’t think I can protect her.”

“I think it’s not about protection. It’s about honesty. And you can’t give her that. Not really.”

Franco looked at his mother for a long moment. “What would you have done if you’d known the truth before?”

She answered without hesitation. “I would’ve run.”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Thanks for the optimism.”

She stood and touched his arm lightly. “It’s not about optimism. It’s about not letting her become me.” Franco turned his head, escaping her gaze. “Franco…” Isabel said softly. “She makes you softer,” she said. “I see it already.”

He didn’t look back. “That’s not a bad thing,” she added. “It just means you’ll break faster.”

Dinner was simple, cooked by Isabel herself. Franco hadn’t had her arroz al horno in months, and the taste hit him like memory soaked in saffron and garlic. His sisters floated in and out, teasing him the way only siblings could, making a mess of the conversation while Isabel tried to keep the tablecloth clean. For a moment, it felt normal. Not perfect—but untouched, like a version of their lives that hadn’t been drowned in secrecy and carefully managed silence.

He was still laughing at something Lucía said when the sound of the front door broke through the chatter. Gabriel.

The room changed. Even before anyone saw him, his presence thudded through the air like thunder before rain.

Franco’s body stiffened. Isabel’s hand went still around her wine glass.

Footsteps, confident and too loud, closed the distance from the hallway. Then Gabriel appeared in the doorway. Tanned from the sun, blazer slung over his shoulder, a smile too sharp to mean anything good. “Didn’t expect to see you here, hijo.” he said, voice rich with faux warmth.

Franco stood slowly, smoothing his expression into something neutral. “Didn’t know you’d be back so soon.”

Gabriel eyed the table, the half-finished dishes, the wine. “Family dinner?” He looked at Isabel. “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t know you’d care,” she replied, her voice steady.

Gabriel chuckled like he’d heard something mildly amusing. “I always care, querida.”

Franco’s stomach turned. “I was just heading out,” he said, already reaching for his jacket draped on the back of the chair.

“So soon?” Gabriel asked, the edge in his voice sharpening. “You just got here.”

Franco forced a smile. “Didn’t want to overstay.”

Gabriel stepped into the room then, closing the gap with casual menace. “Or maybe you just don’t like staying when I’m home.”

Franco turned toward him, meeting his gaze flatly. “Maybe.”

A long beat passed between them. Nothing loud. Nothing physical. But the threat was there, threaded into the silence. Gabriel didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

Then, with a voice just loud enough for Isabel and Gabriel to hear, Franco added. “Thanks for dinner, mamá. It was perfect.” He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and didn’t wait for Gabriel to say anything else.

By the time he reached the car, his pulse was racing. Not because he was scared. Because he was tired of pretending not to be angry. But if he stayed one second longer, he knew he’d say something he couldn’t take back. That wasn’t part of the plan however.

[donaidk]

the more i watch indycar, the more i learn that the AMR safety team is the gold standard of track safety

they're at wrecked cars within seconds of the accident

they're lightning fast with quality track repairs

they have fabulous communication between members to get problems solved quickly

and more i can't think of

we need more safety teams like them in other premier motorsports (looking at you, formula 1)

[donaidk]

Franco Colapinto - Cracked Silk VI

Summary: Franco Colapinto, a young, charismatic Argentinian businessman living in Madrid, known for his charm, success, and spotless reputation. Cara Aros , a sharp, elusive woman who refuses to play by anyone’s rules, especially his. No one would have expected the two of them to fall into a flirty game of guesses over coffee, but what starts as playful curiosity slowly unravels into something deeper, riskier, and dangerously close to the truth about the world Franco was born into, the one Cara is determined to expose.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Pairing: mafia!Franco Colapinto x oc!female

Warnings: it is a mafia fic... so... the usual? lol

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

Friday started late. Not for Franco, he’d been there since 7:10, same spot, same half-faked focus on the laptop screen. The café felt quieter than usual, not because it actually was, but because he couldn’t stop checking the time. 7:15, and nothing. 7:18, st ill no sign.

By 7:22, he was pretending not to care while refreshing his inbox every ninety seconds. It wasn’t like she owed him anything. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even a real arrangement. Just two people playing a game in the same place at the same time every morning. But when she didn’t show up exactly when he’d come to expect her, it pulled at something inside him like an itch under his skin.

At 7:27, the bell over the door finally chimed. Leonor stepped in with a pace slower than usual, her hair messily pulled into a bun that looked like it had been redone three times already and lost the war. Her coat was only half-buttoned, her usual scarf slipping off one shoulder. She looked like sleep hadn’t quite caught up with her, and the wish for caffeine was the only thing keeping her upright.

She spotted him immediately and gave the smallest nod as she walked in. Franco stood just long enough to grab her drink from Dani, who had already started making it when she walked through the door. Routine had its perks.

“Rough morning?” Franco asked, setting her coffee down with a soft thud, right in front of where she just pulled her usual chair out.

“You could say that.” Leonor wrapped her hands around the cup like it was keeping her alive. No sharp comments. No playful jab. Just the truth sitting in her voice, heavy and honest.

Franco sat back. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” She took a sip. “But thanks for the coffee.”

He smiled a little. “Still hot?”

“I would be surprised if it wasn’t,” she gave him a look but then also gave a slow nod. “but you’re improving.”

“I’m nothing if not trainable.”

That got the faintest twitch of a smile from her, though her eyes still carried a weight he wasn’t used to seeing. There was always something steely in the way she looked at people. Measured, unreadable. Today, it was tired. She wasn’t trying to perform.

They let the silence stretch a little.

“I’m going to see my family this weekend,” Franco said, finally. It came out more casually than it felt. His brain immediately tried to work out if he maybe just managed to overshare.

Leonor raised an eyebrow. “Where do they live?”

“A bit outside the city. I don’t go often.”

“Why not?”

Franco hesitated. “Life gets busy. Work. Meetings. You know how it is.”

She nodded, but said nothing. No prying, no sarcastic follow-up. Just another sip of coffee.

“I feel bad about it sometimes,” he added. “Missing things. Being the one who always arrives late or leaves early.”

Leonor’s voice was quiet. “You’re the oldest?”

He laughed softly. “No. Both my sisters are older. I’m... the only boy, though. My dad thinks that comes with certain obligations.”

“You don’t?”

Franco leaned back and let out a slow breath. “It is kind of old school thinking, isn’t it?.”

Leonor watched him for a second. “Sounds complicated.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Only when I think about it too much.”

They sat in silence again, both nursing their drinks like the caffeine could also dilute whatever emotions were getting too close to the surface. She didn’t ask for more details, and he didn’t offer. That felt oddly comforting. Like neither of them had to explain anything if they didn’t want to.

“You?” Franco asked, tilting his head. “Big plans for the weekend?”

Leonor scoffed lightly. “Paperwork. Court prep. Trying not to kill anyone.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like a dream.”

She gave him a sideways look. “You have a very weird definition of dreams.”

“I’m kinda serious,” he said. “I envy people who know exactly what they’re chasing. Feels like you do.”

Her lips parted slightly like she was going to brush it off, but didn’t. “Sometimes,” she said. “Other times I just tell myself I do. Keeps things moving.”

Franco studied her. “You ever think about stopping?”

Leonor blinked. “Stopping?”

He shrugged. “Taking a break. Leaving the whole mess behind. Doing something else. Living somewhere quieter.”

She looked at him like he’d asked her to translate a foreign language. “No.”

“No?”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with quiet.”

That didn’t surprise him at all. Franco nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

Their eyes met and held, the conversation settling into something less playful, more real. There was something unspoken between them now. Something not about jobs or family or missed coffees. Just presence. Mutual recognition. And it made him uneasy in a way he didn’t expect.

She glanced at her phone and sighed. “I need to head out. Late already.”

Franco stood too, almost without thinking. “Same time Monday?”

Leonor gave him a small, tired smile. “We’ll see.”

“Is that code for yes or code for ‘don’t get your hopes up’?”

“It’s code for ‘if I’m not dead, I’ll be here.’”

He chuckled. “I’ll take that.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder, pushed her scarf into place, and stepped toward the door. Before she left, she looked back over her shoulder.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

He nodded. “Thanks for showing up.”

Then she was gone, and the chair across from him was empty again. But it didn’t feel the same as other mornings. Not like a game paused. More like something paused him. Franco sat there a little longer than usual, coffee cooling in his hand, wondering when this had stopped being just for fun, and what the hell he was going to do about it.

[donaidk]

Is this desperate blond asshat still bitching about Lando wanting nothing of his ableism and toxic masculinity?

Dude, fuck off. How many more times does he have to reject your creepy ass?

[donaidk]

endurance racing fans see this and yell hell yeag!

[donaidk]

Good Morning Franco 🤣🤣

[donaidk]

Franco Colapinto - Cracked Silk V

Summary: Franco Colapinto, a young, charismatic Argentinian businessman living in Madrid, known for his charm, success, and spotless reputation. Cara Aros , a sharp, elusive woman who refuses to play by anyone’s rules, especially his. No one would have expected the two of them to fall into a flirty game of guesses over coffee, but what starts as playful curiosity slowly unravels into something deeper, riskier, and dangerously close to the truth about the world Franco was born into, the one Cara is determined to expose.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Pairing: mafia!Franco Colapinto x oc!female

Warnings: it is a mafia fic... so... the usual? lol

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

The next morning, Franco walked in at 7:10 and gave Dani a look that said everything.

Dani sighed. “Usual?”

“Soy milk latte, cinnamon on top, medium. But don’t make it till she walks in.”

“Right,” Dani muttered, marking the cup with his usual indifference. “This is getting weird.”

Franco smirked. He left two euros for the tip jar without thinking, slid into his chair by the window, and opened his laptop like he always did, somewhere between performance art and actual working.

The game had rules now. Unspoken ones. No last name. No real answers, at least not ones either would ever confirm. But there was consistency, and buried in that consistency was something almost tender.

At 7:15, the door opened. She was wearing dark jeans, boots, and a long belted trench today, and she had that look again, the one that was halfway between amused and unimpressed, like she knew exactly how predictable he was. Franco didn’t bother greeting her. He just lifted his chin toward the counter. Dani was already moving with a deep sigh.

Leonor sat down without a word. Pulled out her phone. Ignored him for a full twenty seconds. Then said, “You really told him to wait until I arrived.”

“Tired of the ‘cold coffee’ insult.”

Her drink landed between them. She took one sip, then made a little approving noise in the back of her throat. “Not bad.”

Franco tapped his temple. “I evolve.”

“Slowly.”

“Still counts.”

He leaned back in his chair and studied her like he always did, like there were pieces of her somewhere he hadn’t seen yet, and all he had to do was ask the right question. She didn’t fidget, didn’t fill silences with noise. She let the quiet sit, like someone used to waiting out people’s nerves.

“You work in an office with a view,” he guessed.

“Why?”

“You don’t dress like someone who works underground.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think window access equals power?”

“Window access equals status. And you have way too much status energy.”

Leonor tilted her head. “You have a whole aura of unpaid taxes and scamming people. And yet here we are.”

Franco laughed. “I’m gonna ignore the first half of that.”

“Probably wise.”

She took another sip of her drink. “You get one more turn.”

He smiled. “You like your job. But you hate your hours.”

She didn’t blink.

“Which means,” he continued, “you probably do something where results matter more than routine. Project-based. Maybe deadlines come in waves.”

Leonor looked amused. “Is that your guess?”

“Still working through it.”

“You’re talking like this is a murder trial.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”

“No comment.”

He pointed at her cup. “You always drink half of that and then leave.”

“Is that your guess?”

“No. That’s an observation.”

She gave him a tiny smile, the kind that didn’t touch her eyes but still landed somewhere warm.

“Your building has metal detectors at the front,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just a hunch.”

She took a slow sip and said nothing.

He leaned in slightly. “So I’m right.”

“You’re never right. You just sound confident enough to make people stop arguing.”

“That is literally how half of Europe’s economy works.”

She snorted quietly into her cup.

Franco looked at her for a beat. “Your mentor. The one with the coffee order. He’s not just some guy.”

“Of course not.”

“High up.”

Leonor didn’t respond.

“You admire him, but you also think he peaked ten years ago.”

She looked at him now, slightly more carefully. “You shouldn’t project like that.”

Franco smirked. “That hit a nerve.”

“You hit a cliché.”

“Which is only ever annoying when it’s true.”

Another pause. Then, “Go on, I had way too many turns, time for yours.”

Leonor set her drink down, leaned forward, eyes sharp. “You didn’t come to Spain just to study or start a business.”

Franco went still while she continued, “You came because you had to.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She didn’t push further. Didn’t gloat. She just let the implication hang between them while sipping her drink like it wasn’t loaded with subtext.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You spend every Sunday alone.”

She looked faintly amused. “That sounds dramatic.”

“Let me guess, you say it’s your ‘reset day.’ But really you just like quiet because the rest of your week is constant noise.”

Leonor tilted her head. “Now who’s projecting?”

“I’m serious.”

“I do like quiet,” she said. “Doesn’t mean I spend it alone.”

“So you don’t?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He groaned. “You are infuriating.”

“Only because I’m better at this than you.”

The next day, it played out again. Franco walked in. Gave the order. Dani didn’t ask questions. She arrived on time, 7:15 like she was a swiss watch. Dani made her coffee the moment she stepped through the door. Franco waited until she sat before saying a word.

He slid her cup across the table. “We’ve officially developed a rhythm.”

“I hate rhythms.”

“Liar.”

She took a sip. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” Franco said, folding his arms. “Today, we go deeper. One real thing.”

“No guesses?”

“Oh, we’ll guess. But at the end, we each say one true thing. A sentence. No questions. No follow-ups.”

Leonor looked intrigued. “Why?”

“Ain’t worth it if we never know any actual truths.”

She considered. “Alright.” She nodded. “You start.”

Franco took a breath. “You don’t trust people easily.”

“That’s your guess?”

He nodded.

She shrugged. “True.”

Franco blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You wanted a true thing.”

“That was too easy. And not the end of… whatever this is.”

“Guess I’m getting lazy.”

He leaned in. “You miss your sisters.”

That caught her. Not visibly, but something shifted in her eyes. Just a flicker.

She smiled faintly. “You really think that’s a smart move?”

“Touchy?” She gave no reaction, but her eyes felt like they were reaching his soul. He nodded. “Okay. Your turn.”

“You’re not afraid of going up to anyone,” she said. “but you’re terrified of being actually seen.”

Franco froze and smiled, a little too slowly. “That’s a good one,” he said.

“I know.”

They sat for a long second. Then, finally, he said, “You may not want to talk about it, but I wish family was a more crucial part of my days.”

Leonor didn’t react. Just took another sip of her drink, considering his words. She set it down carefully. “My dad thinks I made the wrong choice.”

Franco nodded slowly. “What would he have picked for you?”

“A quieter life,” she said. “Something less... sharp.”

“Do you want that?”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Franco looked at her across the table, the guesses forgotten for a moment, the game suspended in something quieter. More real.

She glanced at the time. “I have to go.”

He nodded. “Same time tomorrow?”

She stood, gathering her things. “Maybe.”

Franco smirked. “That’s the most consistent thing you’ve said all week.”

She paused before turning. “Don’t confuse routine with intimacy, Franco.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then she walked out again, coffee nearly finished this time, leaving the chair across from him empty, but still somehow occupied.

[donaidk]

Franco Colapinto - Cracked Silk IV

Summary: Franco Colapinto, a young, charismatic Argentinian businessman living in Madrid, known for his charm, success, and spotless reputation. Cara Aros , a sharp, elusive woman who refuses to play by anyone’s rules, especially his. No one would have expected the two of them to fall into a flirty game of guesses over coffee, but what starts as playful curiosity slowly unravels into something deeper, riskier, and dangerously close to the truth about the world Franco was born into, the one Cara is determined to expose.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Pairing: mafia!Franco Colapinto x oc!female

Warnings: it is a mafia fic... so... the usual? lol

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

By the third day, Franco was ready. Not in the casual, ‘I guess I’ll try’ way. Ready in the way that meant he’d been awake too early, scrolling through past conversations in his head, debating whether to risk being too eager or too obvious. He landed somewhere in the middle: cool on the surface, quietly invested underneath.

Her coffee order wasn’t a guesswork anymore either. He clearly remembered her saying the words – soy milk latte, cinnamon on top, medium size. She sounded genuine while ordering it. It had to be real this time. Not a decoy. Not for her mentor. This one, he was sure, was hers. So he ordered it early, right when he arrived. Dani the barista had only raised his eyebrows and given the tiniest, most tired shrug.

He sat at his usual table, coffee for two in hand, placing hers on the other side like it belonged there. Laptop open, screen glowing, his hands hovering over the keyboard doing absolutely nothing productive. He refreshed his inbox five times. Answered one message. Stared at the street.

At 7:15 exactly, the bell chimed. She walked in like she always did, like she hadn’t thought twice about coming here again, like she didn’t notice his anticipation, like this wasn’t three days in a row and counting. Her blazer today was camel-colored, over a pale grey turtleneck, with high-waisted slacks and low boots that clacked softly against the floor. Sleek and functional. No excess. No frills. Just like what he got used to with her.

“Your order, waiting and ready,” he said as soon as their eyes met, like he’d nailed something worth applause.

She raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You remembered.”

“I listen.”

„Sometimes.” She picked it up and took a slow sip. Paused. Then looked at him with complete, expressionless calm. “It’s already cold.”

Franco stared. “You’re joking.”

She sat down, crossed her legs, and held the cup like a disappointing gift. “Room temperature at best.”

“I got it the moment I walked in.”

“That was nine minutes ago.”

“Nine minutes doesn’t make it cold.” He groaned, slumping back into his chair. “You’re impossible.”

“Careless,” she corrected. “But it’s a sweet gesture.”

Franco watched her for a long moment. “So you’re not gonna drink it?”

“I’ll drink it. Just very slowly. And with judgment.”

He smirked, took a sip of his own coffee, and leaned forward. “You know what? I’m starting to think you don’t want me to win.”

Leonor gave a tiny shrug. “Winning is subjective.”

Franco let out a breath and shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Fine. New round?”

She nodded. “New round.” She nodded, but held up a finger. „But make it more interesting. let’s leave the job topic behind.”

„You’re giving me free range with the questions… That’s surprising for someone who likes to keep things private.” His eyes squinted just for a second, suspecting there will be a twist.

„I can evolve too. Slowly.” She shrugged, taking another síp of the coffee with less of a grimace.

„Let’s see.” He steepled his fingers, serious now. “You’re an only child.”

“No.”

“Two siblings. Both younger.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, you’re the middle of three.”

“Warmer.” Her tiny nod already felt like a partial win.

“You have an older sister and a younger brother.”

“Colder.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Two sisters?”

“Bingo.”

“Let me guess. You’re the quiet one.” She gave him a look so flat he laughed. “Right, no, you’re the feral one,” he said. “The one everyone stopped trying to ground because it just wasn’t worth the effort.”

She smiled slowly. “I’m not saying you’re right.”

“But I’m not wrong.” She took another sip of her lukewarm latte. “Your turn.”

“Fire away.”

“You’re from Buenos Aires.”

Franco blinked.

“You moved to Spain when you were…” she tilted her head, pretending to think “seventeen.”

He frowned. “How do you…”

“Your company was registered under your name a week after your eighteenth birthday,” she said, casually. “But I saw a press quote about your 'mature approach' for someone who’d ‘just landed’ in Madrid.” He blinked again. Leonor’s expression didn’t shift. “You still think I just guessed your job?”

“You Googled me.”

“Of course I did.”

He sat back, surprised. “When?”

“After the gala.”

“You didn’t even know my last name then.”

“I had your first name. Accent. Age. Location. I figured it out.”

Franco stared. “Jesus.”

“You’re not that hard to find. There’s a whole photo of you standing next to the Deputy Mayor last year. With your dad, no less.”

His mouth tightened slightly.

“And don’t look so scandalized,” she added. “You’re a public figure. Business kid genius. Too much charm, not enough plausible deniability.”

He looked at her now with something sharper than amusement. “So you knew everything about me before we had our first coffee.”

“Not everything,” she said. “I know what you have been born into. Not who you really are.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think the logistics thing is far away from you.”

Franco smirked. “And what? It’s your turn to guess who I really am?”

“No,” she said simply. “I don’t care who you really are.”

That surprised him, and although he would never say this out loud but wounded him.

“I care who you pretend to be,” she continued. “That’s more useful.”

Franco paused, processing that then smiled. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

“You said that yesterday.”

“Still true.”

She took another sip of her coffee, her face still silently complaining, but she never stopped sipping and watching him over the rim.

Franco reached for his drink, then said, “You’ve never told me your last name.”

“I haven’t.”

“You gonna?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because then you’ll Google me, and that’s no fun at all.”

He rolled his eyes. “So you get to know everything, and I get nothing?”

“You get coffee.”

He smirked. “And what do you get?”

Leonor leaned in just enough for him to notice, her voice low and teasing. “I get to keep you curious.” Then she straightened, grabbed her bag, and slid her phone into her pocket.

“See you tomorrow?” Franco asked, hopeful despite himself.

She paused at the door and gave him one last look, just enough to make him question everything. “We’ll see,” she said, with a smile that made it feel more like yes than maybe. The first time he wasn’t guestioning the words coming out of her mouth.

Then she was gone, the bell above the door ringing softly behind her, her coffee half-finished on the table. Again.

[donaidk]

there's something about lewis being more down on himself in the media this weekend than lando probably has been since jeddah, and yet lewis still didn't field a single question about his mental state and if he has a mental health coach that i'm aware of (nor should he have had to). meanwhile, lando fielded at least 4 of those questions that i'm aware of this weekend alone and SKY (including nico rosberg) basically made numerous segments out of discussing his "mental weakness" at length.

yet i'm expected to believe these constant personal attacks against him (that originated from his teammate's PR persona and McLaren pushing that PR persona, Andrea started picking apart Lando's "mentality" to big up PRstri LONG before Helmut Marko did) have nothing to do with ableism tied specifically to lando's continuous and unashamed mental health advocacy.

[donaidk]

I'm surprised people are just randomly okay with Oscar winning every race out of nowhere when these same people were rioting at Lando winning a single race.

[donaidk]

So another race, another day of Lando's car trying to off itself as he's closing up? What do you mean different default settings getting told to him in a panicked way??? CAN WE GET HIS CAR NOT TRYING TO FUCKING DIE FOR LIKE 2 WEEKS IN A ROW?

[donaidk]

I still had hope when Lando was 50 odd points behind Max last season. We're currently at a 10 point deficit with over half the season left.

Lando can absolutely do this, I believe in him 🙏🏼

[donaidk]

Franco Colapinto - Cracked Silk III

Summary: Franco Colapinto, a young, charismatic Argentinian businessman living in Madrid, known for his charm, success, and spotless reputation. Cara Aros , a sharp, elusive woman who refuses to play by anyone’s rules, especially his. No one would have expected the two of them to fall into a flirty game of guesses over coffee, but what starts as playful curiosity slowly unravels into something deeper, riskier, and dangerously close to the truth about the world Franco was born into, the one Cara is determined to expose.

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Pairing: mafia!Franco Colapinto x oc!female

Warnings: it is a mafia fic... so... the usual? lol

Masterlist | Taglist/Queue | Request

The next morning, Franco got to the café earlier than usual. He told himself it wasn’t on purpose. He just happened to be up, and what else was he going to do besides show up early to a place that had turned into the most interesting square meter of his life in just one day?

It was almost like his usual daily routine. Almost. But this time he ordered two coffees. One black, double shot, no foam. Exactly how she’d asked for it yesterday before - according to her – a barista incompetence derailed the whole thing. He remembered the tone she used, too. Not angry, not mean. Just very clear and precise, like someone who gave instructions for a living.

He brought both cups to his table, placed hers directly across from his, then opened his laptop and pretended to work while mostly just watching the door. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. He was almost halfway through his espresso when the bell above the door jingled and in she walked. Same coat, same scarf, but this time with sunglasses pushed up on her head and a large brown envelope tucked under her arm. No laptop bag today. She looked more like someone on her way to deliver bad news than on a coffee run.

Franco sat up straighter, trying not to look too eager to get her attention. She walked straight to the counter, eyes scanning the menu like it wasn’t burned into her memory. Her mouth had that little curve again, the smirk that always made it hard to tell whether she was amused or just deciding whether or not to mock you.

“Double shot, black, no foam.” Franco said, just loud enough to cut through the clatter of cups.

She glanced sideways at him. No surprise on her face, just a slow smirk, her gaze flicking to the cup already sitting at the empty chair. Without another word she turned back to the barista.

“Soy milk latte, cinnamon on top. Medium.”

Franco stared. Couldn’t really do anything else with how he was shot down once again by her. He watched Leonor pay, step aside and walk straight over to his table. She pulled the chair out with one hand, set the envelope down with the other, then sat.

“You remembered my order,” she said, picking up the untouched coffee in front of her. “That’s sweet.”

“I did,” he said, puzzled. “I thought I did.”

She looked at the drink, sniffed it, and didn’t sip. “It’s not mine.”

Franco blinked. A reaction she seemed to get out of him most of the time. “What?”

“It’s not my usual.”

“But you… yesterday you literally said…” his finger kept pointing at the cup of black coffe that apparently wasn’t even close to her usual order.

“That was my mentor’s. I was taking it to the office for him.”

Franco opened his mouth. Closed it again. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

He let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. “You set me up.”

“You assumed something and set a trap for yourself. I did nothing, but keep private information private.” She immediately refused to take the blame for his mistake.

“You said you weren’t generous with information. That’s not the same as flat-out sabotage.”

Leonor laughed quietly, pulling the envelope into her lap and tapping it lightly with her fingers.

Franco leaned forward. “Okay. You have a mentor. You work in an office. And you run caffeine errands. We’re narrowing it down.”

She shrugged.

“Game’s still on.” he said. “Three guesses. Same stakes.”

“Deal.”

“You’re a paralegal.”

“Nope,” she said, too quickly. Which meant maybe.

“You’re in publishing. Editor’s assistant. Maybe something with manuscripts. That’d explain the envelope.”

“Cute. One guess left.”

Franco stared at her, eyes narrowing. “You’re in... advertising.”

She gave him a long, unreadable look. Then sipped her latte. He realised it should have been a huge clue she never drank from yesterday’s cup.

“I hate you,” he said, deadpan, frustrated with both their game and his failure about the coffee order.

“You show hatred in a strange way.” She read him easily, probably already knew him like the back of her palms.

He ignored her poking as much as he could.“I was right, wasn’t I? One of those.”

She grinned, but didn’t respond.

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” she said, “you keep showing up.”

He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “You could be doing anything and I’d have no way to know.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I could Google you.”

“No,” she said. “You can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t have my last name.”

Franco looked at her, frustrated. “And you’re never going to tell me, are you?”

“I haven’t decided.” Leonor sipped her latte once again, like she knew it was a constant reminder for him, unbothered. “Guys like you have the papers of someone with decades of experience, but can’t even appreciate a game that requires all those skills.”

He leaned back again, slow. “You’re dangerous.”

“No,” she said. “I’m just observant.”

He tried to play it off with a smirk, but it didn’t come as easily this time. She had the kind of stare that didn’t blink unless it had something to gain from it. And now he knew she’d Googled him before their second meeting. Not after. Before. Which meant she’d walked into that café yesterday already knowing who he was. Already playing and making him sweat.

“Alright,” he said. “You win.”

“I always do.”

“I’m still not giving up.”

“I know.” She nodded just once. „Guys like you never do.”

They didn’t say anything else. Her coffee was nearly done, and the envelope was still balanced on her lap like a reminder that she had other things to do. She glanced at the clock on the wall, stood, and collected her things. Franco stayed seated, just watching her.

As she reached the door, he called out, “Hey, Leonor.”

She turned. He pointed to the second coffee, still untouched. “Next time, just say what you actually want.”

She raised her cup. “That would be too easy. Can’t put the bar that low.” Then she pushed through the door and was gone again. Franco sat back, staring at both coffees and wondering how long he was willing to play a game where he wasn’t allowed to win.