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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 anyoneâs 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
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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 wasnât keeping track of time down to the minute. He hadnât seen her since Friday. Thursday and Friday had been their last little dance. Warm coffee, sharp words, those weird, quiet truths theyâd started swapping like secrets they werenât ready to own.Â
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 wasnât 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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 didnât move. Didnât blink. Just kept his eyes fixed on the space she wasnât looking at.
It didnât 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 hadnât seen before, not even with him. She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, laughed at something the guy said. It wasnât fake. It wasnât her teasing, smug smirk. It was soft. Real.
Francoâs jaw tensed. He looked down at the untouched coffee cup in front of him. Still blank. Dani hadnât 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 donât realize what broke until later.
Who was he? Someone they hadnât talked about. Someone she'd never mentioned. Not even in their guessing games. Franco thought they were past pretending other people didnât exist. But maybe she hadnât 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 cafĂ© hadnât changed. Their table hadnât moved. But she didnât glance. Didnât wave. Didnât 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 heâd imagined the weight behind her words. The small cracks in her defenses. The moments she let him believe she wasnât just screwing with him for sport. Or maybe heâd 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 didnât 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 hadnât looked at him even once. His throat felt tight, like heâd 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 wouldnât swallow itself.
It was absurd, he told himself. Irrational. They hadnât made any promises. No declarations. No lines drawn in the sand. Just coffee and conversation. Glances and guesses. A game. One sheâd 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 sheâd leaned in close to speak low to that guy, like it was something sheâd done before. Like she trusted him. Like he belonged to a version of her world Franco hadnât even been invited into.
He had no right. That was the truth of it. No right to feel jealous, or hurt, or replaced. They hadnât even defined what they were. If she wanted to walk into that cafĂ© 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 hadnât 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.
#franco colapinto#fc43#formula 1#f1#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto fanfiction#fc43 imagine#fc43 fic#fc43 fanfic#fc43 fanfiction#franco colapinto fic#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfiction#by donaidk
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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. Thatâs where writing exercises come in â 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 â No Sight Allowed
Canât 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: âI woke up married to my enemy, and worse â he knew it before I did.â)
You donât need to write a masterpiece every day. But showing up â even for a silly exercise â keeps the creative part of your brain warmed up. Try one of these before your next writing session, and see where it takes you. đ
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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 Francoâs 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 itâs never Lando saying these things, that we always hear it from third parties. Itâs simply amazing.
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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
#being a second time dog mumma... wow the difference#i wasnt perfect at 18 getting my first dog#but i learned a lot and still keep learning#however some people... just refuse to use braincells#about this topic as well as lots others
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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 anyoneâs 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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 âheir,â 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 wasnât a palace, but it couldâve 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 sheâd 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.
âYou came unannounced.â she said, without turning around. Her senses were always almost similar to a catâs, like she had to be on high alert most of her life.
Franco smiled faintly. âIsnât that what sons are for?â
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.
âSomethingâs going on.â she said.
Franco blinked. âYou always do this.â
âBecause Iâm always right.â
He sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked out across the lawn. âItâs not that serious.â
âIs it work?â
âNo.â
Her gaze didnât move. âIs it your father?â
âNo.â
âThen itâs a woman.â
He didnât answer.
âThatâs a yes.â Isabel said, peeling off her gloves and folding them carefully. âWho is she?â
Franco looked at her, then away. âNo one.â
âFranco.â
He dragged a hand through his hair. âSheâs... different.â And in a way it actually wasnât a lie. He barely knew something about her after all.
Isabel didnât speak, just waited.
âSheâs smart. Sharp. She sees through people in a way thatâs... scary sometimes. And sheâs not afraid of anything, or at least not that sheâll admit. Itâs like she walks around the world with this armor on, but somehow still makes you want to know whatâs underneath, no matter how scary she is.â
Isabel gave him a look, somewhere between curiosity and worry. âAnd she doesnât know about your life.â
âOf course not.â
She nodded slowly. âAnd youâre thinking about what it would mean if she did.â He may not have gone that far just yet in his head, but now couldnât forget about it even if he tried.
He looked at her, more serious now. âDid you know? About Dad, I mean. Before.â
âNo.â she said softly, almost instantly. âNot until we were married. Not until you were already on the way.â
He blinked. âSeriously?â
âI thought he worked in real estate. Thatâs what everyone else thought too. And when I started to wonder, it was already too late to do anything with the answers.â
Franco sat down on the bench near her. âWhy didnât you leave?â
She looked down at her hands. Her fingers were slim, elegant, but there was a slight tremble there heâd never noticed before. âBecause 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.â
The air was quiet for a moment, filled only with the sound of leaves shifting overhead.
âI tried. Just once.â she added. âI packed a bag. Took you and the girls with me. Got as far as the station before I realized there wasnât anywhere to go that wouldnât come with consequences.â
Franco swallowed hard. âYou never told me that.â
âI didnât want you to think of him like that.â
âI think I need to.â
Isabel sat beside him now. Not close, but near enough that he could hear her breathe.
âBringing someone in from the outsideâŠâ she said, quietly, âit sounds romantic. It sounds like a way out. But itâs not. Not for them. Itâs a way in. And thereâs no way out after that. You donât get to be half in. Youâre either in, or youâre gone. And most of the time, if youâre gone⊠youâre gone.â
Franco stared straight ahead. âI know.â
âShe doesnât deserve that.â
âI havenât even told her anything.â
âBut youâre thinking about it.â
He didnât respond.
âYou think youâre different from your father,â Isabel said, looking at him now. âBut youâre not. Youâre slowly following in his footsteps. Learning how to smile genuinely while you lie.â
He stood slowly. âYou donât think I can protect her.â
âI think itâs not about protection. Itâs about honesty. And you canât give her that. Not really.â
Franco looked at his mother for a long moment. âWhat would you have done if youâd known the truth before?â
She answered without hesitation. âI wouldâve run.â
He nodded, jaw tight. âThanks for the optimism.â
She stood and touched his arm lightly. âItâs not about optimism. Itâs about not letting her become me.â Franco turned his head, escaping her gaze. âFrancoâŠâ Isabel said softly. âShe makes you softer,â she said. âI see it already.â
He didnât look back. âThatâs not a bad thing,â she added. âIt just means youâll break faster.â
Dinner was simple, cooked by Isabel herself. Franco hadnât 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 perfectâbut untouched, like a version of their lives that hadnât been drowned in secrecy and carefully managed silence.
He was still laughing at something LucĂa 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.
Francoâs body stiffened. Isabelâs 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. âDidnât expect to see you here, hijo.â he said, voice rich with faux warmth.
Franco stood slowly, smoothing his expression into something neutral. âDidnât know youâd be back so soon.â
Gabriel eyed the table, the half-finished dishes, the wine. âFamily dinner?â He looked at Isabel. âYou shouldâve told me.â
âI didnât know youâd care,â she replied, her voice steady.
Gabriel chuckled like heâd heard something mildly amusing. âI always care, querida.â
Francoâs stomach turned. âI was just heading out,â he said, already reaching for his jacket draped on the back of the chair.
âSo soon?â Gabriel asked, the edge in his voice sharpening. âYou just got here.â
Franco forced a smile. âDidnât want to overstay.â
Gabriel stepped into the room then, closing the gap with casual menace. âOr maybe you just donât like staying when Iâm home.â
Franco turned toward him, meeting his gaze flatly. âMaybe.â
A long beat passed between them. Nothing loud. Nothing physical. But the threat was there, threaded into the silence. Gabriel didnât blink. Didnât move.
Then, with a voice just loud enough for Isabel and Gabriel to hear, Franco added. âThanks for dinner, mamĂĄ. It was perfect.â He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and didnât 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 heâd say something he couldnât take back. That wasnât part of the plan however.
#franco colapinto#fc43#f1#formula 1#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto fanfiction#fc43 fanfic#fc43 fanfiction#fc43 imagine#fc43 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#f1 fic#formula 1 fic#franco colapinto fic#by donaidk
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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)
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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 anyoneâs 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, heâd been there since 7:10, same spot, same half-faked focus on the laptop screen. The cafĂ© felt quieter than usual, not because it actually was, but because he couldnât 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 wasnât like she owed him anything. It wasnât a date. It wasnât even a real arrangement. Just two people playing a game in the same place at the same time every morning. But when she didnât show up exactly when heâd 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 hadnât 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.
âRough morning?â Franco asked, setting her coffee down with a soft thud, right in front of where she just pulled her usual chair out.
âYou could say that.â 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. âWant to talk about it?â
âNot really.â She took a sip. âBut thanks for the coffee.â
He smiled a little. âStill hot?â
âI would be surprised if it wasnât,â she gave him a look but then also gave a slow nod. âbut youâre improving.â
âIâm nothing if not trainable.â
That got the faintest twitch of a smile from her, though her eyes still carried a weight he wasnât used to seeing. There was always something steely in the way she looked at people. Measured, unreadable. Today, it was tired. She wasnât trying to perform.
They let the silence stretch a little.
âIâm going to see my family this weekend,â 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. âWhere do they live?â
âA bit outside the city. I donât go often.â
âWhy not?â
Franco hesitated. âLife gets busy. Work. Meetings. You know how it is.â
She nodded, but said nothing. No prying, no sarcastic follow-up. Just another sip of coffee.
âI feel bad about it sometimes,â he added. âMissing things. Being the one who always arrives late or leaves early.â
Leonorâs voice was quiet. âYouâre the oldest?â
He laughed softly. âNo. Both my sisters are older. Iâm... the only boy, though. My dad thinks that comes with certain obligations.â
âYou donât?â
Franco leaned back and let out a slow breath. âIt is kind of old school thinking, isnât it?.â
Leonor watched him for a second. âSounds complicated.â
He gave a lopsided smile. âOnly when I think about it too much.â
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 didnât ask for more details, and he didnât offer. That felt oddly comforting. Like neither of them had to explain anything if they didnât want to.
âYou?â Franco asked, tilting his head. âBig plans for the weekend?â
Leonor scoffed lightly. âPaperwork. Court prep. Trying not to kill anyone.â
He chuckled. âSounds like a dream.â
She gave him a sideways look. âYou have a very weird definition of dreams.â
âIâm kinda serious,â he said. âI envy people who know exactly what theyâre chasing. Feels like you do.â
Her lips parted slightly like she was going to brush it off, but didnât. âSometimes,â she said. âOther times I just tell myself I do. Keeps things moving.â
Franco studied her. âYou ever think about stopping?â
Leonor blinked. âStopping?â
He shrugged. âTaking a break. Leaving the whole mess behind. Doing something else. Living somewhere quieter.â
She looked at him like heâd asked her to translate a foreign language. âNo.â
âNo?â
âI wouldnât know what to do with quiet.â
That didnât surprise him at all. Franco nodded slowly. âYeah. I get that.â
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 didnât expect.
She glanced at her phone and sighed. âI need to head out. Late already.â
Franco stood too, almost without thinking. âSame time Monday?â
Leonor gave him a small, tired smile. âWeâll see.â
âIs that code for yes or code for âdonât get your hopes upâ?â
âItâs code for âif Iâm not dead, Iâll be here.ââ
He chuckled. âIâll take that.â
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.
âThanks for the coffee.â
He nodded. âThanks for showing up.â
Then she was gone, and the chair across from him was empty again. But it didnât 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.
#franco coalpinto#fc43#formula 1#f1#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto fanfiction#fc43 imagine#fc43 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfiction#by donaidk
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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?
#guy who won a championship and retired immediately cause he was scared to try keep the title next year pushes tips on another driver#and he's surprised he wants fuck all from him?#he's more fucked in the head than i thought#anti rosberg
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endurance racing fans see this and yell hell yeag!
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Good Morning Franco đ€Łđ€Ł
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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 anyoneâs 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. âUsual?â
âSoy milk latte, cinnamon on top, medium. But donât make it till she walks in.â
âRight,â Dani muttered, marking the cup with his usual indifference. âThis is getting weird.â
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 didnât 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, âYou really told him to wait until I arrived.â
âTired of the âcold coffeeâ insult.â
Her drink landed between them. She took one sip, then made a little approving noise in the back of her throat. âNot bad.â
Franco tapped his temple. âI evolve.â
âSlowly.â
âStill counts.â
He leaned back in his chair and studied her like he always did, like there were pieces of her somewhere he hadnât seen yet, and all he had to do was ask the right question. She didnât fidget, didnât fill silences with noise. She let the quiet sit, like someone used to waiting out peopleâs nerves.
âYou work in an office with a view,â he guessed.
âWhy?â
âYou donât dress like someone who works underground.â
She raised an eyebrow. âYou think window access equals power?â
âWindow access equals status. And you have way too much status energy.â
Leonor tilted her head. âYou have a whole aura of unpaid taxes and scamming people. And yet here we are.â
Franco laughed. âIâm gonna ignore the first half of that.â
âProbably wise.â
She took another sip of her drink. âYou get one more turn.â
He smiled. âYou like your job. But you hate your hours.â
She didnât blink.
âWhich means,â he continued, âyou probably do something where results matter more than routine. Project-based. Maybe deadlines come in waves.â
Leonor looked amused. âIs that your guess?â
âStill working through it.â
âYouâre talking like this is a murder trial.â
He raised an eyebrow. âIs it?â
âNo comment.â
He pointed at her cup. âYou always drink half of that and then leave.â
âIs that your guess?â
âNo. Thatâs an observation.â
She gave him a tiny smile, the kind that didnât touch her eyes but still landed somewhere warm.
âYour building has metal detectors at the front,â he said.
âWhy?â
âJust a hunch.â
She took a slow sip and said nothing.
He leaned in slightly. âSo Iâm right.â
âYouâre never right. You just sound confident enough to make people stop arguing.â
âThat is literally how half of Europeâs economy works.â
She snorted quietly into her cup.
Franco looked at her for a beat. âYour mentor. The one with the coffee order. Heâs not just some guy.â
âOf course not.â
âHigh up.â
Leonor didnât respond.
âYou admire him, but you also think he peaked ten years ago.â
She looked at him now, slightly more carefully. âYou shouldnât project like that.â
Franco smirked. âThat hit a nerve.â
âYou hit a clichĂ©.â
âWhich is only ever annoying when itâs true.â
Another pause. Then, âGo on, I had way too many turns, time for yours.â
Leonor set her drink down, leaned forward, eyes sharp. âYou didnât come to Spain just to study or start a business.â
Franco went still while she continued, âYou came because you had to.â
âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â
She didnât push further. Didnât gloat. She just let the implication hang between them while sipping her drink like it wasnât loaded with subtext.
He didnât answer. Instead, he said, âYou spend every Sunday alone.â
She looked faintly amused. âThat sounds dramatic.â
âLet me guess, you say itâs your âreset day.â But really you just like quiet because the rest of your week is constant noise.â
Leonor tilted her head. âNow whoâs projecting?â
âIâm serious.â
âI do like quiet,â she said. âDoesnât mean I spend it alone.â
âSo you donât?â
âI didnât say that.â
He groaned. âYou are infuriating.â
âOnly because Iâm better at this than you.â
The next day, it played out again. Franco walked in. Gave the order. Dani didnât 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. âWeâve officially developed a rhythm.â
âI hate rhythms.â
âLiar.â
She took a sip. âMaybe.â
âOkay,â Franco said, folding his arms. âToday, we go deeper. One real thing.â
âNo guesses?â
âOh, weâll guess. But at the end, we each say one true thing. A sentence. No questions. No follow-ups.â
Leonor looked intrigued. âWhy?â
âAinât worth it if we never know any actual truths.â
She considered. âAlright.â She nodded. âYou start.â
Franco took a breath. âYou donât trust people easily.â
âThatâs your guess?â
He nodded.
She shrugged. âTrue.â
Franco blinked. âWait, what?â
âYou wanted a true thing.â
âThat was too easy. And not the end of⊠whatever this is.â
âGuess Iâm getting lazy.â
He leaned in. âYou miss your sisters.â
That caught her. Not visibly, but something shifted in her eyes. Just a flicker.
She smiled faintly. âYou really think thatâs a smart move?â
âTouchy?â She gave no reaction, but her eyes felt like they were reaching his soul. He nodded. âOkay. Your turn.â
âYouâre not afraid of going up to anyone,â she said. âbut youâre terrified of being actually seen.â
Franco froze and smiled, a little too slowly. âThatâs a good one,â he said.
âI know.â
They sat for a long second. Then, finally, he said, âYou may not want to talk about it, but I wish family was a more crucial part of my days.â
Leonor didnât react. Just took another sip of her drink, considering his words. She set it down carefully. âMy dad thinks I made the wrong choice.â
Franco nodded slowly. âWhat would he have picked for you?â
âA quieter life,â she said. âSomething less... sharp.â
âDo you want that?â
âI wouldnât know what to do with it.â
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. âI have to go.â
He nodded. âSame time tomorrow?â
She stood, gathering her things. âMaybe.â
Franco smirked. âThatâs the most consistent thing youâve said all week.â
She paused before turning. âDonât confuse routine with intimacy, Franco.â
He leaned back in his chair. âWouldnât dream of it.â
Then she walked out again, coffee nearly finished this time, leaving the chair across from him empty, but still somehow occupied.
#franco colapinto#f1#formula 1#franco colapinto fanfiction#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfiction#franco colapinto fanfic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#fc43#fc43 x reader#fc43 fic#fc43 imagine#bydonaidk
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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 anyoneâs 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, âI guess Iâll tryâ way. Ready in the way that meant heâd 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 wasnât a guesswork anymore either. He clearly remembered her saying the words â 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 hadnât thought twice about coming here again, like she didnât notice his anticipation, like this wasnât 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.
âYour order, waiting and ready,â he said as soon as their eyes met, like heâd nailed something worth applause.
She raised an eyebrow. âWow. You remembered.â
âI listen.â
âSometimes.â She picked it up and took a slow sip. Paused. Then looked at him with complete, expressionless calm. âItâs already cold.â
Franco stared. âYouâre joking.â
She sat down, crossed her legs, and held the cup like a disappointing gift. âRoom temperature at best.â
âI got it the moment I walked in.â
âThat was nine minutes ago.â
âNine minutes doesnât make it cold.â He groaned, slumping back into his chair. âYouâre impossible.â
âCareless,â she corrected. âBut itâs a sweet gesture.â
Franco watched her for a long moment. âSo youâre not gonna drink it?â
âIâll drink it. Just very slowly. And with judgment.â
He smirked, took a sip of his own coffee, and leaned forward. âYou know what? Iâm starting to think you donât want me to win.â
Leonor gave a tiny shrug. âWinning is subjective.â
Franco let out a breath and shook his head, smiling despite himself. âFine. New round?â
She nodded. âNew round.â She nodded, but held up a finger. âBut make it more interesting. letâs leave the job topic behind.â
âYouâre giving me free range with the questions⊠Thatâs surprising for someone who likes to keep things private.â His eyes squinted just for a second, suspecting there will be a twist.
âI can evolve too. Slowly.â She shrugged, taking another sĂp of the coffee with less of a grimace.
âLetâs see.â He steepled his fingers, serious now. âYouâre an only child.â
âNo.â
âTwo siblings. Both younger.â
âNope.â
âOkay, youâre the middle of three.â
âWarmer.â Her tiny nod already felt like a partial win.
âYou have an older sister and a younger brother.â
âColder.â
He narrowed his eyes. âTwo sisters?â
âBingo.â
âLet me guess. Youâre the quiet one.â She gave him a look so flat he laughed. âRight, no, youâre the feral one,â he said. âThe one everyone stopped trying to ground because it just wasnât worth the effort.â
She smiled slowly. âIâm not saying youâre right.â
âBut Iâm not wrong.â She took another sip of her lukewarm latte. âYour turn.â
âFire away.â
âYouâre from Buenos Aires.â
Franco blinked.
âYou moved to Spain when you wereâŠâ she tilted her head, pretending to think âseventeen.â
He frowned. âHow do youâŠâ
âYour company was registered under your name a week after your eighteenth birthday,â she said, casually. âBut I saw a press quote about your 'mature approach' for someone whoâd âjust landedâ in Madrid.â He blinked again. Leonorâs expression didnât shift. âYou still think I just guessed your job?â
âYou Googled me.â
âOf course I did.â
He sat back, surprised. âWhen?â
âAfter the gala.â
âYou didnât even know my last name then.â
âI had your first name. Accent. Age. Location. I figured it out.â
Franco stared. âJesus.â
âYouâre not that hard to find. Thereâs a whole photo of you standing next to the Deputy Mayor last year. With your dad, no less.â
His mouth tightened slightly.
âAnd donât look so scandalized,â she added. âYouâre a public figure. Business kid genius. Too much charm, not enough plausible deniability.â
He looked at her now with something sharper than amusement. âSo you knew everything about me before we had our first coffee.â
âNot everything,â she said. âI know what you have been born into. Not who you really are.â
âAnd what do you think?â
âI think the logistics thing is far away from you.â
Franco smirked. âAnd what? Itâs your turn to guess who I really am?â
âNo,â she said simply. âI donât care who you really are.â
That surprised him, and although he would never say this out loud but wounded him.
âI care who you pretend to be,â she continued. âThatâs more useful.â
Franco paused, processing that then smiled. âYouâre terrifying, you know that?â
âYou said that yesterday.â
âStill true.â
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, âYouâve never told me your last name.â
âI havenât.â
âYou gonna?â
âNope.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause then youâll Google me, and thatâs no fun at all.â
He rolled his eyes. âSo you get to know everything, and I get nothing?â
âYou get coffee.â
He smirked. âAnd what do you get?â
Leonor leaned in just enough for him to notice, her voice low and teasing. âI get to keep you curious.â Then she straightened, grabbed her bag, and slid her phone into her pocket.
âSee you tomorrow?â Franco asked, hopeful despite himself.
She paused at the door and gave him one last look, just enough to make him question everything. âWeâll see,â she said, with a smile that made it feel more like yes than maybe. The first time he wasnât 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.
#franco colapinto#f1#formula 1#fc43#fc43 imagine#fc43 fic#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfiction#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto fanfiction#by donaidk
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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 đđŒ
#but that was lando vs max (red bull)#not literally lando against his own fucking team that seems to forget they have 2 drivers on the fucking track#or at least forget when its about him#they seem to know fucking everything when it comes to Oscar
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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 anyoneâs 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 cafĂ© earlier than usual. He told himself it wasnât 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 sheâd asked for it yesterday before - according to her â 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 wasnât 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.
âDouble shot, black, no foam.â 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.
âSoy milk latte, cinnamon on top. Medium.â
Franco stared. Couldnât 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.
âYou remembered my order,â she said, picking up the untouched coffee in front of her. âThatâs sweet.â
âI did,â he said, puzzled. âI thought I did.â
She looked at the drink, sniffed it, and didnât sip. âItâs not mine.â
Franco blinked. A reaction she seemed to get out of him most of the time. âWhat?â
âItâs not my usual.â
âBut you⊠yesterday you literally saidâŠâ his finger kept pointing at the cup of black coffe that apparently wasnât even close to her usual order.
âThat was my mentorâs. I was taking it to the office for him.â
Franco opened his mouth. Closed it again. âYouâre serious.â
âDead serious.â
He let out a long breath, leaning back in his chair. âYou set me up.â
âYou assumed something and set a trap for yourself. I did nothing, but keep private information private.â She immediately refused to take the blame for his mistake.
âYou said you werenât generous with information. Thatâs not the same as flat-out sabotage.â
Leonor laughed quietly, pulling the envelope into her lap and tapping it lightly with her fingers.
Franco leaned forward. âOkay. You have a mentor. You work in an office. And you run caffeine errands. Weâre narrowing it down.â
She shrugged.
âGameâs still on.â he said. âThree guesses. Same stakes.â
âDeal.â
âYouâre a paralegal.â
âNope,â she said, too quickly. Which meant maybe.
âYouâre in publishing. Editorâs assistant. Maybe something with manuscripts. Thatâd explain the envelope.â
âCute. One guess left.â
Franco stared at her, eyes narrowing. âYouâre in... advertising.â
She gave him a long, unreadable look. Then sipped her latte. He realised it should have been a huge clue she never drank from yesterdayâs cup.
âI hate you,â he said, deadpan, frustrated with both their game and his failure about the coffee order.
âYou show hatred in a strange way.â She read him easily, probably already knew him like the back of her palms.
He ignored her poking as much as he could.âI was right, wasnât I? One of those.â
She grinned, but didnât respond.
âGod, youâre insufferable.â
âAnd yet,â she said, âyou keep showing up.â
He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. âYou could be doing anything and Iâd have no way to know.â
âYouâll survive.â
âI could Google you.â
âNo,â she said. âYou canât.â
âWhy?â
âBecause you donât have my last name.â
Franco looked at her, frustrated. âAnd youâre never going to tell me, are you?â
âI havenât decided.â Leonor sipped her latte once again, like she knew it was a constant reminder for him, unbothered. âGuys like you have the papers of someone with decades of experience, but canât even appreciate a game that requires all those skills.â
He leaned back again, slow. âYouâre dangerous.â
âNo,â she said. âIâm just observant.â
He tried to play it off with a smirk, but it didnât come as easily this time. She had the kind of stare that didnât blink unless it had something to gain from it. And now he knew sheâd Googled him before their second meeting. Not after. Before. Which meant sheâd walked into that cafĂ© yesterday already knowing who he was. Already playing and making him sweat.
âAlright,â he said. âYou win.â
âI always do.â
âIâm still not giving up.â
âI know.â She nodded just once. âGuys like you never do.â
They didnât 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, âHey, Leonor.â
She turned. He pointed to the second coffee, still untouched. âNext time, just say what you actually want.â
She raised her cup. âThat would be too easy. Canât put the bar that low.â 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 wasnât allowed to win.
#franco colapinto#fc43#fc43 imagine#fc43 fic#formula 1#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfiction#f1#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#by donaidk
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