#fc43 imagine

[cheftsunoda]

𝐚𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐬 𝐦í𝐨 — lh44 + fc43

lewis hamilton x !wife reader x franco colapinto (smau + written)

you’ve been in the public eye long enough to know when someone’s staring. franco colapinto doesn’t stare so much as worship — and he doesn’t even try to hide it. twenty two, all charm and dimples, looking at you like you’re the prize he didn’t know he was racing for.

“mrs. hamilton,” he says one day, grin lazy, eyes shameless, “does your husband know you’re this distracting?”

lewis laughs before you can — that quiet, knowing sound that makes your pulse quicken. “she’s always this distracting, mate. you’ll get used to it.”

except franco doesn’t. not even a little. he starts turning up everywhere — garage, grid, gala — with that same grin and a confidence that borders on cockiness. because he’s not just flirting with lewis hamilton’s wife. he’s flirting with both of you. and you are both starting to flirt back.

fc : natalylorenzo on ig (i imagine reader to be about 28-30)

(day 1 of chef's tea party series!)

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ynhamilton

liked by lewishamilton, francolapinto, alexandrasaintmleux and 7,700,000 others

ynhamilton : releasing the recents

tagged : lewishamilton & alexandrasaintmleux

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view 450,000 other comments.

username00 : the ferrari wags are so special to me ugh.

lando : just here waiting on franco

liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton

↳ ynhamilton : you were here before him! so what does that say about you, norris?

liked by lando and lewishamilton

↳ lando : ...no comment.

liked by ynhamilton

username07 : are you and lewis looking for a third? a dog? i can bark

liked by ynhamilton

↳ francolapinto : the only third they need is here NOW.

liked by lando, ynhamilton and lewishamilton

↳ username5 : franco plsssss

lewishamilton : my muse. my beautiful wife 🤍

liked by ynhamilton

↳ ynhamilton : love you forever

liked by lewishamilton

pierregasly : still trying to get franco to blink. hold please

liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton

↳ ynhamilton : tell him to take his time. we will wait for him😌

liked by pierregasly, francolapinto and lewishamilton

kikagomes : 😻😻

liked by ynhamilton

username55 : franco has no shame😭 franco is so me. I LOVE THE HAMILTONS TOO ITS OK

alexandrasaintmleux : the most beautiful 🤍 miss you already

liked by ynhamilton

↳ ynhamilton : miss you the most pretty girl 💋

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

georgerussell63 : the paddock’s favorite power couple 🤏🏻

liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton

↳ ynhamilton : aw georgie! who taught you what that emoji means??? was it admin???

liked by georgerussell63

↳ georgerussell63 : …no

↳ mercedesamgf1 : yes!

liked by ynhamilton

↳ ynhamilton : miss you admin🩵

liked by mercedesamgf1

francolapinto : mrsssss hamiltonnnnnn

liked by ynhamilton, lando, pierregasly, lewishamilton and more.

↳ lando : oh here we go

↳ ynhamilton : yes franco?

↳ francolapinto : alpine has tried to train me to not comment inappropriate things about you and lewis

↳ ynhamilton : tried?

↳ francolapinto : yeah it didn’t work

↳ francolapinto : i would do ANYTHING. ID GO TO WAR.

↳ francolapinto : on my knees

↳ francolapinto : raw and older ‼️‼️

liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton

↳ alpinef1team : damnit franco

↳ lando : he want dat cookie(s) so bad

↳ ynhamilton : says the one who gives his teammate “fuck me” eyes

↳ lando : i will be leaving now

↳ francolapinto : if loving them is wrong, i don’t wanna be right.

liked by ynhamilton and lewishamilton

↳ username57 : yn and lewis enabling him is taking me out

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The paddock always feels a little louder when you and Lewis arrive. Cameras flash, voices rise, and people part like the sea for the two of you — Ferrari red and a touch of perfume trailing behind. Lewis walks beside you with that quiet, steady presence that makes everyone look twice. You’re both used to the stares by now, the way every entrance feels a little like a movie scene.

You hook your hand through his arm as you step into the hospitality area, sunglasses in place, a smile that could disarm an entire press room. Lewis leans down, murmuring, “You know they only come to see you.”

You hum, pretending to think. “No, I think they come to see us. You’re just the driver, remember?”

He laughs, low and soft, the sound warm against your ear.

And then — like clockwork — Franco Colapinto spots you.

He’s halfway across the paddock, but the moment his eyes land on you and Lewis, it’s over. His grin widens instantly, that bright, boyish smile that’s gotten him out of more trouble than it should. You can almost see the mental switch flip — rookie mode off, flirt mode on.

“Uh oh,” Lewis mutters under his breath. “Incoming.”

Franco moves fast — a little too fast — all enthusiasm and charm. He greets Lewis first, because he’s polite, after all, offering a firm handshake and that signature Colapinto grin. “Lewis! You look good in red, mate. Thought I’d never say it, but Ferrari suits you.”

Lewis chuckles, ever the gentleman. “Careful, Franco. You’ll have the Alpine PR team writing you a warning again.”

Franco turns to you then, and for a second he looks like he’s forgotten how to speak. You can see him recalibrating, eyes flicking from your jewelry to your smile and back. “And you,” he says finally, tone dripping with admiration. “You look…peligrosa.” (dangerous)

“Only when provoked,” you reply smoothly.

Lewis shoots him a warning look, but it’s amused — he’s used to Franco’s antics by now. You all exchange a few pleasantries, and then the rookie’s whisked away by his team. Or so you think.

Half an hour later, you and Lewis have settled in at Ferrari hospitality — him with his laptop open, you scrolling idly through your phone — when Franco reappears. No cameras, no entourage, just that same shameless grin.

In his hands? Two drinks. Your favorite and Lewis’s.

He sets them down in front of you with a little flourish, as if he’s just presented a bouquet. “I come bearing peace offerings,” he announces. “A flat white with oat milk for the boss,” — he nods at Lewis — “and an iced matcha for the queen.”

You raise a brow. “You remembered my order?”

“Of course,” he says, leaning casually on the back of the chair opposite you. “How could I forget the one thing that makes Mrs. Hamilton smile?”

Lewis laughs quietly. “You’re bold, kid. I’ll give you that.”

Franco grins wider. “Boldness got me here, didn’t it?”

You exchange a glance with Lewis — that unspoken, amused look you share whenever someone tries to flirt with you both. Lewis shakes his head, smiling. “You’re lucky she finds you entertaining.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Franco says easily, sliding into the empty chair. “Besides, it’s boring sitting over there. Alpine hospitality doesn’t come with the stunning views.”

You sip your drink, hiding your smile behind the straw. “Flattery won’t get you a Ferrari seat, you know.”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Maybe not, but it might get me invited for dinner.”

Lewis bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievable in bed as well,”Franco states cheekily.

You laugh, leaning back in your chair as the three of you settle into easy conversation — half playful banter, half gentle teasing. It’s harmless, really, but there’s a spark beneath it all — something that lingers just a little too long in Franco’s glances, and in the way Lewis’s hand finds yours under the table, as if to say: He’s trouble. But amusing trouble.

And when Franco leaves, promising to “see you both later, if you’re not too busy being perfect,” Lewis looks after him and mutters, “He’s going to get himself in deep one of these days.”

You smile, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I think he already has.”

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You’d gotten used to watching Lewis’s press conferences — usually calm, polished, diplomatic — but this one had a… different kind of energy.

Qualifying had gone well for Ferrari: Lewis on the front row, Charles just behind him, and Franco — the rookie darling of Alpine — a shock P7. Everyone was already buzzing about his lap when the three of them sat down at the press conference. The air was casual, everyone in good spirits, cameras flashing.

You watched from the back of the room with a coffee in hand, sunglasses perched on your head. You weren’t supposed to be there exactly, but no one was going to tell Mrs. Hamilton to move.

And then it began.

The moderator asked the usual questions — tire strategy, qualifying pace, how the cars felt — but when the attention turned to Franco, he was practically glowing. Confident. Charming. And clearly with no intention of behaving himself.

“Franco,” one journalist started, “amazing lap today. You must be thrilled with that P7!”

“Yeah, it felt great!” he said, smiling brightly. “I think I finally managed to get the rhythm right. Maybe I should have Lewis teach me how to do it every week.”

Laughter rippled through the room. Lewis smiled, shaking his head. “You’re doing just fine on your own, mate.”

Franco leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Still, I think I could use some private lessons. You know… driver to driver.”

A few people chuckled — the reporters, even Charles, who tried and failed to hide his grin behind his hand. You could practically see the little spark of amusement in Lewis’s eyes.

It only got worse — or better — from there.

They’d somehow drifted onto the topic of the Ferrari factory, talking about simulator work and time spent in Maranello. And then Franco, as if possessed by the spirit of chaos itself, steered the conversation straight into his own hands.

“The restaurant at the factory — there’s that famous pasta…” Franco mumbled.

“Yeah, they make the famous pasta. That’s somewhere nearby…” Lewis said and shook his head lightly.

“There’s one that’s ringing a bell…”

“I don’t know if I’ve seen that one.”

“It’s good.”

“Is it? You’ve been there?”

“No, I haven’t been there.”

The pause that followed was electric.

Half the press room burst into laughter. Charles wheezed audibly, covering his face. Lewis leaned back in his chair, head tilted, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.

“You haven’t been there?” he asked again, eyes glinting.

Franco shrugged, playing innocent. “No. But I heard it’s… better with company.”

The audacity.

Lewis actually laughed — that real, unguarded kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Are you asking me out, Colapinto?”

Franco didn’t miss a beat. “Depends. Do you and Mrs. Hamilton accept invitations?”

The room went wild. Cameras clicked faster; reporters were grinning into their laptops, typing away furiously. Charles muttered, “Mon dieu,” under his breath, shaking his head.

Even Lewis couldn’t hide the amusement anymore. “You’re crazy, Colapinto.”

“I’ve been told that,” Franco replied smoothly, leaning his elbow on the table.

From the back of the room, you could barely hold your composure. You covered your mouth with your hand, pretending to cough while stifling a laugh. A Ferrari comms officer shot you a helpless look, clearly torn between laughing and crying.

Later, when the conference wrapped up and everyone was filing out, Lewis caught your eye across the room. He gave you that look — half exasperated, half fond — before shaking his head, muttering something to Charles as they walked off.

Franco, of course, took his time leaving. He stopped by your spot near the door, all charm and sunshine.

“Did I embarrass myself, Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked, grin playful.

You tilted your head, teasing. “You were very confident for someone who’s never been to that restaurant.”

Franco smirked. “Maybe you and Lewis can take me. You know… show me what all the fuss is about.”

Before you could respond, Lewis reappeared behind him, voice low and amused. “I think you’re pushing your luck, kid.”

Franco looked back, still smiling. “Worth it, though.”

And then he walked away — completely unbothered, waving to the cameras like he hadn’t just flirted with a seven-time world champion in front of international media.

You turned to Lewis, shaking your head with a small laugh. “He’s hopeless.”

Lewis chuckled, slipping an arm around your waist. “Hopeless, yes. But you have to admit—” he grinned, “—he’s a charmer.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “God help us when he actually asks for that dinner.”

Lewis smirked. “I think that was his very, very public approach to it.”

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(ik they are two different colors and yes it is bothering me but i did not want to type everything out again! ignore pls)

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You hadn’t planned on this. Really, you hadn’t.

But after the race — after the chaos, the champagne, the endless teasing from every journalist who replayed that press-conference “pasta” exchange — you couldn’t stop thinking about Franco. He’d driven brilliantly. He’d also managed to make your husband giggle on international television. That alone deserved a medal.

So the next morning, when Lewis left early for a debrief, you found yourself standing outside Franco’s hotel room with two coffees and absolutely no explanation prepared.

The door opened to reveal a very rumpled, very shirtless Franco Colapinto, hair sticking up in seven different directions. He blinked at you once, then twice, as if his brain short-circuited at the sight.

“Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

You smiled. “Morning, sweetheart. Thought you might need caffeine.”

He straightened instantly, running a hand through his hair, trying to look presentable. “You—uh—you brought me coffee?”

“I did,” you said, handing him one of the cups. “And before you panic, no, you’re not in trouble.”

“That’s… good,” he said, still visibly unsure. “Although now I’m scared I should be in trouble.”

You laughed and brushed past him into the room like you’d done it a hundred times. “Relax, Franco. I’m here because I have plans for you today.”

He blinked again, standing by the door like he wasn’t sure whether to follow you or salute. “Plans? With you?”

“Mm-hmm.” You sipped your coffee, eyeing him over the rim of the cup. “Lewis and I are taking you to dinner.”

His eyes went wide. “Dinner. With… both of you?”

You nodded, entirely unfazed. “You’ve been trying to ask for weeks. Consider this your chance.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear I wasn’t trying to—”

“Yes, you were,” you interrupted, smiling sweetly. “But it’s cute when you pretend otherwise.”

That made him grin despite himself. “Okay, fine. But why the early visit?”

“Because,” you said, looking him up and down deliberately, “when you go on a date with the Hamiltons, there’s a certain dress code, precious.”

He choked on his coffee. “Dress code?”

You tilted your head. “You didn’t think I was going to let you show up in one of those Alpine polos, did you?”

He looked down at his joggers and t-shirt, expression caught somewhere between mortified and amused. “I didn’t realize this was a fashion test.”

“Oh, darling,” you said, stepping closer, “everything with me is a fashion test.”

Two hours later, you were both in a high-end boutique tucked away from the main streets. Franco followed you like a slightly disoriented puppy, still adjusting to the way everyone in the store seemed to recognize you immediately — how the attendants appeared as if summoned by invisible strings.

You moved through the racks with purpose, touching fabrics, pulling pieces out with the kind of ease that made Franco realize you did this often.

He watched you hold up a cream linen shirt against him, brows furrowing. “You’re sure about this one?”

“Positive,” you said, smoothing the collar with your fingers. “You have warm undertones — stay away from stark white. Cream softens you.”

He looked a little dazed. “You just… know that off the top of your head?”

“Of course,” you said with a wink. “Comes with being everyone’s favorite Hamilton.”

He laughed, a low, nervous sound that made you smile. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” you replied simply. “You’ve been nothing but sweet to Lewis and I. It’s our turn to return the favor.”

He tried to argue again, but you were already shoving him toward the fitting rooms. “Go on, pretty boy. Show me how it looks.”

A few minutes later, he stepped out in the shirt, paired with tailored trousers you’d picked. He looked good — too good, maybe. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, collar undone just enough to look intentional. You crossed your arms, pretending to inspect critically while a smile tugged at your lips.

“You clean up well,” you said.

Franco ran a hand through his hair again, cheeks pink. “I’m starting to think you could make anyone look good.”

You smirked. “You’d be surprised how many I can’t.”

He laughed, finally relaxing as you dragged him from one shop to another. Every time he tried to pull out his wallet, you swatted his hand away.

“YN, seriously—”

“No,” you said firmly. “You’re our guest. Let me spoil you.”

“Lewis is going to kill me.”

“Lewis is the one who told me to take you shopping,” you said, pausing to hold up a pair of sunglasses. “Now try these. You’re not arguing with me.”

By the time you left, he had a small mountain of bags in hand and a grin that wouldn’t quit. You walked side by side down the marina, the sun warm on your shoulders, the air filled with the smell of salt and espresso.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said softly after a moment. “I know I joke a lot, but… this means a lot.”

You looked over at him, smiling. “You’re a good kid, Franco. A little too flirty for your own good, but your heart’s in the right place.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “You sure it’s not my charm that earned me the invite?”

You arched a brow. “Careful. Keep that up and I’ll tell Lewis you called me charming first.”

He laughed, the sound bright and easy, and you felt the tension melt away entirely. It was sweet — watching him try to impress you both, pretending not to be nervous while clearly buzzing with excitement.

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The hum of the city quiets as the two of you pull into the private hangar, the jet gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. You can’t help but smile when you see Franco beside you in the car—shopping bags piled around his feet, one of them precariously balanced on his knees. He looks like a kid after Christmas, bright-eyed and flushed, his curls a little messy from the day. You’d spoiled him senseless, and the realization has left him bashful in the most endearing way.

He tries to play it cool as the car stops, adjusting his shirt—one you’d picked out for him yourself. “I feel like I’m going to meet royalty,” he mutters under his breath.

You glance at him, teasing. “You are, cariño. My husband is British.”

That earns you a boyish grin, the kind that makes you understand why half the grid has adopted him like a younger brother. “Right. Sir Lewis,” he says dramatically, adjusting his collar.

You roll your eyes as the driver opens your door. “Just don’t trip over yourself trying to flirt, and you’ll be fine.”

Franco scoffs but follows you out, his hand brushing the small of your back like it’s second nature. He’s still nervous, though—eyes darting toward the jet, where the outline of a tall figure is visible through the glass door. “You’re sure about this?” he asks softly as the two of you walk toward the stairs.

You glance at him over your shoulder, your smile both warm and mischievous. “Of course I’m sure. You invited us to dinner, remember?”

He blinks. “I did?”

“That little pasta stunt during the press conference?” you remind him, your voice light and amused. “You’re lucky we took you seriously. Lewis doesn’t usually try new spots.”

Color rises on his cheeks, and he laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I thought you’d forget about that.”

“Oh, darling,” you purr, turning back toward him. “I never forget a man who flirts with my husband in public.”

His jaw drops, caught between embarrassment and laughter. “That’s not fair, you make it sound—”

“Accurate?” you interrupt, and his face breaks into a grin as he groans dramatically.

By the time you reach the base of the stairs, his nerves have softened into something sweeter, calmer. He watches as you climb up, the sweep of your dress catching the light, your ring glinting like it knows it belongs in every camera flash. You reach the top and turn back toward him, your hand resting on the rail.

“Come on, my angel,” you say, tone softening just a little. “We’re going to try that famous pasta you’ve never had.”

He meets your eyes, and for a brief, suspended moment, the world feels quieter—less about glamour, more about something tender. “You mean it?”

“I do,” you whisper, nodding toward the jet where Lewis now stands, the door open, sunlight haloing around him. He looks relaxed, casual even, but the affection in his eyes when he sees you both is unmistakable.

Franco takes a slow breath, then follows you up the steps, his grin returning as he murmurs under his breath, “Alright then… dinner with the Hamiltons.”

Lewis greets him first—ever the gentleman—hand out, smile kind. “Glad you could make it, mate.”

Franco shakes his hand, still holding your shopping bags awkwardly in his other. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says, and somehow it’s both confident and endearing, his voice just a touch higher than usual.

Lewis chuckles, stepping aside to let you both in. “You look sharp, Franco. YN’s doing, I assume?”

You hum proudly, setting your bag down before sliding onto the cream leather seat beside your husband. “Of course. Can’t have him looking anything less than perfect on our first date.”

Franco nearly chokes on air. “Our what?”

Lewis laughs, rich and warm. “She’s teasing you.”

You tilt your head with a smirk. “Am I?”

And just like that, Franco Colapinto—the grid’s newest heartthrob—looks completely undone. But when Lewis offers him a glass of wine and pats the seat across from you both, he relaxes again, his usual charm creeping back in.

“Alright,” he says with that lopsided grin, “I guess I can handle dinner with the Hamiltons. As long as I get the famous pasta.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Lewis, your fingers finding his under the table. “Oh, you’ll get more than pasta tonight,” you say, your tone playful, a spark in your eyes that makes Franco’s breath catch.

And for the rest of the flight, between the laughter and the easy teasing, you swear you’ve never seen anyone smile the way Franco does when he’s with the two of you—caught somewhere between awe, affection, and absolute infatuation.

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The restaurant glows like it’s waiting just for you. Which, technically, it is — Lewis had it rented out for the night, the tables cleared except for the one near the window overlooking the water. The candles flicker low, their light soft against the marble, catching in the curve of your glass as you swirl the wine in your hand.

Franco’s across from you, still in disbelief. “You really rented the whole place out?” he asks, half-whisper, half-laugh, glancing around the empty space like it’s a dream.

Lewis smirks beside you, one arm resting lazily along the back of your chair. “You said you wanted to try the pasta. We don’t like waiting for tables.”

That earns a snort from you and a quiet grin from Franco, who shakes his head and leans back in his seat. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

“Both is fine,” you hum, propping your chin on your hand. “You look nice when you’re a little scared.”

He laughs, the sound a little too breathless, and for a moment you catch him watching the way Lewis’s hand idly brushes your shoulder, the way his thumb strokes the bare skin there. You can see the flicker of something in his expression — admiration, curiosity, maybe a touch of longing.

“You two,” Franco says finally, shaking his head with a grin that borders on awe. “You’re… ridiculous. Like, another level of ridiculous.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” Lewis teases, sipping his wine.

“Maybe a little,” Franco admits. “But mostly I’m wondering if you’ll ever let me in on your secret.”

You tilt your head. “Which one?”

“How you make everyone around you feel like they’ve walked into your orbit,” he says softly, the words slipping out before he seems to realize he’s said them.

The compliment hangs in the air. For a moment, even the background music seems to fade. Lewis smiles — that knowing, quietly amused smile that always says I’m watching, and I’m enjoying this more than I should.

“Careful, Colapinto,” he murmurs. “You sound like you’re trying to charm my wife.”

Franco grins, unbothered. “Would it work?”

You laugh, light and genuine, a sound that makes him grin wider. “You’re doing better than most.”

Dinner flows easily after that — laughter, teasing, shared bites of food across the table. At one point, Lewis leans forward to offer Franco a piece of dessert on his fork, and the younger driver hesitates just a heartbeat too long before taking it, eyes darting between you both.

“Good?” Lewis asks, his tone innocent but his smile anything but.

Franco swallows, cheeks slightly flushed. “Very.”

When the night winds down, the air feels thicker — not awkward, but alive. Every brush of a hand, every shared glance carries that undercurrent of something unnamed. You can feel it buzzing beneath your skin as the three of you step into the quiet night air outside.

The villa is just a few steps away, small and warm and impossibly beautiful — lights low, the scent of lavender and salt drifting through open doors. Franco stops at the threshold, hesitating like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

You turn back to him, smile soft. “Come on, love. You’ve already survived dinner with us.”

Lewis adds with a smirk, “Barely.”

Franco laughs, following you in, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize dinner came with a second act.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, voice a low hum. “You didn’t read the fine print.”

He grins at that, the last of his shyness melting into the room’s warmth. Inside, the three of you end up near the large windows overlooking the water, the view painted in moonlight. You pour another glass of wine for each of you, your fingers brushing his when you hand him his.

He doesn’t move away. Neither do you.

Lewis watches the two of you from his seat on the couch — calm, confident, but his gaze sharp, amused, intrigued. You can feel him studying the energy crackling between you and Franco, the silent curiosity in every shared look.

Franco shifts closer, his voice quieter now, his tone softer. “You two really do make it hard not to fall a little bit in love.”

You can’t help but laugh, eyes catching Lewis’s. “He’s smooth when he wants to be, huh?”

“I suppose so,” Lewis agrees, his voice a low rumble.

Franco’s grin turns lopsided. “Then maybe I’m in the right company.”

And just like that — it’s there. That suspended moment where the three of you are caught in the same breath, the same spark. You can almost feel the static in the air, warm and dizzying, each of you waiting to see who moves first.

Lewis doesn’t break the spell — he just tips his glass toward the two of you with that signature, knowing smile. “To good pasta,” he says.

You raise yours too, eyes flicking between the two men who’ve somehow managed to tangle your night into something you didn’t expect. “And even better company.”

Franco’s glass clinks softly against yours, his eyes holding yours a second too long, and when Lewis’s hand finds your knee beneath the table, that teasing warmth returns — unspoken, inviting, a promise of something that might just last beyond tonight.

The laughter comes back, easy and light again — but the electricity doesn’t fade.

And later, when you’re sitting between them, the sound of the sea outside and the low hum of conversation wrapping around you, it’s clear: whatever this is, none of you are ready to let it end just yet.

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ynhamilton

liked by francolapinto, lewishamilton, alexandrasaintmleux and 11,000,000 others.

ynhamilton : off the grid 🗺️🩵🤍

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୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ (just pls pretend franco’s birthday is in like august) (thank u)

The sun was just starting to dip when you slipped out of the Ferrari garage, the humid air already clinging to your skin. After the race, the energy had been electric, the crowd still buzzing, and now you had a little mission of your own. You were headed to Alpine’s motorhome to fetch Franco — and you had a very special plan in mind.

By the time you arrived, he was perched on a bench outside, headphones in, watching the mechanics clean up the garage, looking impossibly relaxed for someone who’d just driven a spectacular race. At least, relaxed until he saw you approaching.

“Mrs. Hamilton,” he said, mock saluting, but his grin betrayed him. “What can I do for you, hermosa?”

You leaned against the doorframe, pretending to think. “Depends,” you said, voice light. “Do you want to come with me and Lewis? There might be a little… surprise waiting for you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “A surprise? For me?”

“Yes,” you said, smiling. “You’re coming. No excuses. And don’t even try to act like you don’t want to.”

He stood, brushing at his hair, that nervous energy curling into his usual smirk. “Alright, alright, I’m intrigued. But what did I do to deserve—”

“You did nothing,” you interrupted, stepping close. “That’s the point. You just… exist. That’s enough.”

He blinked at you, caught between flattery and disbelief, before finally shrugging. “Well… if it’s you two, I guess I can’t refuse.”

The drive to the private jet was filled with the kind of teasing banter that had become routine between the three of you. Franco kept trying to figure out where you were taking him, while you and Lewis exchanged quiet smirks in the front seat. Every time Franco tried to guess, you’d shake your head or laugh, and his curiosity only grew.

Once aboard the jet, he sank into one of the plush seats, staring out the window as the engines hummed to life. The tension in his posture had softened, but his eyes still darted between you and Lewis, half-wondering what had been planned.

“You two are terrible at keeping secrets,” he finally said, voice low and amused.

“We like it that way,” Lewis replied easily, reaching over to squeeze your hand under the table in the cabin.

You leaned back, letting the soft hum of the jet and the golden light streaming through the windows wash over him. “Close your eyes,” you said softly, a grin tugging at your lips. “We’ll let you know when you can open them.”

Franco groaned playfully but obeyed, covering his eyes with both hands like a child. “I’m not sure I trust you.”

“Good,” you murmured. “That’s part of the fun.”

When the jet touched down, the sky was a gradient of gold and rose over the turquoise lagoon. Franco’s curiosity had peaked, and he half-ran, half-walked to the stairs as you led the way to the villa. His jaw dropped the moment you stepped inside.

The villa was spectacular — wide open spaces with glass walls, a pool that shimmered like liquid sapphire, and just beyond, the endless beach and sparkling water. Lanterns and candles were set up along the deck, and soft music floated from hidden speakers.

Franco spun in a slow circle, hands in the air, eyes wide. “What… what is this?”

You stepped closer, brushing his shoulder gently. “You think we forgot your birthday?”

The realization hit him, and for a moment, he was speechless, staring between you and Lewis as if the world had folded into something magical. “You… you did all this?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “Because you deserve it.”

Lewis stepped beside you, hand on your waist, giving Franco a small, knowing smile. “And we’re just getting started, mate.”

Franco’s grin was shy now, a little awed, and he shook his head. “I… I don’t know what to say. This is… insane. Beautiful. I—”

You took his hand, squeezing it lightly. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. “Just enjoy it. That’s all we want.”

The three of you spent the evening wandering down to the beach, the sand soft beneath your feet, the horizon ablaze with the fading sun. Franco kept glancing between you and Lewis, a blush warming his cheeks every time your fingers brushed his or Lewis teased him.

You walked along the waterline, the waves gently lapping at your ankles. Franco fell into step beside you, still a little hesitant, still very much caught in the magic of it all. “I can’t believe this,” he murmured.

“Believe it,” you said softly, letting your hand graze his arm, warm and reassuring. “You’ve earned it.”

Lewis came up behind the two of you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. “Look at him,” you whispered, nodding toward Franco. “He’s genuinely speechless. That’s a first.”

Franco turned his gaze toward you both, grin spreading slowly, eyes shining. “You two… you’re insane. But I’ve never felt anything like this.”

You laughed, soft and musical, brushing hair out of his face. “You deserve to feel it.”

He let out a breathy laugh, leaning slightly closer.

For a while, you walked like that, three of you in a quiet bubble, the sun setting behind the mountains, the soft waves tickling your toes, and the villa’s lights glowing softly behind. No words were needed beyond soft laughter, teasing remarks, and the occasional brush of fingers.

And as night fell, the stars reflecting in the water, it felt infinite — like a secret the three of you were sharing, golden and perfect, a birthday memory Franco would never forget.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The yacht rocks gently in the turquoise waves, sun high overhead and painting the deck in warm gold. You stretch your arms above your head, letting the soft breeze tangle in your hair, and glance down at Franco lying with his head in your lap. He’s sprawled across the cushioned lounge like he owns the world, shades tipped low over his eyes, that lazy, blissful smile of his making your chest tighten with something like fondness and amusement all at once. You reach out and start playing with his hair lightly.

“Careful with my hair,” he murmurs, voice low, half-asleep and half-playful.

You laugh softly, fingers threading through his curls. “I’m not messing it up. I’m just… enhancing it,” you say, teasing. “You know, giving it that perfectly tousled, ‘ruined in the best way’ look.”

“Yeah, it’s working,” he mutters, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re a magician.”

You hum, dipping a slice of mango into your mouth and then leaning down to feed him the next piece. His lips part just enough, eyes meeting yours with that soft, curious glance that makes your heart do a little flip. “See? You taste better than I imagined.”

He laughs quietly, muffled against your palm, and you can’t resist brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I can’t with you, Colapinto,” you whisper.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one feeding me fruit, Mrs. Hamilton,” he teases, and you flick a bit of juice at him with your finger. He flicks it back immediately, but his eyes are warm, the corners crinkling with laughter.

You pause for a moment just to look at him — the way the sunlight catches his skin, the carefree tilt of his head in your lap, the subtle blush that still lingers from the past few days of surprises. Your fingers brush over his temple, and he sighs softly, leaning closer without words.

“So,” he murmurs after a moment, “what are we even doing today? Just… floating around like this forever?”

You laugh, leaning back a little so he can see the sparkling horizon. “Pretty much. Unless Lewis decides to drag us into some water sport or challenge.”

“And is that a threat?” he asks, brow raised, a playful glint in his eyes.

You glance over the railing and see Lewis swimming just off the side of the yacht, perfectly at ease, water rippling around him as he waves.

And then back to Franco, lying back down with his head returning to your lap, shades sliding slightly. You brush his hair back, your fingers tracing his scalp gently. The conversation drifts, soft and unhurried: movies, racing stories, small confessions, laughter spilling easily over the waves. Every now and then, you feed him a slice of fruit, and every now and then, he catches your hand and squeezes it, eyes locking on yours just long enough to make your heart swell.

The day carries on like this — sun warming your skin, the gentle rocking of the boat, the faint sound of seagulls overhead. Then, one of the yacht’s chefs appears from below deck, carrying a small, perfectly decorated birthday cake. Franco’s head pops up immediately, eyes wide.

“What—what’s that?” he asks, voice half-laughing, half-incredulous.

You grin, brushing the edge of his sunglasses up so he can see. “Happy birthday, precioso. Thought you might need a little sugar with your sunshine.”

Lewis swims up alongside the yacht just as the chef sets the cake on the table. He clambers aboard gracefully, hair wet and glistening, and kneels beside Franco. “Happy birthday, mate,” he says warmly.

Franco laughs, cheeks flushed, and you move close, brushing his shoulder. “Make a wish,” you whisper, leaning close enough that he can feel your warmth.

Together, you and Lewis start the song, voices soft but joyful, the breeze carrying the melody across the water. Franco joins in after a beat, laughing into the words, eyes darting between the two of you as he shakes his head in disbelief and delight.

When the last note fades, Lewis leans back, giving Franco a mock bow. “There, officially spoiled.”

Franco’s grin is wide, shy, and completely genuine. “You… you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yes, we did,” you say softly, brushing a strand of wet hair from his forehead. “Because you’re worth it.”

He swallows, voice low, almost breathless. “I… I’ve never had a birthday like this.”

“You deserve it,” Lewis murmurs, nudging him gently.

You reach down to play with his hair again, and he leans into your touch, relaxed and content. The three of you sit there for a while after, sipping drinks, sharing small bites of cake, laughing at little jokes, and watching the golden sun shimmer across the water. The world feels quiet, suspended in a warm bubble that exists just for you three.

Finally, Franco lets out a soft sigh, resting his head back in your lap. “I don’t think I want to ever leave this spot,” he murmurs.

You smile down at him, brushing a gentle hand over his hair. “Then stay a little longer,” you whisper.

Lewis leans closer, wrapping a hand around your waist while the other rests near Franco, and together, the three of you watch the sun sink into the horizon, golden light washing over everything, the waves lapping at the hull, and the air filled with laughter, warmth, and quiet, perfect happiness.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The first hint of light slips over the horizon, soft and golden, painting the sky in pale pinks and oranges. The air is cool, crisp with the freshness of morning, and the gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore makes the world feel hushed, almost sacred. Lewis had left early for his morning run, leaving the two of you alone on the quiet stretch of sand near the villa.

You tug at the hem of your swimsuit, the breeze ruffling your hair, and glance down at Franco. He’s still half-asleep, wrapped in a towel that’s barely doing anything to hide the way his eyes keep fluttering open to look at you. His grin is lazy, teasing, but there’s a softness behind it, a vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

“You awake, or should I drag you into the water by force?” you tease, crouching slightly to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

“I’m awake,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, though the lilt of amusement is unmistakable. “I’m just… enjoying the view.”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

He shifts closer, brushing against your leg as he stands, water sparkling at the tips of his toes. “I’ve got a feeling the water’s going to feel incredible,” he says, and the way he says it makes you laugh softly.

“Then we better see if it lives up to the hype,” you reply, taking his hand and leading him toward the shallow surf. The water is cool against your skin, a gentle shock that makes you shiver and laugh at the same time. Franco joins you, toes digging into the soft sand beneath the clear waves, and suddenly it’s just the two of you — the sunrise painting the ocean gold and the world still asleep around you.

He watches you, a little too intently, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You’re beautiful in this light,” he says quietly, and for a moment, the air seems to hang heavy between you.

You stop, letting the water rise to your waist, and meet his gaze. “Franco…” you murmur, fingers brushing his cheek. “Don’t overthink this.”

“I’m not…” he starts, but his voice falters, the vulnerability in his eyes betraying him.

You lean closer, closing the distance, and brush your lips softly against his. It’s a quick, gentle kiss, but enough to make him catch his breath. His eyes go wide.

“I—YN—” he stammers, flustered, almost panicking in the sweetest, most endearing way.

You laugh softly, cupping his face in your hands. “Shh,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, slower this time, soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, love. You wouldn’t be here with us if you couldn’t do this.”

His hands tentatively find your waist, and he leans into you, exhaling a shaky laugh. “I didn’t think… I mean… I wasn’t expecting—”

“I know,” you murmur, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “No one expects magic like this. But you’re safe. You’re wanted. And we both want this — all of it, with you.”

He blinks at you, eyes shining, before letting out a small laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief. “I can’t believe this is real. That I’m here. With… you guys.”

“And you’re here with me,” you reply softly, tilting your forehead to rest against his. “And soon, Lewis will be back, and we’ll have the whole morning to ourselves. But right now… it’s just us.”

He swallows, voice low and awed. “You make it too easy to fall for you.”

“Good,” you murmur with a teasing smile. “Because I don’t plan on letting you forget it.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, floating in the shallow water, leaning against each other, sharing quiet laughter and small, tender touches. Every brush of fingers, every laugh, every gentle kiss lingers in the soft morning light, golden and warm.

Eventually, Franco’s hand finds yours, interlacing fingers with yours as you tread water together, eyes locked in a silent, unspoken understanding. “You really think… we can all do this?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You tilt your head, brushing your nose against his cheek. “We already are,” you reply. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Behind you, the sun climbs higher, turning the sky to brilliant gold, the waves shimmering around you, and for a moment, it feels like the world exists only for the three of you — the adventure, the laughter, the gentle teasing, and the warmth that threads between your heart and Franco’s in a quiet, perfect intimacy.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The sky is a riot of gold and pink as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting the sand and water in soft, molten light. You and Lewis have spent the late afternoon preparing, sneaking around the villa, arranging candles and lanterns along the edge of the beach, and setting a small table with crisp white linens and polished silverware. The soft hum of waves forms a perfect soundtrack, and the scent of salt and blooming tropical flowers wraps around you like a warm blanket.

Franco emerges from the villa, drying his hair with a towel, sunglasses perched atop his head. He freezes for a moment at the sight before him, eyes wide, and then grins slowly. “What… what is this?”

You brush past him, hands on his shoulders, grinning. “Dinner on the beach.”

Lewis steps beside you, slipping an arm around your waist, and Franco’s gaze flickers between the two of you. “You…did this for me? The whole beach?”

“Not the whole beach,” Lewis teases, tone low and amused. “Just the part we need for the three of us.”

His eyes widen, then soften, heart evidently racing. “Three of us?”

You glance at Lewis, a playful spark in your eyes, and he smiles knowingly, squeezing your waist gently. “You ready for the real surprise?”

Franco hesitates, looking from you to Lewis, then back again, a mixture of excitement and nervousness curling in his chest. “I… I think so,” he says softly.

You take his hand in yours, guiding him toward the table, your fingers warm and steady against his. “Franco,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “We want this. Both of us, together, with you.”

He blinks, heart skipping a beat. “Wait… seriously?”

“Yes,” Lewis says, voice gentle, low, and steady. “We’ve been… talking, thinking, and we both agreed. You’re important to us — more than a friend, more than a flirt.” He smiles softly. “We want you with us, officially.”

The sand feels soft beneath your toes as Franco swallows, looking between the two of you. There’s a moment of silence, just the three of you breathing, the sun spilling gold across the waves. Then he grins, laughter bubbling out, a mix of disbelief, relief, and joy. “Are you serious?”

“We have never been more serious,” you say teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Do you want a second to process, or can we skip straight to the part where you say yes?”

He shakes his head quickly, voice catching with emotion. “No. I… yes. I would love that. I… I want that.”

Lewis grins, tugging you closer as you both slip an arm around Franco. “Good. Because it’s official now,” he murmurs.

You laugh softly, leaning your forehead against his. “We’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I just… wanted it to feel like magic.”

“Well,” Franco whispers, voice low, awed, “it feels like… everything. Like a dream.”

A waiter steps forward with the first course, a delicate platter that gleams in the golden light. Franco’s hands are slightly trembling, but he reaches for his fork, still smiling like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

The three of you eat slowly, talking and laughing, fingers brushing occasionally, small touches charged with intimacy. The sun dips lower, leaving streaks of pink and purple across the sky, and lanterns flicker along the sand, casting a soft glow over all of you.

When the last plate is cleared, Lewis stands, taking Franco’s hand gently. “We wanted to end this night perfectly,” he murmurs. “So…” He gestures toward the sand just ahead, where a small fire pit has been lit, candles circling the edge. “We can stay here, just the three of us. Watch the stars, listen to the ocean, and… talk, if we want. Or just sit close.”

Franco’s eyes shine in the candlelight, and he squeezes your hand, leaning slightly into your side. “I think… I think I’d like that very much.”

You pull him down to sit beside you, the sand warm beneath you, and Lewis settles next to you on the other side. Your hands meet across Franco’s lap, fingers entwining, and you feel his pulse, quick but steady.

The night stretches on like golden honey, soft laughter and teasing glances flowing between the three of you. Franco leans into you every now and then, brushing a hand over your arm, laughing quietly when Lewis nudges him, teasing him about being “spoiled already.”

You lean back against Lewis, letting Franco’s head rest on your shoulder for a moment, and he murmurs softly, “I can’t believe… this. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“You’re supposed to,” you whisper, brushing your fingers through his hair. “And now you do.”

Lewis squeezes your waist, voice low and warm. “Welcome to us, mate. Officially.”

Franco’s grin is shy, awed, completely disarmed. “I… I can’t believe I get to be part of this.”

You laugh softly, heart swelling as the waves lap at the shore and the stars begin to prick the sky above. “You are, angel. You’re officially ours.”

And in that soft, golden light, on that quiet stretch of sand with the ocean whispering just for the three of you, it feels like the world has folded perfectly around you — full of warmth, laughter, and the quiet, unspoken promise of everything to come.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

francolapinto

liked by ynhamilton, lewishamilton, lando and 2,000,000 others.

francolapinto : this is your sign to NEVER STOP YEARNING. and now i can be freely be horny on the main and my team can’t stop me!!!!!!!!! los amo a los dos ❤️

tagged : ynhamtilon & lewishamilton

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୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

You step into the paddock, and it’s like the world slows down for a second. Engines rumble, cameras click, mechanics hustle—but none of that matters. What matters is the three of you: you, perfectly composed and glowing; Lewis, calm and amused as always, the subtle tease in his eyes for only you to see; and Franco, striding slightly behind, grinning like he’s just won the universe.

Heads turn immediately. Whispers ripple through the crowd. Phones subtly lift to snap photos. You can feel the collective awe, the quiet disbelief that Franco’s relentless flirting… actually worked.

“Wait… is that them?” someone murmurs near the Ferrari garage.

“No way. He actually did it,” another voice replies. “Colapinto? Seriously?”

Franco, noticing your gaze, leans into your side, brushing your hand lightly with his. “I can hear them,” he murmurs, half-laughing, eyes twinkling. “They’re all talking about me.”

You nudge him with your hip, grinning. “And you? You pulled it off without even breaking a sweat.”

Lewis tilts his head at him, smirking. “I knew he had it in him… didn’t expect him to be this bold.”

Franco quirks an eyebrow. “Bold? Me? Never.”

As you walk, the flashes from photographers sparkle like tiny fireworks around the three of you. Franco’s grin broadens when someone gasps audibly nearby. Lando is trying and failing to hide a shocked grin behind his hands; Kimi mutters something to George, clearly flustered.

You glance at Lewis. “Look at him,” you whisper. “He’s… glowing.”

Lewis laughs softly. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Franco leans closer, voice low and teasing. “Glowing because I am with the most beautiful people in the paddock.”

You press a quick kiss to his temple. “Worth it?” you murmur.

He catches your gaze, smirk softening just slightly. “Totally worth it,” he replies, before turning his attention to Lewis. “And you, Lewis… not bad either.”

Lewis chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t even know how to compete with this.”

“You’re not competing,” Franco says, voice playful. “We’re just… excellent together.”

The whispers around you grow. “Did you see that? They’re like a power trio!”

You glance at Lewis, fingers brushing his under your coat. “Well, we always did have good taste,” he murmurs.

Franco leans into your shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief and awe, and you can’t help but think: yes. This, right here, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The city lights outside the hotel window shimmer faintly, spilling across the room like tiny stars, but inside, the world feels entirely yours. The light hum of the air unit and the occasional distant honk of traffic are the only sounds. Everything else — the chaos of the paddock, the cameras, the crowds — has melted away.

You’re nestled between Lewis and Franco, the three of you tangled in a perfect, lazy heap under the silky sheets. Franco’s head rests on your chest, his hair tickling your collarbone, and you’re absently brushing your fingers through it, just enough to make him sigh softly. Lewis is pressed against your side, hand draped over your waist, thumb stroking in slow, soothing circles.

Franco murmurs something against your skin, half-laughing, half-yawning. “I can’t believe this… all of this. You two… it’s insane.”

You smile down at him, brushing a gentle kiss across his temple. “It’s real, precioso. You’re here with us. We wanted this — you, us, together.”

He blinks up at you, eyes wide, awed and soft, and you feel your heart squeeze at the vulnerability in him. “I… I never thought I’d be this lucky,” he whispers.

Lewis leans forward, brushing a kiss across your temple and then pressing his lips to Franco’s forehead. “We’re all lucky,” he says quietly. “You’re perfect, Franco. You fit right here, with us.”

Franco’s lips twitch into a shy smile, and then he lifts his head slightly to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. You respond instinctively, leaning down, capturing his lips with yours in a soft, lingering kiss that leaves a warm buzz between you.

Lewis chuckles softly, nuzzling against your shoulder. “You two are adorable,” he teases quietly.

“You too,” Franco murmurs, laughing softly, voice muffled against your chest. “I mean… you’re both incredible. I don’t even know what I did to deserve this.”

You tug him closer, fingers brushing along his jaw as you pepper soft kisses along the curve of his face. “You didn’t have to do anything,” you whisper. “You deserve to be happy, Franco.”

Franco lets out a small laugh, burying his face against you again. “I think that might be my favorite thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Lewis presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering. “And you’re ours now,” he murmurs. “Officially, completely.”

You smile, looking down at the two of them. Franco lifts his head to meet your eyes, his gaze soft, and you lean forward, kissing him again — gentle, slow, full of warmth and reassurance.

“You’re okay,” you whisper when you pull back slightly, brushing your lips across his forehead. “We’re all okay. And we’re all here, together.”

Franco swallows, voice low and trembling with emotion. “Yeah… together,” he repeats. “I love this. I love you two. I… I love us.”

Lewis wraps an arm around both of you, tugging you close in a snug, perfect hug. “We love you too,” he murmurs, voice full of warmth. “Every little bit of you.”

The three of you settle into the quiet, letting the night stretch around you like a warm blanket. Fingers entwine, lips brush occasionally, soft laughter bubbles out every now and then, and whispers of affection drift through the room.

At some point, Franco curls fully into your side, arms draped loosely around you, and Lewis presses close behind, the three of you forming a tangled, cozy line of warmth.

You kiss the top of Franco’s head softly, then glance at Lewis, who leans down to brush his lips against yours. “Goodnight, my loves,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight,” you whisper back, fingers threading through Franco’s hair one last time before sleep tugs at you.

Franco lifts his head just slightly, a sleepy grin on his face. “Goodnight… to both of you. Thank you. For everything.”

You press one final kiss to his temple, feeling his heartbeat slow against yours. “Always,” you whisper. “Always, cariño.”

The three of you drift into the soft hum of sleep, tangled together, warm and safe, the quiet intimacy of your shared space wrapping around you. Outside, the city continues to move, but inside, the world is golden, still, and perfect — and the three of you are finally home, together.

୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ୭˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

[verstappenspole33]

Radio Check | FC43

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x gf!reader

Summary: A little smau about all the times Franco has been simping about you over the radio, featuring poor Stuart just trying to do his job.

Tags: fluff, humor, established relationship

Warnings: swearing, suggestive

Other drivers: Radio Check | Masterlist

colapintosradio

Liked by isackhadjar, francocolapinto, yourusername, and 4,828,763 others

colapintosradio Safe to say Franco’s radio messages from today did not disappoint, and this definitely is our personal favorite.

Care to elaborate, @/francocolapinto?

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username i don’t get this

username you’re too young then

username means he’s good at dicking down his girlfriend

username ^ always two types of people

username I’m confused… this is a sport, isn’t it?

username oh girl you’re in for a wild ride

username trust franco to say the most unhinged shit at the worst possible times

username It’s the way he said it guys, he was dead serious about it 😭😭😭

username NOO STUART WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT, I WANTED MORE INFO ACTUALLY

colapintosradio

Liked by yourusername, alpinef1team, and 3,848,251 others

colapintosradio Not a good day for us FC43 girlies, with Franco finishing the race in P16. 😔

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username Why do I actually feel kind of bad for him :(

username average F1 fangirlie:

username he just wants to make her proud oh my–😭

yourusername Never a day where you don’t impress me, @/francocolapinto 🩷

francocolapinto Love you my sweet girl 🩷

username not them simping on main

username he said my sweet girl 😭 fuck somebody kill me already i can’t take this anymore

username it’s so annoying that i can’t even be jealous of Y/N when they’re just so fucking cute together

colapintosradio

Liked by kimi.antonelli, isackhadjar, francocolapinto, maxverstappen1, and 5,883,626 others

colapintosradio FRANCO TAKES POLE POSITION AT THE BAKU GRAND PRIX! THIS IS NOT A DRILL, GET READY FOR TOMORROW!!🩷🩷🩷

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maxverstappen1 Well done, mate. You of course have to win this for her now. 😆

francocolapinto For her, I will make it happen.

username i’m screaming at max all supportive and franco being THE SWEETEST

username get you someone who loves you the way Franco loves Y/N

username Not stuart remembering their conversation about this and reminding him 🥹shows that they do pay attention

username him finding out he got pole and the only thing that matters is if she’s watching 😭

colapintosradio

Liked by pierregasly, yourusername, and 4,837,222 others

colapintosradio Franco’s radio during the Las Vegas GP, today, seemingly getting on @/stuartbarlow’s last nerve. 🩷

Also, if anyone captured him waving at her during the race, don’t be shy and send us the video, please. 🙏🏻

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username it always amazes me that they’re able to pick out people at such speed like what

username you’ll always find that one special person in a crowd, no matter what 🥰

username ok but that sigh WAS passive aggressive, are you ok stuart?

stuartbarlow Splendid.

username LMAOOO HES FED UP

username so you’re telling me he actually sees these posts???!

username i want a man who’s this obsessed with me

username does he ever shut up about her???

kimi.antonelli No

isackhadjar No

olliebearman No

gabrielbortoleto_ No

pierregasly No

colapintosradio

Liked by francocolapinto, yourusername, pierregasly, and 5,893,263 others

colapintosradio It’s okay guys, just keep bickering while everyone else is actually driving in a race. 🩷

view all comments

username I’ll let you know I’m exclusively watching Franco’s radios at this point

username no same, shit’s more entertaining than the race sometimes

username Franco being so sassy for what 😭

username complains about passive aggression and a race later he says shit like that i’m pissing myself

username Franco every chance he gets: Actually, I’d rather talk about Y/N

yourusername Oh my god, you guys are ridiculous @/francocolapinto @/stuartbarlow

francocolapinto Ridiculously in love with you? Yes

stuartbarlow See this is the best example of why you should break up with him.

yourusername Never ❤️

—

Other drivers: Radio Check | Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (For a particular driver or every version is up to you!)

taglist: @thegothamsiren @lilith-123321 @kebsf1shit @avalentina @thisdoesntexsist-cherry @bearyfast @bitchycheesecakecat @valeelavvale

[harrysfolklore]

nepo boyfriend - fc43

summary: franco colapinto is dating leo messi's daughter, which makes him a "nepo boyfriend"

folkie radio: GUYSSS HERE IT IS! took me a minute to do this requests but there you have it. i had to educate myself on messi lore for this and omg he has the cutest love story with his wife, im obsessed lol. anyway, i hope you like this!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by francolapinto, olliebearman and 202,826 others

yn.messi home 🤍🇦🇷

view all comments

username1 IT GIRLLL

username2 coolest nepo baby

username3 ESPERA is that franco colapinto??

└ username1 she's been dating franco for years now 👀

└ username4 our boy stealing messi's daughter's heart purrrr

username5 little messi has a boyfriend???

└ username1 yeah he's literally argentina's next f1 star

francolapinto mi hogar está dondequiera que estés ♥️ [home is wherever you are]

└ yn.messi 🫂🤍

username6 imagine your dad being the most famous sportsman ever and dating a cute guy and wearing cute outfits. she has the dream life

username7 i can’t wait for franco to make it to f1 so they become the paddock it couple

liked by francolapinto, yn.messi and 509,268 others

williamsracing BREAKING: Franco Colapinto joins Williams Racing for the rest of the 2024 season. Welcome to the family, @/francolapinto!

view all comments

username1 OMFGGGGG

username2 poor logan but franco is really talented he deserves this chance !!

username3 HES SO CUTE HELLO??

yn.messi mi campeón 🫶✨ [my champion]

└ francolapinto ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

└ username1 LEO MESSI’S DAUGHTER??

alex_albon Welcome to the team mate!

└ francolapinto gracias Alex! Ready to learn 💪

username4 ARGENTINA IS BACK IN F1

leomessi 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

└ username2 LEO COMMENTING ON F1 POST??? history

└ username3 argentina’s pride and joy already

username5 IS HE SINGLE??? PLEASE TELL ME HE IS

username6 new fans you better learn the franco lore bc there’s plenty of it

username7 WAIT UNTIL YOU FIND OUT THAT-

liked by francolapinto, lilymhe and 389,766 others

yn.messi first of many. orgullosa de vos siempre 🤍 [proud of you always]

view all comments

username1 awe 🥹🥹🥹🥹

username2 MY BABIES

username3 THEY’RE TOGETHER ???

francolapinto gracias por todo mi amor ❤️ [thank you for everything my love]

└ username3 HE CALLED HER MI AMOR I'M CRYING

└ username1 someone check if i'm breathing

└ yourinstagram i love you!

username4 THE WAY SHE'S BEEN THERE SINCE FOREVER

└ username1 that's real love right there

└ username2 watching them grow together >>>>>>

williamsracing Our favorite supporter 💙

└ yn.messi 🫶🫶

lilymhe welcome! 🥹💗💗

username5 my girl really said forget football i'm going racing

└ username1 leo watching his princess date a racer instead of a footballer: 🧍‍♂️

└ username2 the crossover we didn't know we needed

username6 remember when we thought those pics in buenos aires were edited??

username7 THE MINI MESSI AND THE F1 DRIVER, THIS IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE

username8 first we got leo bringing us the world cup now franco in f1 🇦🇷

└ username2 and yn connecting both worlds, iconic behavior

username9 the way he looks at her in the first pic >>>>>

username10 IM SO CONFUSED RIGHT NOW

liked by username1, username2 and 56,827 others

f1gossip 🚨 Williams driver Franco Colapinto spotted with YN Messi (yes, THAT Messi's daughter) at dinner in Monaco

view all comments

username1 WAIT WHAT??? HOW DID WE NOT KNOW THIS

└ username2 they've literally been together for like four years 😭

└ username3 where have you been living?? under a rock??

username4 messi's daughter dating an f1 driver?? didn't see this coming

└ username2 she's been at every race supporting him!

username5 they're literally the cutest couple in f1 rn

username6 probably just wants messi's connections for sponsors tbh

└ username2 he literally got the williams seat on merit stfu

└ username3 tell me you know nothing about franco without telling me

username7 she could do better than a pay driver

└ username2 clearly you haven't watched a single f2 race

└ username3 worry about your own life challenge

└ username4 he's literally argentina's biggest racing talent in years

username8 why isn't she dating a footballer instead??

└ username2 because she can date whoever she wants??

username9 they've been together for ages, internet using internet internet explorer fr

└ username3 real ones remember their first spotting in buenos aires

username10 the amount of sponsorship money williams must be getting

username11 this is actually so cute. from f2 to f1 together

liked by username1, username2 and 5,028 others

francoupdates here are some pics of franco and yn messi through the years since some of you are new to this

view all comments

username1 THE WAY SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN HIS BIGGEST SUPPORTER 😭

username2 power couple since day ONE

username3 that pic of her at the pitwall watching him race >>>>>

└ username1 the way she still does this at every race 🥺

username4 REAL ONES HAVE BEEN HERE

username5 they were so tiny i can’t

username6 LOS AMO

username7 young yn watching franco race vs now analyzing his data

username8 here to spread the colapinto x messi agenda

username9 argentina’s it couple since forever

username10 SIMP BABY FRANCO I CANT

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 1,023,477 others

francolapinto Points ✅ BZRP cap ✅ Nepo boyfriend things ✅

Gracias por el apoyo! [thank you for the support]

view all comments

username1 FRANCOOOO 😩😩

username2 he’s never letting the nepo boyfriend thing go i love him

username3 this divaaaa

yn.messi and they said dating messi's daughter got you the seat... weird way to spell pure talent

└ francolapinto clearly i'm the worst nepo boyfriend ever

└ francolapinto te amo hermosa ❤️

└ username1 HELP THEY'RE SO FUNNY TOGETHER

williamsracing More of this please! 💙

username4 worst nepo boyfriend ever actually delivers results

username5 embarrassing nepotism attempt tbh

username6 not him actually being talented and making us all proud

username7 THE ROOKIES BRINGING POINTS HOME

leomessi 🙌🙌 Vamos!

└ username1 JUST ICONIC

└ yn.messi the payment for his permanent seat is due next week don’t forget!

└ username2 IM SCREAMING

username8 the way they're both trolling the haters i love them sm

liked by francolapinto, alexandrasaintmleux and 402,277 others

yn.messi mi lugar favorito [my favorite place] 🤍 pit stop before mexico city

view all comments

username1 AWEEEEE

username2 how can anyone hate this couple

username3 THE. HAND. PLACEMENT.

francolapinto perdiste en fifa mi amor [you lost in fifa]

└ yn.messi te dejo ganar 😌 [i let you win]

└ landonorris exposed by your own girlfriend mate

└ username1 I LOVE THEM SO BAD

leomessi ❤️

username4 this is what we mean by relationship goals

username5 THE WAY SHE EXPOSED HIM ABOUT FIFA 😭

username6 football royalty 🤝 f1

username7 this is such a great crossover i can’t

username8 LOS AMO [i love them]

lilyhme 💗💗

username9 taking franco to her dad’s matches 🥹🥹

username10 i’m so parasocial about them

liked by username1, yn.messi and 12,043 others

francoupdates Franco opens up about his relationship with YN Messi in recent interview:

"I met her at an event in Argentina back in 2019. She didn't even know what DRS was back then and now she corrects my racing lines in the sim. We grew up together through all this - F3, F2, now F1. She's been there through the tough times, sleeping in paddocks, the uncertain seasons. The nepotism jokes are funny because if you knew how many nights we spent budgeting for the next race... Being Leo Messi's daughter was never part of our story. It was just YN and Franco, trying to make it work while chasing a dream and loving each other very much”

view all comments

username1 NOT ME CRYING OVER THIS

username2 NOT HIM SAYING SHE CORRECTS HIS RACING LINES 😭

└ yn.messi someone has to 🤷🏻‍♀️

└ username1 HI YN I LOVE YOU 😭

username3 "just YN and Franco" 🥺

└ username2 this is actually so wholesome

username4 "budgeting for the next race" but they said nepotism 🙄

username5 THIS IS THE PUREST THING EVER

username6 MY CORAZON [my heart]

username7 haters don’t know a single thing about their story, they have been soulmates for years now

username8 cute but we do need messi connections for that seat 😩

username9 IF THEY DONT GET MARRIED ISTG

username10 real ones have been here since that buenos aires spotting

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

francolapinto added to their stories

[the prettiest is ready for vegas]

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by yn.messi, williamsracing and 678,923 others

francolapinto 3 more races let's gooo! ready to prove nepotism requires talent sometimes 😌✌🏼 (yn stop rolling your eyes at my jokes mi amor)

view all comments

username1 I LOVE HIM SO BAD

username2 he’s never letting the nepo boyfriend jokes go

yn.messi i'll stop rolling my eyes when you stop missing apex points honey 😘

└ francolapinto MI AMOR WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS

└ alex_albon she's got data to back this up mate

└ williamsracing YN: 1, Franco: 0

└ username1 I LOVE THEM SM

username3 NOT YN ROASTING HIS RACING LINES IN THE COMMENTS

└ username4 MOTHER CHOSE VIOLENCE TODAY

username5 no one can convince me they aren’t the best couple ever

username6 bro got called a nepo boyfriend once and now that’s his brand

landonorris 😂😂😂

username7 okay but when is messi going to get franco a seat fr

username8 worst nepo kid ever he doesn’t even have a seat yeat

liked by username1, username2 and 43,022 others

f1gossip Franco Colapinto and YN Messi spotted getting cozy at XS Nightclub in Vegas after qualifying 🎰 Apparently someone forgot Papa Messi might see these 👀

view all comments

username1 FRANCO BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING LEO'S GONNA SEE THIS 💀

└ username2 man's risking it all before his first full season

username2 breaking: franco colapinto will not race tomorrow due to mysterious disappearance

└ username3 leo messi spotted buying a plane ticket to vegas

username4 it was nice knowing you franco 😭

username5 WILLIAMS RACING SUDDENLY LOOKING FOR NEW DRIVER

username6 someone check on franco pls

username7 pov: you forgot your girlfriend's dad is literally lionel messi

username8 leo messi about to show up at williams garage

username9 THEY’RE SO CUTE THO

username10 MY PARENTS ACTUALLY

liked by francolapinto, lilymhe and 401,827 others

yn.messi vegas was fun ‼️ papi please don’t check your phone

view all comments

username1 HEEEEEELPP

username2 BESTIE YOU’RE INSANE

alex_albon Kids these days.. they don’t know how you behave

└ username1 imagine alex just babysitting them at the club 😭

username3 BABY WE ALL SAW THE PICS

username4 just in: leonel messi spotted planning vehicular manslaughter

username5 FRANCO MOVE TO ANTARTICA ITS NOT TOO LATE

francolapinto i’m scared..

└ username1 WE ALL ARE

└ username2 THIS IS TOO FUNNY

francolapinto hermosa 😍😍

└ username3 he said yup my gf’s dad could kill me but i’m still thirsting over her

username6 CAUGHT IN 4K AND FULL HD

landonorris 😂😂😂😂 never a dull day with y’all

username7 franco consider witness protection

username8 DROP THE HAIR ROUTINE QUEENIE

alexandrasaintmleux been there donde that…

username9 there goes your possible seat franco leo messi is not paying for it anymore

username10 MENACES

liked by username1, username2 and 29,726 others

francoupdates Franco with one of YN’s little brothers in Qatar! The Messi’s are there to watch him race 🥹

view all comments

username1 OH MY LORDDDDD

username2 THIS IS SO CUTE IM MELTING

username3 her dad is there to have a chat with franco about those pictures in las vegas

username4 FRANCO SEAT CONFIRMATION INCOMING

username5 this is so adorable and the fact that yn’s brothers know him since they were born lrettt much 🥹🥹

username6 FRANCO YOU’RE SO LOVED

username7 leo be like: hello franco i just want to talk

username8 ARGENTINA’S ROYALTY

username9 yn tried to hide her dad’s phone and he just showed up at the paddock with the whole fam

username10 I LIVE FOR THIS

liked by username1, username2 and 43,098 others

f1gossip"Yeah, no pressure right? But honestly, they're like my second family now. Leo's probably more nervous than me - he keeps sending me good luck messages. Thiago and Mateo have been explaining F1 to Ciro all week. And YN... well, she's in bossy mode so she's more focused on telling me where I'm losing time than giving good luck kisses. But having them here means everything." - Franco talking about his girlfriend's family watching him race in Qatar!

view all comments

username1 THE WAY HE GETS SHY TALKING ABOUT THEM

username2 leo sending good luck texts is killing me

username3 YN REALLY SAID RACING LINES > KISSES

username4 imagine getting good luck texts from messi 😭

username5 VAMOS FRANCOOOO

username6 messi family taking over qatar paddock we love to see it

username7 NEPO BOYFRIEND THINGSSS

username8 yn's dad is there to buy franco a set soooo trueee

username9 GOOD LUCK KISSES 🥺

username10 the way he lights up mentioning yn though └ username1 even if she's roasting his racing lines 😭

liked by yn.messi, landonorris and 1,026,287 others

francolapinto Special helmet for Qatar 🇶🇦Celebrando la copa del mundo [celebrating the world cup] ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Had to honor the greatest of all time and well... my future father in law 😅 Gracias Leo por todo [thank you for everything], specially for not killing me for dating your daughter

view all comments

username1 FRANCO OMFG

username2 HE REALLY DID THIS

yn.messi "future father in law" someone's feeling brave today

└ francolapinto had to shoot my shot mi amor

└ username1 HE REALLY WANTS TO DIE TODAY

└ leomessi 👀

username3 DID HE JUST- IS THIS A PROPOSAL HINT???

└ username2 MAN'S REALLY ANNOUNCING HIS INTENTIONS ON MAIN

username4 FRANCO CHOOSING VIOLENCE TODAY

username5 bro using a helmet reveal to ask for blessing, respect

landonorris At least the man’s got game 😂

username6 HELP DID HE JUST SOFT LAUNCH A PROPOSAL

└ username1 leo reading that caption: 🔪

username7 future father in law... franco woke up fearless

username8 LATINO GANG RISE UP VAMOS FRANCO

username9 THE WAY HE JUST ANNOUNCED HIS DEATH WISH

williamsracing Lovely helmet design! Also, security has been increased around the garage

alex_albon might need witness protection after this one mate

└ yn.messi don't worry guys papa already knew about the helmet

└ francolapinto MI AMOR YOU COULD'VE LED WITH THAT 😭

username10 never beating the nepo boyfriend allegations

username11 buttering messi up so he can buy him a seat we know

liked by lilymhe, francolapinto and 402,389 others

yn.messi my nepo boyfriend who couldn't even get a point in his first race just finished his first formula 1 season 🥹 so proud of you mi amor, from watching you race karts to F1... i'd say dating the goat’s daughter worked out pretty well 😌❤️ @/francolapinto

view all comments

username1 THIS IS SO CUTE

username2 the second pic i’m SOBBING

francolapinto from being the worst nepo boyfriend to getting points... all thanks to you mi amor ❤️

└ yn.mesi you're still the worst nepo boyfriend but i love you

└ alex_albon get a room you two

williamsracing Nepo strategy successful ✅

username3 living the nepo dream fr

username4 THE WAY SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN HIS BIGGEST SUPPORTER 😭

username5 from karting girlfriend to f1 wag upgrade

username6 they keep bringing up the nepo boyfriend thing 😭

└ username1 she'll never let him live it down

username7 YN AND FRANCO SUPREMACY

username8 the nepo jokes never get old

alexandrasaintmleux 🥹🥹🥹🥹

leomessi Estamos muy orgullosos ❤️

└ username1 THIS IS SO ADORABLE

└ username2 franco you’re so loved

username8 SHE'S SO PROUD OF HIM I'M CRYING

└ username2 the way she never stops teasing him though

username9 MY PARENTS SINCE THAT FIRST BUENOS AIRES SPOTTING

username10 OUR BEST WAG NEEDS TO STAY

liked by yn.messi, landonorris and 1,011,965 others

francolapinto What a year... Couldn't have done this without my biggest supporter since karting days @/yn.messi ❤️ Thank you for believing in me even when I was "the worst nepo boyfriend" 😅

And to the entire Messi family - gracias por hacerme sentir parte de la familia desde el primer día. Leo, gracias por confiarme lo más precioso que tienen (y por no matarme todavía).

[thank you for making me feel part of the family since day one. Leo, thank you for trusting me with your most precious treasure (and for not killing me yet).]

Time to work harder for 2025 💪🏼

view all comments

username1 FRANCOOO OMFG

username2 this is so CUTE

yn.messi still the worst nepo boyfriend but i guess you're MY worst nepo boyfriend ❤️

└ francolapinto te amo mi amor

└ username1 THEY’RE THE CUTEST

username3 “trusting me with your most precious treasure” IM DEADDDD

username4 man wrote a whole love letter to the messis

└ username1 AS HE SHOULD

leomessi You’re family 🤍 [eres familia]

username5 NOT LEO SAYING HE'S FAMILY I'M CRYING

└ username2 from fearing leo to being adopted by him

williamsracing Family ✅ Points ✅ 2025 loading...

└ username3 GIVE HIM A SEAT

username6 THE SECOND PIC, THEY WERE LITTLE BABIES

username7 THE WAY HE THANKED THE WHOLE FAMILY 😭

└ username1 securing that messi blessing

[yourlittlebunnyy]

all the times franco and yn were unhinged on each others socials

francolapinto just posted.

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, williamsracing and 405.292 others

francolapinto working hard🔥

see comments

user1 great job!

user2 he looks so good omg😫

williamsracing 💙💙💙

ynusername oh!

ynusername papi

ynusername why are my panties suddenly wet?

francolapinto let me help you get rid of them mami

alexalbon I DID NOT WANT TO KNOW???

user2 THEY CANT BE STOPPED DAMN

ynusername papi i want you to choke me with those biceps

francolapinto gladly mami

user99 daddy/mommy kink goes HARD

user45 THEY HAVE NO SHAME

charlesleclerc there are FAMILIES HERE

user18 who is this DIVA?💜

landonorris WHAT DID I JUST READ???

user3 oh she's unhinged

user4 i mean look at him who wouldn't

user5 yn is lucky 😖

user6 actually ☝️🤓 franco is lucky to have yn

ynusername just posted.

liked by francolapinto, yourbestie, user7 and others

ynusername life lately🌞🌻

see comments

francolapinto mami porfa dame tus hijos🙏

user8 hey! so this is actually insane

francolapinto why are you so hot 😞

ynusername you tell me papi

alexalbon wait why are the comments actually nice?

francolapinto i may or may not have a problem right now...

ynusername a big one? 😏☝️

user13 ehm... i suddenly feel in the middle of something😞

charlesleclerc that's how we fill everyday, every hour, every second.

alexalbon NEVERMIND

user9 IT GIRL

yourbestie 😍😍😍

user10 the comments started nice...

williamsracing we are tired😃

landonorris someone tell me what the actual fuck i just witnessed.

user2 please tell us 🙏🙏🙏

landonorris i... i think i just saw franco looking at this and excusing himself...

user6 LOLOLLOLLLL

user7 he's so down bad it's cute

francolapinto just posted.

liked by ynusername, williamsracing, alexalbon and 378.292 others

francolapinto quick break with my babygirl🏋‍♀️🐎

see comments

ynusername damn papi i wanna sit on your face😫

francolapinto who's stopping you? definitely not me

landonorris WHAT

charlesleclerc someone needs to start a petition to media train this two because man, i am tired...

alexalbon the way i would sign so quick...

ynusername didn't realise everyone hates us😟

user11 GIRL-

ynusername i want to climb you like a tree🙏

carlossainz i sighed so loud.

user12 me too, carlos. me too.

user13 GIRL WE GET IT PLS STOP😭😭😭

user14 atp im just here for yn comments😔

williamsracing looking good🔥💙

user15 i just know yn is giggling and kicking her feet rn

yourbestie she is. she is also blushing and she's been staring at this post for the past 10 minutes. send help.

williamsracing just posted.

liked by ynusername, francolapinto and 398.473 others

williamsracing ready for today💪 we will keep pushing💙🏎

see comments

user16 omg im here before than yn it feels so weird

francolapinto 💪💙

alexalbon see how its nice now that she's been media trained?

user17 noo pls they got my girl😔

ynusername AHAHAHAH NO you guys thought williams could trap me? 👺

user18 PLS NEVER CHANGE QUEEN🤲🙏

williamsracing well, fuck.

ynusername i think i just got pregnant

francolapinto milf yn?😏😏😏

user19 i dont think thats how it works...

user44 mind that's my first impression of you! 🙂

ynusername currently hyperventilating dont ask me anything

user20 @ynusername quick question what color is the shirt?

ynusername uhmmmm he was... wearing a shirt?☝

user21 SHE IS SO ME DJKDFJJDJS

user22 realest queen ever

user28 DIVA💜

alexalbon why i always speak too soon

landonorris nurse she's out again

yourbestie i tried. i failed. i can't defend you anymore, yn. 😞

ynusername damn... now a girl can't even admire his bf without being blamed...

yourbestie ADMIRE??? SISTER YOU'RE BASICALLY SEXTING WITH HIM IN THE COMMENTS🙏

user24 i love these two sm😭

user23 yn comments never disappoint🤭

more here!

[papayadays]

spanish or vanish

author's note: this smau wouldn't be possible without the help of @spiderbeam! eve helped me with the spanish to make it accurate and helped with some concepts, so thank you so much eve!! 🫶

liked by alex_albon, bizarrap, and 13,506 more

francolapinto sobre duolingo: no es lo que parece, posta (about duolingo: it's not what it looks like)

bizarrap 🤔

user13 what do you know??

francolapinto 🤨

alex_albon mate…

francolapinto mate? i love to drink mate

user14 he’s so unserious 💀

user15 aww that capybara stickers are cute

user16 he’s probably calling the duolingo owl

user17 pls 😭

user18 it is what it looks like: your spanish is rusty

user19 que paso?

yourusername posted a private story!

caption: my favorite place <3

francolapinto you went on una cita with me 🤭

yourusername yes i know franco

francolapinto but why post if no one else knows it’s with me

yourbestie duolingo? good thing you posted this on private

yourusername i know, fans online would’ve figured it out in minutes

liked by yourusername, bizarrap, and 32,593 others

francolapinto es su cuenta de duolingo (it's her duolingo account)

yourusername 🫶 liked by author

user20 FRANCO HAS A GIRLFRIEND? SINCE WHEN?

user21 and the fact he’s successfully hidden it too

user22 omg it’s one of his engineers? that’s so cute

user23 straight out of a novel fr

user24 no one talk to me right now

user25 🎶that should be me🎶

user26 so… is no one going to talk about how it wasn’t franco learning duolingo?

user27 we might have made a mistake

user28 mis padres 😍

user29 still processing tbh

liked by francolapinto, williamsracing, and 24,851 more

yourusername since franco won’t elaborate: so i’m currently learning spanish on duolingo but i’m busy during race weeks so i ask franco to do my lessons since it’s obviously really easy for him to keep my streak alive. happy five months i suppose! 🤭

francolapinto te amo 😍

user30 he’s so down bad lmao

user31 girl was dedicated to her streak i gotta respect that 😭

user32 in the words of duolingo, it’s either spanish or vanish

williamsracing we feel like duolingo should be the least of your concerns during race weekened

user33 damn okay williams

user34 she learned spanish for him 🥹

user35 your honor i love them

user36 FIVE MONTHS??? QUE???

user37 insane how they’ve been keeping this from us

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Flirt - Franco Colapinto

@shitshowblog prompt request #1 - "I like your last name. Can I have it?"

Summary: Franco is notorious for his flirting abilities, but maybe he's met someone who can play him at his own game.

Norris!reader (bc Lando and Franco seemed to be good friends last year and I think this would be a fun pair)

Word count: 903

Lando was the least surprised person to find his little sister was interested in the Williams driver who subbed in for Logan. The two had crossed paths last year a couple times but it never seemed to get anywhere as more than passing flirty banter than disappeared over the winter break and with him not returning as a driver, y/n wasn't sure what to do.

But then he got announced as Alpine's reserve driver.

Y/n returned this year more determined to get Franco's attention and keep it.

"Hey, Franco." Y/n greets as she passes by him in the paddock making his head whip around upon hearing her voice.

"Hermosa, I-where are you going?" Franco asks expecting her to stop for conversation. But y/n has a plan and it doesn't involve making his life easy.

Y/n slows her steps smiling as she turns to find Franco moving to catch up with her.

"I was going to grab something to eat at McLaren." Y/n explains as if she's none the wiser. "Unless you know something better to eat?"

"I could suggest one or two things." Franco smirks dragging his gaze up and down y/n's body which almost makes her stutter but she manages to maintain composure and maintain the energy he maintains with ease. "I think my ideas would fill you up very well actually."

"That's a very bold statement. You should really act on it rather than saying it." Y/n states watching his eyes widen for a moment.

"Come eat lunch with me. I will make sure you are well fed." Franco states making y/n internally celebrate that her mission is so far a success.

-

It didn't take long for Lando to realise his sister wasn't going to be spending more than the journey to the track with him so he just let her get on with it because he actually likes Franco and while he doesn't want to think about what the two might've got up to last night after being caught leaving together.

"Try this." Franco demands holding his fork out with some Korean BBQ chicken on it that he took from the Alpine catering which seems to be providing better than McLaren today. Y/n flinches away from the suddenness of the fork in her face and she hardly has a chance to process what he's trying to feed her before he speaks again. "You did not complain at what I was putting in your mouth last night you can trust me."

"I prefer what you were doing with your mouth last night too." Y/n comments earning a smirk before she leans towards the chicken and finally accepts the bite to try earning a smile while Franco shifts over and kisses her cheek while she chews and nods in defeat of the fact that his food is much better than what she'd been offered. "Can I have some more?"

"Of course, hermosa." Franco laughs nudging his plate towards her for her to have some more.

-

Franco visiting the Norris family home since y/n still lives under her parents roof is already beginning to be more and more of a norm, but Lando hadn't been home during one of his visits despite being a witness to them in the paddock.

"You two are all over each other. Please." Lando groans as he walks out into the garden where the two are "sunbathing" but really are a couple movements away from having sex in the garden with how far their tongues are into each other's throats.

Apparently that was all he came to say so presumably he'd looked out the window and felt the need to speak up, because he disappears back inside.

"I told you we should've gone to your place with Lando coming to visit." Y/n states while Franco hums, his mind very much elsewhere and the lust clouding his eyes is definitely not going to be easy to clear so she has to say something to snap him out of. "You know I like your last name."

"Thank you, mi amor." Franco mumbles slowly coming down from his thoughts while y/n smiles a little.

"Can I have it?"

"Of course you-my name? You want my-oh-OH you are very good." Franco laughs then pausing. "Do you really want my name?"

Y/n had really just stolen the pick up line and put it to use on the Argentine. But in truth neither had actually discussed their long term future, they've sort of been caught up in living in the moment that they just didn't think about the future much.

"I...I mean it would be quite nice to think we'll last that long together." Y/n mumbles earning a grin before she is almost head butted in an excited kiss.

"Amor, you leave it with me I will make sure you get my name and anything else you'd like." Franco smirks then biting his lip for a moment. "If your brother does not want to know what we get up to, I will get us a hotel to have fun in."

"W-Wait, leave it with you? What does that mean?" Y/n questions realising she might've just encouraged a very early engagement.

"Do not worry about a thing mi amor." Franco assures her then muting her second attempt to question him with another kiss. "Let's go find a hotel."

[cheriladycl01]

And … by Uber, I mean texting my boyfriend Franco - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Plot: In which you always seem to use your boyfriend as a convenient Uber and the media start to pick up on it!

You were being interviewed by the media while you were stood in the paddock waiting for your boyfriend to come out of his motorhome.

“Ah there’s Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N. I’ve never spoken to her before but rumours around the paddock say she’s just as funny as her partner and she’s very sweet. Let’s go haggle her” Martin says into the camera that’s following him through his Grid Walk

“Y/N! Y/N hi hello, Martin Brundle from Sky Sports! Can we chat?” He asks you, your head whipping round at the sound of your name.

“Oh hi! How are you today?” You smile kindly as you reach out to shake his hand.

“I’m good, I’m good! Glad I’ve bumped into you!” He smiles and you nod.

"So Y/N how have you found the paddock!" Martin asks, moving the microphone a little closer to you.

“It’s really welcoming! Everyone here has been so kind to me, and I’ve made tons of new friends with Lily last year when Franco was in Williams and Kika this year! But I’ve also spoken to Oscar’s Lily, Alexandra and a few of the other girls and their all really sweet, it’s nice to have people other than Franco” you explain and he nods a smile on his face.

“Ah that’s brilliant, that’s something we love here. All about family and keeping those close connections right?” He asks and you again nod.

“Mmmm, yes I’ve become very close to Kika! We’re going shopping together after qualifying tomorrow!” You exclaim happily, you’d become incredibly close to Kika. You pretty much hung out with her all the time now.

Originally, you’d been very shy when Franco underwent his first year in F1. He was the hotshot new rookie who came in to replace Logan and he ended up being phenomenal. Which led to him getting pretty popular VERY quickly. Which frightened you as it meant you’d be more in the limelight.

You’d remained towards the back, silently cheering him on whenever you were able to attend a race and kept off camera.

However now that he’d gotten a seat in Alpine, he was begging for you to appear so … in his words he didn’t seem like ‘a lonely flirty man whose desperate for attention’ you’d of course joked back and said take out the lonely and that’s a pretty accurate description of him.

“So we’re happy you’ve settled into paddock life so quickly, but let’s move onto the racing questions?” Martin asks and you nod your head. You actually knew a pretty decent amount about your boyfriend’s sport and once he introduced you to it and his world you became increasingly interested in not just the sport but the engineering behind it.

"So obviously you were here last year when Franco stepped in for Williams, how was that knowing that those last few races for him, could be his last time ever in formula one?" Martin asks and your smile remains despite the question.

"Franco and i have dated for a while now and been friends for even longer. So i've always known he'd make it. Last year was stepping stones and i think everyone could see how promising he was with the way he was pulling points from that Williams and now that he's taken on this role in Alpine i can see him being a stellar driver for years to come!" you explain Martin seeming happy with your answer.

"Well that will mean we get to see much more of you which im sure everyone in the paddock will be incredibly happy about!"

"Yeah, I wasn't into racing at all before i met Franco at school and thats when he asked me to go to one of his races in the lower catergorys. I swore i was going to be so bored but the thrill was insane, looking out for Franco on track became my new fravrioute thing... and it still is!" you grin and Martin laughs, the imagine of a younger you cheering on for Franco now planted in his mind.

"Anyway I'm so sorry Martin but i have to go I gotta go get my Uber. And by Uber ... I mean my boyfriend Franco" you joke and he looks at you in mock shock.

"You don't drive?" he asks and you look down a little embarrased.

"I do, but im not the best. Franco's terrified whenever I'm behind the wheel. He actually refuses me to drive now!" you admit shyly and Martin just laughs.

"And Franco, he doesn't try and teach you?" he asks in shock and you nod.

"He's tried but i genuinely think I'm unteachable. I have no clue how i passed my test, so a passenger princess i will remain" you sing the last note making a crown motion over your head.

"Ah and here he is now Franco Colapinto the Uber!" Martin says before you boyfriend comes up to the both of you.

"Are you okay?" he asks you concerned knowing you get a little camera shy and don't really like being incredibly public.

"Mmmmm yeah" you smile kissing the side of his face before taking a hold of his hand.

“I’m an uber?” He asks with a laugh raising an eyebrow at the interviewer.

“According to Y/N you’re her personal taxi driver” Martin intervenes.

“Oh! Yes! You didn’t know? My day job is a chauffeur for this lovely lady” he says pulling you in for a hug, laughing at you.

“Ah well it was lovely talking to you both, but I think times up as you guys have some Alpine members running to come get you! I think maybe you’re needed Franco. Lovely to see you both!” Martin says before continuing on his grid walk.

“An uber seriously?” He asks holding you at arms length as he looks over you.

“WHAT! Come on I was having fun!” You laugh hitting his shoulder before he wraps and arm around you, walking to meet his team that have been looking for him.

“You’re a menace!”

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[lap90]

The First Time (I Was Too Young to Notice) - FC43

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!reader summary: the one where Franco is a stray cat who keeps coming back, and Y/N is the only one with the password to his heart (and his Instagram). wc: 5.1k 💭 this one will stay as a standalone :)

note: hello! This is an idea that @fraaaaankiiiiieee shared with me a while ago. I hope you like it!! P.S. This isn't the only idea, so expect a lot of their great ideas, so you might see me mention it in future posts. Have a great day! 💐

The air in Grove was damp, heavy with that specific kind of English grey that seeped right into your bones.

For Franco, "home" was currently a generous term for a folding cot tucked behind a row of simulator screens at the team factory. His back ached constantly. His clothes smelled faintly of rubber, ozone, and cold coffee. His fridge—a mini-fridge he’d dragged near his setup—contained exactly one bottle of water and a protein bar that had expired two weeks ago. He was focused, yes. He was hungry for success. But mostly, right now, he was just hungry.

He stepped out of the industrial park, pulling his hoodie up against the wind. He didn't want to be a driver right now; he just wanted to be a human being who saw natural light.

For you, "home" was a 25-square-meter studio apartment that smelled of textbooks and the cheap lemon floor cleaner you used to distract yourself from homesickness. You were here on a scholarship, grinding through your studies, your bank account balancing on a razor's edge.

You bumped into him outside the only 24-hour convenience store open within walking distance. Literally bumped.

You were wrestling with a reusable grocery bag that had just split open, spilling a box of pasta and two apples onto the wet pavement. He was walking with his head down, scrolling through emails on a phone with a cracked screen.

"Mierda—sorry, sorry," he muttered, instinctively dropping to a crouch to help you. His voice was raspy, the sound of someone who hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours.

"It's fine," you sighed, grabbing the apples before they rolled into the gutter. "Cheap bags. My fault."

He handed you the box of pasta. His hands were rough, his fingernails short. He paused, staring at the box of pasta like it was the Holy Grail. Then, his stomach let out a growl so loud it was genuinely impressive.

He froze, his ears turning red. "Dios. Sorry. I... I forgot to eat lunch. And breakfast."

You looked at him. Really looked at him. He was wearing a Williams team hoodie that looked like he’d slept in it. He had dark circles under his eyes that mirrored your own. He looked like a stray cat that had been left out in the rain—talented and fierce, maybe, but currently shivering.

You looked at the sad can of Red Bull in his pocket. Then you looked at your pasta.

"I have sauce at home," you said, the words slipping out before your social anxiety could stop them. "And I definitely bought too much pasta for one person. Do you... want some?"

Franco blinked. He looked at the factory in the distance, then back at you. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother..."

"Please," you said, standing up and brushing off your knees. "Eating alone while watching Netflix is getting depressing. I could use the company. I'm Y/N."

"Franco," he said, a small, shy smile finally breaking through the exhaustion. He took the broken grocery bag from your hands effortlessly. "I'll carry this. Lead the way."

Thirty minutes later, the dynamic had shifted entirely.

Your apartment was tiny, but it was warm. Franco was sitting on your floor (because you only had one chair) with his back against your radiator, holding a bowl of pasta with a reverence usually reserved for race trophies.

"This is amazing," he mumbled around a mouthful. "Better than the catering. Better than... well, anything I've had this month."

"It's just jarred sauce and garlic, Franco," you laughed, sitting on the edge of your bed, your own bowl in hand.

"It's hot food," he corrected, looking around your space. He saw your laptop open to an essay, your drying rack full of dishes, the chaotic but cozy reality of your life. "And it's not in a factory."

"Do you really live there?"

"Basically," he admitted, scraping the bottom of the bowl. "It keeps me focused. No distractions. But... sometimes it gets quiet."

"I get that," you said softly, looking out the window at the rain. "I moved here three months ago. I haven't really spoken to anyone outside of class until you knocked my apples over."

Franco set his bowl down. He looked less tense than he had on the street. The "racing driver" armor was gone; he was just a guy who needed a friend.

"Well," he said, pointing at your TV. "Since I carried the heavy bag, do I get to pick what we watch?"

You smiled, feeling the knot of loneliness in your chest loosen, just a little bit. "Fine. But if you pick a documentary about cars, I'm kicking you out."

"Deal," he grinned, getting comfortable. "Pass me the remote."

He didn't leave until midnight.

It didn't happen all at once, and yet, it felt like he had always been there.

The pattern established itself within a week. The factory was where Franco worked, where he sweated in the simulator until his eyes burned and his muscles cramped. But your apartment? That became where he lived.

His fridge at the factory remained a barren wasteland—a testament to a bachelor life focused solely on survival. Yours wasn't exactly a gourmet pantry, but it had life. It had half-empty bags of rice, eggs, vegetables that were mostly fresh, and a steady supply of tea bags.

"I bought tomatoes," Franco announced one Tuesday, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. He dropped a plastic bag on your tiny counter. "And... I think this is basil? Or spinach. I don't know, it looked green."

"It's cilantro, Franco," you laughed, not looking up from your textbook. "But we can make it work."

Cooking became the buffer zone between the stress of the day and the quiet of the night. The kitchen was too small for two people, so it became a dance. You chopped onions; he awkwardly stirred the pot, trying to apply race-car precision to boiling pasta. He was terrible at timing—always impatient—but he was enthusiastic.

After dinner, the silence would settle. It wasn't the heavy, suffocating silence you used to feel when you were alone. It was a companionable weight.

Franco took over one end of your wobbly dining table, his laptop glowing blue against his face. He typed out emails to engineers, reviewed telemetry data, and frowned at schedules. You took the other end, surrounded by highlighters and notes.

Every hour, like clockwork, he’d stand up. "Tea?" "Please."

He’d make it exactly how you liked it. He didn't ask anymore. He just placed the mug near your hand, careful not to disturb your papers, his fingers brushing your wrist for a split second. A silent anchor.

Later, you’d move to the couch—or rather, the floor, leaning against the couch because it was more comfortable. You watched reality TV shows that were objectively terrible, or old sitcoms you’d both seen a thousand times.

"That's literally you," he’d mumble, pointing at a character on screen, his voice thick with sleep. "Shut up, Colapinto. That character is 50 years old." "Exactly. You have the soul of a grandma."

It felt domestic. It felt like you were an old married couple who had skipped the dating part, the romance part, and the awkward part, landing straight into the knowing part. You were family. You didn't need to define it. To define it would be to risk breaking it.

The details were small, but they were everywhere.

One morning, you walked into the bathroom and stopped. Next to your toothbrush in your favorite color, standing upright in the ceramic cup, was a blue one. He hadn't asked if he could leave it there. He just had. It looked right. It looked like it belonged.

A few nights later, a chill ran through the apartment—the heating in the building was notoriously fickle. You shivered, rubbing your arms.

"Take it," Franco said, not looking away from the TV. He pulled off his navy blue hoodie, the one with the subtle Williams branding on the sleeve, and tossed it to you.

You pulled it on. It swamped you. The sleeves went past your hands; the hem hit your thighs. It smelled like him—clean laundry, something citrusy, and that faint, metallic scent of the simulator. It was warm. It felt like a hug.

You fell asleep in it.

The next morning, when he left for the factory, he didn't ask for it back. You wore it to the grocery store. You wore it while studying. It became your hoodie.

Walking back from class one evening, seeing the light on in your window because Franco had gotten there first and let himself in with the spare key you gave him "for emergencies," you realized something that made your chest ache.

You weren't just surviving anymore. For the first time since leaving home, you weren't lonely.

And looking at Franco later that night, asleep on your rug with his mouth slightly open and his phone clutched in his hand, you knew he wasn't lonely anymore either.

The end of the semester came down like a guillotine. One day you were studying for finals with Franco’s feet in your lap on the couch, and the next, you were taping up the last cardboard box.

Your lease was up. Your visa was expiring. The bubble had burst.

The apartment looked wrong without your things. It was just a shell again. The only thing that remained vibrant was Franco, standing awkwardly by the door, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the world—maybe even crashing into a wall at 200 mph would be preferable to this.

You zipped up your suitcase. You were wearing the hoodie. The navy blue one. You had intended to give it back. You had washed it and folded it. But at the last second, you put it on.

Franco noticed. His eyes lingered on the logo on your chest, then drifted up to your face. He didn't say a word about it.

"So," you said, the word hanging heavy in the empty room. "That's it."

"Yeah," Franco said. His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. "That's it."

He stepped forward. You stepped forward. The hug wasn't smooth. It was a collision of desperate need. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. You held onto him so tight your fingers ached, feeling the solid warmth of him, trying to memorize the beat of his heart against your chest.

It lasted too long to be friendly, but not long enough to be an admission.

"Don't eat garbage," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Buy vegetables. Please."

"I will," he mumbled into your hair, a lie you both knew was a lie. "Don't... don't forget me."

"Impossible," you said, pulling back. You looked at him—really looked at him—one last time. The brown eyes that had watched stupid TV shows with you. The messy hair you’d wanted to run your fingers through a thousand times but never did. The words I love you sat right behind your teeth, acidic and burning.

But you didn't say them. You couldn't. He was a rising star on a trajectory to the moon. You were just the girl who made him pasta for a few months in a rainy city.

"Text me when you land," he said instead.

"I will."

You walked out the door. You didn't look back, because if you had, you would have dropped your bags and stayed.

Distance is a cruel thing. At first, you texted every day. Photos of your breakfast. Links to memes. Updates on his simulator times.

But life gets in the way. Time zones are messy. Your new job was demanding. His season picked up; the travel was relentless. The replies got slower. The facetime calls stopped happening because he was always in a briefing or you were always asleep.

The intimacy you shared in that tiny apartment didn't translate to screens. Without the shared silence, without the cooking, without the physical presence, you didn't know how to be "us."

Six months later, the conversation had withered into a painful, rhythmic ritual.

Franco: Hey. How are you?

You stared at the phone. You wanted to type: I miss you so much it hurts. I hate my job. I saw you on TV yesterday and I cried because you looked tired and no one was there to fix your collar.

You: Good! Busy with work. You?

Franco: Good. Training hard. Italy next week.

You: That’s great. Good luck.

Franco: Thanks.

Silence.

It was a polite, bloodless exchange between two strangers who used to share a toothbrush cup. It was a dull ache in your chest that never went away. You watched his follower count go up, watched him smile for cameras, and felt the chasm widening.

He was fine. You were fine. And that was the worst part.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and you were procrastinating on a client project by doom-scrolling. The algorithm, knowing your weaknesses, served you a post from @.francolapinto.

You stopped. You squinted. You actually groaned out loud in your empty home office.

It was a photo of his steering wheel. Blurry. Lit by what looked like the flash of a cheap Nokia from 2004. The caption was: "car good today. fast." No hashtags. No capitalization. No punctuation.

You scrolled down. A photo of a half-eaten sandwich. A video of him walking where the camera was pointed at his chin the entire time. A promotional post for a sponsor where he had clearly just screenshotted an email and posted the screenshot—including the battery percentage and the time at the top of the screen.

It was a crime scene. A digital homicide.

"FRANCO," you shouted at your phone. "FOR GOD'S SAKE."

The professional part of your brain (the social media manager part) was offended. The personal part of your brain (the part that still wore his hoodie on bad days) was horrified. He was a professional athlete! People were watching!

Your fingers flew across the keyboard before you could second-guess yourself. The polite, distant texts of the last year were forgotten. This was an emergency.

You: Franco. WTF is your feed. “car good today”?? Really?? Give me your logins. Right now. I’m fixing this.

You put the phone down, expecting a reply in maybe six hours, or tomorrow. He was probably in a simulator. Or sleeping. Or ignoring you because you sounded insane.

Ding.

One minute later.

Franco: User: francolapinto Pass: PastaNight2024!

You stared at the password. Your throat got tight. PastaNight. That was the first night you met.

Franco: Pls help. My engineer told me I look like a boomer.

You let out a wet laugh, shaking your head. He hadn't asked how much you charged. He hadn't asked for a portfolio. He just handed you the keys to his public image because you asked. Because it was you.

"Alright, Colapinto," you muttered, cracking your knuckles and logging in. "Let's make you look like a star."

For the next 48 hours, you were possessed.

You archived the sandwich photo. You deleted the blurry steering wheel. You dug through the tagged photos from professional photographers and requested usage rights. You created a color palette: navy blue, white, a sharp electric yellow accent.

You wrote a bio that actually made sense. You organized his highlights. You drafted captions that sounded like him—funny, a little cheeky—but grammatically correct.

Old post: "gym time." (Photo of his shoes). New post: A black and white shot of him mid-workout, sweat on his brow, looking intense. Caption: "Pushing limits. Every rep counts towards the podium. 🇦🇷💪 #williamsracing #Training #F1"

You scheduled posts for the next two weeks. You set up automated responses for common questions. You cleaned house.

When you were done, you leaned back and looked at the grid. It was cohesive. It was professional. It was undeniably cool. It finally looked like the profile of a driver who belonged in Formula 1.

You sent him a screenshot.

You: Done. Don’t touch anything without asking me first.

Franco: …wow. Is that me? I look cool.

You: You ARE cool, idiot. You just needed better lighting.

Franco: Thank you. Seriously. Y/N?

You: Yeah?

Franco: Are you busy next month? I have an extra pass for the Miami GP. Come see the work in person?

Your heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.

You: I’ll check my calendar. (But yes).

The transition happened faster than an undercut strategy.

The Miami GP was supposed to be a weekend visit. But seeing the chaos of his schedule up close—the missed meals, the wrinkled race suits, the sheer exhaustion etched into his face—you couldn't just watch. You started organizing. You took his phone away during briefings. You ironed a shirt. You handed him a protein shake and stared at him until he drank it.

By Monday, his new manager at Alpine—because yes, he was in pink and blue now, a new chapter, a bigger pressure—pulled you aside.

"Whatever you're doing," the manager said, looking at a calm, fed, and on-time Franco, "keep doing it. We'll put you on the payroll."

So, you moved.

You packed up your life and moved to Oxford, near the Enstone factory, into a temporary apartment that was supposed to be "his," but quickly became "yours."

The dynamic was frighteningly easy to slip back into. It was the Factory Era 2.0, but with a higher budget and higher stakes.

You were officially his "Social Media & Brand Manager," but really, you were the Keeper of the Franco.

You were up at 6:00 AM. "Franco. Up. You have simulator in an hour." "No," a groan from beneath the duvet. "Yes. And I made oatmeal. If you don't get up, I'm posting that video of you singing Taylor Swift in the shower." He was up in ten seconds.

You were at the factory or the track, phone in hand, capturing content. You directed him like a pro. "Chin up. Look at the camera. Smile—no, a real smile, not that fake media smile. There. Perfect." He obeyed instantly. The Alpine mechanics watched, amused, as the driver who argued with engineers about tire pressures folded immediately when you told him to fix his hair.

Evening. This was where the lines blurred.

The apartment was filled with the smell of actual food—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, spices he definitely wouldn't have used on his own.

Franco was sitting at the kitchen island, still in his team kit, looking absolutely shattered. His hair was a mess from the helmet. He was scrolling through data on his tablet, vibrating with leftover adrenaline and caffeine.

You walked over and plucked the tablet from his hands.

"Hey!" he protested weakly.

"No screens at the table," you said firmly, placing a plate in front of him. "And you look like a zombie. How many hours did you sleep last night?"

He poked at his chicken, avoiding your eyes. "Four? Maybe five."

"Franco."

"I was going over the telemetry! The car feels loose in the rear, I had to—"

"You have to sleep," you interrupted, your voice softening. You poured him a glass of water. "You can't drive if you're dead on your feet. Eat. Then shower. Then bed. I'll handle the emails from the marketing team."

He stopped. He looked up at you.

There it was. The look.

He rested his chin on his hand, his fork hovering over the plate. His brown eyes were wide, soft, and filled with a terrifying amount of affection. It was a look of total surrender. It said: I would be eating dry cereal in the dark if you weren't here. You are the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a saint," you muttered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. "I'm just making sure my client doesn't pass out."

"You're not just a client manager," he said quietly. A small smile played on his lips. "You're... you."

"Eat your chicken, Colapinto."

"Yes, ma'am."

He ate. You sat across from him, editing a reel for TikTok. He reached across the table and nudged your foot with his. He didn't pull away. Neither did you.

You weren't dating. You slept in separate rooms (technically). You didn't hold hands in public (mostly). But everyone knew. The mechanics knew. The PR team knew. Even the fans were starting to notice that the mysterious "admin" behind the camera had a very familiar laugh.

You were a couple in everything but the label. And you were both too scared, or perhaps too comfortable, to rock the boat.

It was Sunday morning at Monza, usually the most electric day of the year. But inside Franco's hotel room, the curtains were drawn tight against the Italian sun.

"I can drive," Franco rasped, trying to sit up. His face was pale, except for the fever-bright flush high on his cheekbones. He swayed, his knuckles white as he gripped the sheets. "It's just... it's just a headache. If I take enough caffeine..."

"Franco, stop," you said, your voice firm but gentle. You pushed him back down by the shoulders. He had zero resistance. "The FIA doctor said your temperature is 39 degrees. You're not getting in a car going 300 kilometers per hour. You’re not even walking to the bathroom alone."

"But the team..."

"The team has a reserve driver. The team needs you alive for the next race. Now, lay down."

He crumbled. The adrenaline that had been propping him up evaporated, leaving only the sickness. He let out a frustrated, shaky breath and sank into the pillows, shivering violently despite the heavy duvet.

You went into "crisis management" mode. But this wasn't about PR or Instagram algorithms; this was about him.

You soaked a washcloth in ice water from the bathroom bucket. You brought him a bottle of electrolyte drink. You sat on the edge of the bed, creating a barrier between him and the world he wanted to run back to.

"Cold," he mumbled, his teeth chattering.

"I know, baby. I know." The pet name slipped out. You didn't even catch it.

You climbed onto the bed next to him, sitting against the headboard. You pulled him close, letting him bury his face in the side of your waist, then adjusted so his head rested heavy on your chest. You pulled the duvet up over his shoulders, cocooning him.

He was burning up. You could feel the heat radiating through his t-shirt, soaking into yours. You placed the cool cloth on the back of his neck and started running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, a rhythmic, soothing motion.

His breathing hitched, then started to slow down as the warmth of your body and the darkness of the room took over.

"Y/N?" he whispered. His voice was thick, barely a sound.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He shifted, pressing his ear closer to your heartbeat. His arm tightened around your waist, clinging to you like a lifeline.

"I missed this," he slurred, delirious. "Not the sickness. The... being with you. Just us."

"We're always together, Franco. I live with you, remember?"

"No," he sighed, his eyes closing. "I mean... I've been in love with you ever since you used to cook for me in that old apartment. Since the pasta. Since you stole my hoodie."

Your hand froze in his hair.

The room went completely silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner. Your heart hammered against your ribs—so hard you were sure he could hear it through his ear pressed against you.

He didn't move. He didn't take it back. He just breathed, heavy and hot, waiting for a rejection he was too sick to fight.

You resumed stroking his hair, softer this time. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his fever-hot forehead.

"Tell me that again when you're not running a 102°F fever," you whispered into the quiet room. "You're going to love my answer."

"Promise?" he mumbled, already drifting off, the exhaustion winning.

"I promise."

He let out a long, contented sigh, his body finally going limp against yours. Within seconds, his breathing evened out into deep, restorative sleep.

You stayed there for hours, pinned under his weight, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant roar of the engines from the track, knowing that the real race had just been won right here in this bed.

The morning light filtered through the heavy hotel curtains, dusty and bright. The air in the room no longer smelled like sickness; it just smelled like the stale quiet of a fever broken.

Franco woke up slowly. He blinked, testing his limbs. The aching cold was gone, replaced by a dull, manageable fatigue. He sat up, rubbing his face, and then—like a crash into a barrier—the memory of the previous night hit him.

The heat. Your skin cool against his cheek. The words tumbling out of his mouth without a filter.

He froze. He looked over at you.

You were sitting in the armchair by the window, legs curled under you, a book in your lap that you weren't reading. You were watching him.

"You're awake," you said softly.

Franco swallowed hard. His throat was dry, but his palms were sweating. He looked down at his hands, then back at you, terrified he had ruined the delicate ecosystem you had built over the last two years.

"Y/N," he started, his voice raspy. "About... about yesterday. About what I said."

He took a breath, ready to apologize, ready to blame the fever, ready to say I didn't mean to make things weird, please don't leave.

"Don't," you interrupted.

He shut his mouth, looking like a kicked puppy.

You stood up and walked over to the bed. You sat down right on the edge, close enough that your knees touched his. You reached out and placed a hand on his cheek—cool, steady, claiming.

"Don't apologize," you whispered. "Just... tell me again."

"What?"

"You heard me, Franco. No fever. No delirium. Tell me again."

Franco searched your face. He was looking for a joke, a deflection, an exit strategy. But he only found patience. He saw the same girl who had shared pasta with him on a rainy floor in Grove. He saw his home.

His shoulders dropped. The fear evaporated, leaving only the truth that had been sitting in his chest for years.

He looked directly into your eyes, unwavering.

"I'm in love with you," he said. The words were clear, sober, and heavy with certainty. "I think I always have been."

You didn't say anything. You didn't need to.

You leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't a desperate, movie-star kiss. It was slow. It was gentle. It was inevitable. It felt like coming up for air after holding your breath for a very, very long time.

Franco let out a shaky sigh against your lips, his hands coming up to cup your face, holding you like you were the only solid thing in a spinning world. The tension that had lived between you—in the glances over dinner, in the accidental touches, in the silence of empty apartments—finally snapped, dissolving into nothing.

You went back to sharing a house, but you stopped using the guest room.

You went back to cooking for him, but now he cooked for you, too (or tried to). His fridge was never empty again.

The shift was seamless. There was no "moving in" conversation because you were already there. You just… stopped pretending. The guest bedroom turned into a glorified storage closet for his helmets and your tripods.

Life settled into a rhythm that was softer, warmer.

You still cooked, but now he was there, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind while you stirred the sauce, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Smells good," he’d murmur, stealing a piece of raw vegetable. "Get out of my kitchen, Colapinto." "Technically, our kitchen."

He started bringing you flowers. Not on anniversaries, not on Valentine's Day, but on random Tuesdays. "Why?" you asked the first time, holding a bouquet of supermarket tulips he’d clearly bought in a rush. He shrugged, looking a little shy. "I saw them. They looked like you. Happy."

His fridge was never empty again. It was stocked with your favorite yogurts, his protein shakes, fresh fruit, and ingredients for meals that weren't just survival rations. It was a fridge that belonged to a home, not a hotel room.

The real change happened at the track.

Before, you walked three steps behind him, phone out, professional mode engaged. Now, you walked beside him.

At the next Grand Prix, as he walked from the hospitality unit to the garage, he didn't put his hands in his pockets. He reached out and took your hand. He didn't look around to see who was watching. He didn't care about the cameras clicking furiously or the whispers of the journalists. He just squeezed your fingers, grounding himself before the chaos of the race.

You kept your other hand on your phone—you were still his Social Media Manager, after all. You filmed him walking, catching the moment he looked back at you with a wink.

"Are you going to post that?" he asked later, grinning. "Maybe. Engagement is up 200% when you look at the camera like you're in love." "I am in love," he countered easily. "So it's authentic content."

It was the end of the season. Franco had finished P2—his best result yet. The media pen was chaotic, microphones shoved in his face, questions flying about tire strategy, engine modes, and contract renewals.

Then, a journalist from a major network slowed the pace. "Franco, you seem… different this year. More focused, but also more relaxed. You’ve really turned a corner since your rookie days. What changed?"

Franco stopped wiping the sweat from his forehead. He looked over the journalist’s shoulder, scanning the crowd until he found you. You were standing off to the side, holding his water bottle and his cap, giving him a thumbs up.

His expression softened, the media-trained mask dropping completely. He looked back at the reporter.

"I found my anchor," he said honestly.

The reporter tilted their head. "Your partner, Y/N? You've been working together for a while, right?"

Franco nodded, a small, nostalgic smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah. We go back a long way. To a tiny apartment and a lot of cheap pasta."

He paused, looking down at his race suit, then back up with fierce sincerity.

"She saved me twice. The first time I was too young to notice—I was just a kid trying to survive. The second time… I wasn’t losing her again."

You watched from the sidelines, lowered your phone, and smiled. The engagement on that clip was going to be insane, but for once, you didn't care about the numbers. You just waited for him to come home.

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