#francoargentina

The bass of the song pulsed through your chest, that thick, addictive reggaeton beat that made everything feel a little looser. A little easier. You were on your second drink, perched on a high stool near the edge of the bar, one leg crossed over the other. You didn’t come here to meet anyone. But the universe always had other plans, didn’t it?

“Still drinking the same thing you had an hour ago?”

The voice was familiar, annoyingly smooth. You didn’t even have to turn to know.

“Franco,” you said without looking, taking a slow sip through your straw. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

He leaned on the bar beside you, all casual confidence and cocky energy, dressed in a fitted black tee and jeans that clung a little too well to his thighs.

“Didn’t expect you to look this good either.”

You finally glanced at him, eyes locking. There was that glint in his gaze. The one that always made your stomach tighten.

“Try harder. That line’s older than this bar.”

He grinned, sliding into the stool next to you.

“Alright. Let me try again. I saw you walk in, and I’ve been standing at the other end of the bar just watching. Trying to figure out if I should come over or leave it alone.”

“And?” you asked, raising a brow.

“And I said fuck it. Because you look like you’re waiting for trouble, and I happen to be excellent at causing it.”

Your lips twitched, fighting a smile. His hand brushed your bare knee, subtle, slow, and lingering like he had every right. You didn’t move it.

“La Difícil” played in the background, loud and dirty. You leaned in just enough to be heard, your voice just low enough to tease.

“She’s hard to get, huh?”

Franco didn’t miss a beat. His eyes dropped to your lips, then right back up.

“Yeah. But that just makes her worth it.”

You didn’t know who leaned closer first. Maybe it was both of you. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the fact that every time you saw Franco Colapinto, you remembered the way he touched you like he already knew your body. And the way he always left you wanting more.

“You always say the right thing,” you said, tilting your head. “Even when you shouldn’t.”

He reached out, fingers gently wrapping around your wrist, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your pulse point.

“Tell me to stop,” he said. “And I will.”

You stared at him for a long second. The bar kept spinning. The music kept thumping. And your heart matched every beat.

“I’m not going to,” you whispered.

He stood then, pulling you with him. Not rough, not fast. Just a silent command, and you followed. Through the crowd. Past the bathrooms. Down a hallway only half lit. He turned to you, backing you against the wall, his hand flat beside your head.

“You sure about this?”

You nodded. He leaned in but didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His mouth hovered just above yours, breath hot and intoxicating.

“You remember what happened last time?” he asked, voice rough now.

“I remember you left before I woke up,” you said.

Franco’s jaw clenched.

“Didn’t mean to. I had a flight.”

“I didn’t ask.”

He exhaled, something shifting in his expression. His hand slipped down your waist, fingers hooking into the belt loop of your jeans.

“I thought about you,” he said. “More than I should have.”

You hated how that made your breath hitch. You weren’t here for feelings. You were here for heat. For tension. For the way he looked at you like he wanted to ruin your night and fix it in the same breath.

“Then shut up and touch me.”

And he did.

His hands slid up under your top, fingertips dragging slowly along your spine. His lips finally met yours — hot, slow, deep. He kissed like a man who wanted to memorize every inch of your mouth. Tongue tasting, teeth scraping, hands gripping your hips like they were the only thing tethering him to the moment.

You moaned into him as he pressed you harder against the wall, his thigh slipping between your legs, the friction perfect and filthy.

“You wore this just to kill me, didn’t you?” he muttered against your neck, pulling the strap of your top down with his teeth.

“I didn’t wear it for you.”

“Liar,” he said, biting gently just below your ear. “You knew I’d find you.”

You dragged your nails down his back, earning a low groan from him.

“Franco.”

He froze. Just for a second. Then pulled back enough to look at you.

“You’re not just some hookup to me,” he said.

You blinked.

“This wasn’t supposed to be serious.”

“It still isn’t,” he said. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t think I want to.”

Your breath caught.

The music still played behind you. Another Bad Bunny song now. But everything had slowed down.

You looked at him, really looked.

And then, softer, quieter this time, you said,

“Then don’t stop.”

The cab ride was quiet, but not in a bad way. His hand never left your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth in a slow rhythm that matched the pounding in your chest. Outside, the streets were slick with rain, red and yellow reflections from traffic lights smearing across the windows like paint strokes.

Franco leaned closer, whispering against your ear.

“You always this quiet after making out in dark corners of bars?”

You turned to him slowly, lips still slightly swollen.

“I’m just thinking about what happens next.”

He smirked, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. “Yeah? And what exactly are you picturing?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, your hand slipped down, brushing over his knee, inching higher. He let out a sharp breath and grabbed your wrist, holding it still.

“Careful,” he said low. “We’re ten minutes away. Don’t make me lose my mind in a cab.”

You leaned in, lips ghosting over his jaw. “Then maybe hurry up and show me what you’ve been thinking about.”

He didn’t say anything else.. he just paid the driver too fast, pulled you out into the rain, and led you through a quiet building lobby like a man who couldn’t afford one more second of waiting.

The moment the apartment door shut behind you, his mouth was on yours again... greedy, open, searching. His hands cupped your face, then slid into your hair as he pressed you up against the entryway wall. The heat between you was electric, but there was something softer this time. He wasn’t rushing. He kissed you like he wanted to taste you for hours.

Clothes came off in pieces, scattered across the floor. Your shirt first, his next. Then jeans, socks, your bra unclipped with one hand and a low laugh.

“You remember everything,” you said breathless.

“Every single fucking detail,” he murmured, eyes trailing down your body. “I’ve replayed it too many times not to.”

He took a step back just to look. And God, the way he looked at you... like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen... it made something flip deep in your stomach.

“What?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Franco walked back up slowly and took your face in both hands. His voice was rough but honest.

“Just... can’t believe you’re actually here.”

And then he lifted you... just like that... and carried you to the bedroom.

The mattress dipped under your weight, and before you could even adjust, his mouth was back on your skin. Kisses trailed down your neck, your chest, your stomach. His fingers teased every inch of you, exploring like he was rediscovering. You arched up into him, chasing his touch.

“Still taste like you did last time,” he whispered against your inner thigh. “Sweet. Addictive.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he dipped his head lower, and everything after that became a blur of moans, gasps, and begging. He took his time... no rush, no pressure, just patient, aching pleasure. He didn’t let you come easily, either. Every time you were close, he’d slow down just enough to keep you hanging.

“Franco,” you panted, “please... I need...”

His voice was a growl against your skin. “I know exactly what you need. Let me give it to you right.”

When you finally did come, it was with a cry muffled by the back of your hand, your entire body trembling as he held you through it.

And then he kissed his way back up your body, slow and open-mouthed, until he was hovering over you again. His hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes dark and focused only on you.

“Still want this?” he asked, voice low.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in.

“I came back with you, didn’t I?”

That was all he needed.

When he finally slid into you, it was slow and deep, his forehead pressed against yours. There were no games now. No jokes. Just your name on his lips and his name on yours.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t rough. It was maddeningly slow... the kind of slow that burned. He kissed you through every stroke, whispered things against your neck, touched you like he was making a memory out of every second.

And when you came again, it was with his name in your mouth and your nails dragging down his back. He followed soon after, collapsing onto you, both of you breathless, sticky, warm.

You lay there in silence. His head rested on your chest, and your fingers absentmindedly traced circles along his shoulder.

“Tell me this wasn’t a one-time thing,” he murmured.

You looked down at him. “I thought we weren’t doing serious.”

He looked up, smirk tugging at his lips. “We’re not.”

“So what are we doing?”

Franco shifted until he was eye level with you again. He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

“Something in between.”

You smiled, letting your hand cup his face. “Then maybe we see what happens next.”

It was late at night when Franco and Y/N stepped into the luxurious suite overlooking the Monaco skyline. The glimmering lights from the harbor painted golden patterns across the room. The air was thick with desire, yet beneath it all lay a deep, unwavering love that had taken Franco by surprise.

Franco Colapinto, Formula 1’s most notorious playboy, had never believed in settling down. Women came and went, just like the seasons, until Y/N walked into his life. She wasn’t like the others; she didn’t fall for his cocky smirk or his charms. Instead, she challenged him, pushed him to be better, and made him feel things he never thought possible. She was his calm amidst the chaos of racing, and tonight, he was determined to show her just how much she meant to him.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Franco’s intense gaze locked onto Y/N. She was breathtaking, dressed in a silk slip that clung to her body in all the right places. He closed the distance between them, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her close.

“You know you’re mine, right?” he murmured, his Italian accent thick with emotion.

Y/N smiled, running her fingers through his dark, unruly hair. “Always.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bed like she was the most precious treasure he’d ever held. Laying her down gently, he hovered over her, his lips ghosting over hers.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispered. “Do you know that? I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. Body, soul, everything.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine. She saw the sincerity in his dark eyes, the way he looked at her like she was made of gold. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses, each one worshipful, reverent. He took his time, savoring every inch of her skin like it was a masterpiece crafted just for him.

“I want all of you,” he confessed as his hands caressed her curves. “I want us to have everything together. A home, a family…everything.”

His admission made her heart swell. They’d talked about the future in passing, but tonight, there was a desperation in his voice that made her believe he wanted it more than anything.

“Franco…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I want to make you mine in every way,” he said, his lips pressing against her collarbone. “I want to see you carrying my child, bella. I want the world to know you’re mine.”

Franco worshiped her, body and soul, and he made sure she knew it with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of love.

He removed her and his clothes one by one slowly kissing her... From her face to toe.. kissing and sucking at each part givinh her hickeys all over her body... worshipping her body...with his love.. his kisses..

After sometime he was again at his favourite part your clit.. you can feel his warm breath on your sensetive part.. he starts to slowly lick your clit.. while massaging your breast with his hand..

He started fucking you with his tounge... Making your eyes roll and your hands were tangled in his hair.. was also pressing his head towards your vagina...

After making you cum with only using his tounge he licked all of your juices.. and slowly inserts his dick inside in one go...

And starts fucking you... He flipped you like 5 times... Trying 5 new position.. the way he flipped you several times... It was so hot...

But he found the perfect position... Bolstered beauty...

He slid a pillow right Bellow your abdomen... Your stomach and tits touching the bed while your ass in air.. thirsty for his dick...

He inserted it in you again.... This time it was rough but perfectly satisfying for both of you..

"slowly, baby, I'm not going anywhere" you said moaning and enjoying his dick..

"shh, just look at me baby” he said turning your head a bit for a moment.. so he can make your you were okay...

And he starts pounding into you again.. after sometime he cum inside you...

Filling your vagina with his warm seeds ..

When it was over, they lay tangled together, their breaths mingling as the room fell into a comfortable silence. But Franco wasn’t done showing her how much he cared.

He slipped out of bed and returned moments later with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, he cleaned her, his touch tender and full of care.

“Are you okay, amore?” he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

Y/N nodded, her cheeks flushed. “More than okay.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Stay here.”

He disappeared again, returning with a bottle of water and a soft blanket. He helped her sip the water, his fingers brushing against hers as he held the bottle. Then he wrapped the blanket around her, pulling her into his arms.

“I love you,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re everything I never knew I needed.”

She snuggled closer, resting her head against his chest. “I love you too, Franco.”

They lay like that for what felt like hours, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back as he whispered sweet nothings in Italian. He told her how beautiful she was, how much he adored her, how he couldn’t wait to see her glowing with their child. Every word was filled with love and devotion, leaving no doubt in her mind that she was his world.

Eventually, sleep began to claim them, but not before Franco placed one final kiss on her lips.

“Goodnight, amore mio,” he whispered. “I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life proving how much I love you.”

The café was cozy and bustling, tucked away in the corner of a charming little street in Monaco. Franco Colapinto, a celebrated Formula 1 driver, had stumbled upon it during his winter break. For once, the roar of engines and blinding flashes of cameras were replaced by the soft clinking of cups and murmured conversations. He was used to adrenaline, speed, and applause, but something about this quiet escape felt… grounding.

That was when he saw her.

Behind the counter stood a girl with chestnut brown hair tied in a messy bun, a pen tucked behind her ear, and a smile that seemed to light up the room. Her name tag read Y/N. She was graceful, quick on her feet, and laughed in a way that made everything else fade into the background.

Franco didn’t believe in love at first sight, but in that moment, he felt something shift within him.

The next day, he returned. And the day after that. For someone who thrived on risk and competition, his heart pounded nervously every time he ordered his coffee.

“Double espresso again?” Sophia asked with a teasing smile after his third visit.

“Yeah, you could say I’m a creature of habit,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“You must be new around here,” she said, leaning slightly over the counter. “I’d remember someone with an accent like that.”

“I’m here for a break,” he said, keeping his answer vague. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to know who he was just yet. For once, he wanted someone to see franco, not the celebrity.

Y/N, a college student juggling her studies and her part-time job, didn’t press further. She liked that he was polite, funny, and surprisingly down-to-earth.

Days turned into weeks. Franco made the café his second home. He learned that Y/N was studying literature, that she loved old movies, and that she had a habit of doodling little flowers on napkins when the café was slow. He also learned that she had a sharp wit and wasn’t easily impressed.

One evening, as the café was winding down, Franco finally gathered the courage to ask her out.

“Y/N,” he began, leaning against the counter, “would you let me take you out for dinner? I promise it’ll be fun.”

Her smile faltered. “Franco, you’re sweet, but… I’m not looking for anything serious right now. I have school, work, and… I just don’t think I can do this.”

Her rejection stung, but Franco wasn’t one to give up easily.

Determined, he stepped up his efforts. He brought her flowers with little notes about how her smile brightened his day. He started helping clean up the café when things were busy, insisting that he just “needed the exercise.” He even began learning about her favorite books and quoting lines to make her laugh.

Slowly but surely, Y/n began to lower her guard. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the way he listened when she spoke, and how he didn’t try to rush her into anything.

One cold evening, as they closed up the café together, she sighed and looked at him.

“Franco… maybe I was wrong,” she admitted softly. “You’re… different. I’d like to give this a try.”

That night, they went for a late dinner, talking and laughing as if they’d known each other forever.

When franco walked her home, the tension between them was undeniable.

“Y/N,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “you’re incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone.”

She leaned into him, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, tender, and electrifying all at once.

When they stepped into her apartment, the world outside ceased to exist. Their connection deepened as they explored one another’s vulnerabilities, their kisses turning urgent, their touches leaving no part of each other unexplored.

Franco slowly slid his one hand inside her undie, while roughly kissing her. His one hand was drawing circles on her clit while his other hand was kneading her breast. His mouth was doing wonders on her chest.

You were truly a moaning mess then. Both of your hands were playing with his hair.

He slowly removes his hand from your clitoris and puts his finger inside you.. he starts moving his fingers. First, it was one finger and then two. Then three.. he went from slow to fast... when you were about to cum he started to kiss you.. on the lips... lower lips.. he slowly moves to your clit again making you groan. From kissing he went to roughly suck your clit while pinching both of your breasts.

You were on cloud 9. You cum all over again and he cleans you with his mouth.. "just put it in franco.. I just can't..." " Be patient baby girl... I am gonna make you feel good". He inserts himself into her... and starts to pound into you.. the to and fro motion was so good.. first it was missionary... you both were staring into each other's eyes... then he just flipped you with his one hand and started to take you from behind.. honestly you were shocked by his strength but it was hot.

He flipped you again this time it was lotus and then another position then another...

Franco’s hands were strong yet gentle, and Y/n responded with a passion she hadn’t realized she was capable of. That night, they let themselves be vulnerable, their bodies speaking in a language words couldn’t capture.

As they lay tangled in each other’s arms afterward, Franco pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You’re worth every effort, Y/n. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/n smiled, resting her head on his chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe, seen, and cherished.