Fic Writers Supporting Fic Writers Remind Me Of Drunk Girls Bonding In Bathroom Bars Even Though They're

Masterlist

Subject of Interest — fans love carlos’ girlfriend and her unhinged comments and photography hobby

Adore, Amour, Inamorato — charles’ new girlfriend receives a lot of hate for her seemingly joblessness

Melting Hearts — Ferrari hires a chocolatier to cater for their anniversary celebrations! The chocolate isn’t the only thing to melt

Share the Spotlight - an unofficial fan account gets a little unhinged until it doesn’t…

Finally — lando’s girlfriend finally graduates from college and comes along on for this amazing season

Glazed and Confused — when lando fails to make a simple mug, fans direct him towards your YouTube channel

Unexpected Roommate — when moving in with his girlfriend, lando gets confronted with the new side of her pet

Friendly Banquet — logan gets chosen to host the end of the year dinner and that means the grid meets his partner

Picture Perfect — logan’s girl travels with him as his personal photographer

The Story of Us — logan and you have been keeping a secret from everyone but it might be time for it to come out

Chapter 1

Three Hearts Left — fans (and friends) are shocked when they find max is married and to who

White Dog Cafe — while daniel forgets plans made with max, max has a meet-cute

A Perfect Storm — meet dr. alice “barbie” sargaent, professional storm chaser

Aftermath of a Storm — people are shocked to learn about alice and oscar

White Horse - Masterlist:

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Interlude: Daylight

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

joaquin: bucky barnes is stupid

sam, smiling: what did he do now

joaquin, clearly not listening: he walks around, thinking he’s soooooo slick and secretive, but literally everyone can see that he’s in love with you

sam: hang on–

joaquin: wELL SURPRISE SURPRISE WHITE MAN YOU AIN’T SPECIAL WE’RE ALL IN LOVE WITH SAM

sam: wHAT–

zemo: no no he’s got a point

sharon: yeah he totally does

steve, on his 31st wineglass somewhere in heaven: hear hear

𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 — 𝐝𝐣𝐬

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒...!

— when daniel forgets his relationship more the he likes to admit, his girlfriend, alaska, is done being put on the back burner of his life. ultimately deciding on breaking up with him, will daniel realize his mistake? or will we be left with only feeling grey?

chapter one.

chapter two.

chapter three.

chapter four.

chapter five.

chapter six.

chapter seven.

chapter eight.

chapter nine.

chapter ten.

chapter eleven.

chapter twelve.

chapter thirteen.

chapter fourteen.

chapter fifteen.

chapter sixteen.

chapter seventeen.

chapter eighteen.

chapter nineteen.

chapter twenty.

chapter twenty-one.

chapter twenty-two.

chapter twenty-three.

chapter twenty-four.

chapter twenty-five.

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Modern AU. Dystopian. Rated M.

You can also read this story on: WATTPAD or AO3

Chapter 1  

Chapter 2   

Chapter 3  

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6  

Chapter 7  

Chapter 8  

Chapter 9  

Chapter 10

Chapter 11  

Chapter 12 

Chapter 13  

Chapter 14  

Chapter 15  

Chapter 16  

Chapter 17  

Chapter 18  

Chapter 19  

Chapter 20  

Chapter 21  

Chapter 22  

Chapter 23

Chapter 24  

Chapter 25  

Chapter 26 

Chapter 27  

Chapter 28 

Chapter 29  

Chapter 30  

Chapter 31  

Chapter 32  

Series Trailer | Series Soundtrack

MOODBOARDS 

*DISCLAIMER* I own NONE of these photos. I do not claim them as mine, they are merely for inspiration and imagination purposes. Credit goes to their rightful owners.

THE NEW AMERICAN

F1 Driver Reader Masterlist

Summary: You join the F1 paddock mid-season alongside fellow rookie Franco Colapinto, stepping in for Lance Stroll after a season-ending injury. This journey is far from sunshine and rainbows, but you’re ready to take on the challenges—and the deep-rooted misogyny of the sport—to prove everyone wrong. Determined to make your mark, you’ll fight to win over the skeptics and earn the respect of the F1 world.

The Debut

The Debut part 2

Azerbaijan GP

Azerbaijan GP part 2

Singapore GP

Singapore GP part 2

Autumn Break

Autumn Break part 2

USA TEXAS GP

USA TEXAS GP part 2

Post Maiden Home Win

Mexican GP

Mexican GP part 2

Brazilian GP

Brazilian GP part 2

Las Vegas GP

Las Vegas GP part 2

Qatar GP

Qatar GP part 2

Abu Dhabi GP

Abu Dhabi GP part 2

End of the Season

I took a month-ish break to help me make sure I had the rest of the story's timeline figured out. Plus I wasn't on my adhd meds during winter break leading to a lot more procrastinating. But now I am back to full focus and time management with classes starting again. I have written about 3 different versions of these, depending on how this one goes, I may edit and finish the other two f1driver reader series stories.

Debut Race

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

The silence in my driver’s room was suffocating. The door was locked, my helmet discarded in the corner, and my hands braced against the counter as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My entire body trembled—not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the pure, unfiltered rage coursing through my veins.

Franco. That entitled, selfish—

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the whirlwind of emotions choking me. My hands curled into fists, my nails digging into my palms. Adrenaline was still flooding my system, but as it ebbed, a new, more terrifying realization crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I had almost crashed into my own brother.

My stomach twisted violently, and a sharp, cold shiver ran down my spine. Doohan. My own flesh and blood. If I hadn’t reacted in time—if my instincts had failed me—I could have been the one to take him out. I could have been responsible for something far worse than just a racing incident.

A broken, strangled sound ripped from my throat as I slammed my fist into the mirror in front of me. The glass shattered instantly, fragments cascading onto the counter and floor in a glittering mess. The pain registered a second later—a sharp, burning sensation across my knuckles—but I welcomed it. Anything was better than the storm raging inside my head.

The knock at my door was immediate. Firm, steady. “Ghost,” Nico’s voice was calm but laced with concern. “Open the door.”

I swallowed hard, my breathing erratic. Blood dripped from my knuckles onto the counter, staining the scattered shards of glass. Another knock, this time softer.

“I know you’re angry. I know you’re upset,” Nico continued. “But let me in, kid. You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

My vision blurred as I stared at my reflection—or what was left of it. Cracks ran through the remnants of the mirror, distorting my face into something unrecognizable. Something broken.

With a shaky breath, I turned, my fingers fumbling with the lock before I finally twisted it open. The second the door cracked, Nico stepped inside, his gaze instantly dropping to my bleeding hand. His expression tightened, but he said nothing about it yet. Instead, he reached out and placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“Talk to me.” His voice was gentle, understanding. The kind of voice that made me want to collapse under the weight of everything I was feeling.

I clenched my jaw, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. “I almost crashed into him.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “I almost wrecked my own brother.”

Nico exhaled slowly, his grip on my shoulder tightening. “But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

He studied me for a moment, then carefully guided me to sit down. I didn’t resist, letting him kneel in front of me as he reached for my injured hand. He pulled a clean cloth from his pocket and started pressing it against my knuckles, dabbing away the blood with a touch so careful it almost broke me.

“You made a split-second decision,” he said evenly. “And you made the right one.”

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “Tell that to Franco.”

Nico scoffed, shaking his head as he wrapped my hand with precise movements. “Franco can throw his tantrum all he wants. He’s not the one who had to make that call.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening. “Then why does it feel like I lost today?”

Nico sighed, finishing the bandage before resting a hand on my knee. “Because racing isn’t just about what happens on track. It’s about the weight of it all—the pressure, the politics, the expectations. But listen to me, kid,” he squeezed my knee lightly, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You did what you had to do. And no matter what Franco or anyone else says, you’re still here. You’re still fighting.”

I swallowed hard, nodding slowly. The fire in my chest hadn’t disappeared, but it wasn’t burning quite as wildly anymore.

Nico gave me a small, knowing smile. “Now, let’s clean this mess up before someone walks in and thinks you murdered a mirror.”

I huffed out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, and for the first time since the incident, the weight on my shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.

The day after the incident felt like an eternity. My knuckles still ached from the glass, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the previous day's emotions. Despite everything, I’d focused. Focused on FP3. The data I managed to gather was solid. I managed to fine-tune the car, getting a setup that finally felt right. It was a small win, but a win nonetheless.

By the time we rolled into qualifying, I was ready. I knew I wasn’t going to set any earth-shattering times, but I was determined to make sure I was competitive. With a smooth lap and solid consistency, I managed to put my car in P15,  behind Franco, who’d secured P11.

It stung, sure. But after the day before, it didn’t matter as much as it should have. The tension between Franco and me was palpable, though. He hadn’t said a word to me since the FP2 incident. Not a word. His silence felt deafening. We’d always been at odds, but it was worse now. That’s the thing with racing—things can change in an instant. And no matter what, I couldn’t change the fact that I was stuck with him.

I had to face the truth—I didn’t need his approval. I didn’t need him to like me. We’d always be in each other’s way, and there was no way around it. So, I accepted it. That was my reality now.

Now, it was race day.

The paddock buzzed with energy, but inside my head, it was a mess of mixed emotions. The anticipation of the race. The adrenaline is already flowing, starting to build. It was a familiar feeling—one I could usually control. But today? Today felt different.

I stood in my driver's room, adjusting my gloves and tightening the straps on my suit. I could feel the weight of the helmet in my hands. I could almost hear the sound of it locking into place, the coldness of the visor as I pulled it down. The protective layer that kept my face hidden from the world.

Walking out onto the track, I glanced around the grid, watching as the other drivers started to get ready. Max and Lewis exchanged a few words near their cars, but it was all too far for me to care about. There were still too many thoughts running in circles in my head.

Franco had already taken his position. He stood with his arms crossed, not sparing me a single glance. He was focused, distant, and the unspoken animosity between us had never felt heavier. I’d grown used to the tension, but now, in the moments before the race, it almost felt like a brick wall between us.

I took a deep breath, focusing on my own setup. Today wasn’t about Franco. It wasn’t about anything except the race, and I wasn’t about to let him or anyone else derail my focus.

The countdown had begun.

Diego's voice crackled through my earpiece, steady and reassuring, as always. “You’re ready for this, Ghost. You’ve got the data. Now it’s just about putting it together. Stay calm. Stay focused. You’ve got this.”

I nodded to myself, breathing in deeply, my eyes locked on the line ahead. Every detail of the track was running through my mind—the braking points, the corners, the gear shifts. The anticipation built as I felt the engine roar beneath me, the power surging through the car.

My heart pounded. This was it. The race.

I glanced once more in Franco’s direction, but he was already lost in his own thoughts, his helmet in place, not a care for anything else. And as much as I wanted to believe that things could change—that maybe one day we could be more than enemies—it didn’t matter anymore.

The lights on the grid flickered. I gripped the wheel tighter, pushing all the noise out of my head. This wasn’t about Franco. It was about me. My race.

As the lights went out and the engines roared to life, I was nothing but focus.

I was thrown back into the seat as the car shot forward. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the work ahead. P15. Not a terrible place to start, but certainly not where I wanted to be. The first few corners were always the hardest, the most dangerous, and the most chaotic.

I slammed my foot onto the brake as we approached the first turn, trying to hold my line. The cars ahead of me were already starting to gap, and I could feel the pressure of those behind me closing in. It was a fight to keep my position—no room for mistakes.

Franco was already pulling ahead. I knew it was coming. That was expected. He was good in the opening laps, aggressive even, and if I wasn’t careful, he’d be out of my reach before I had a chance to find my rhythm. But for now, I couldn’t afford to look at him. I had to focus on what was in front of me—on the cars ahead.

"Stay focused, Ghost," Diego’s voice came through again, calm but firm. "Keep your lines tight. Defend your position but don’t overdrive."

I nodded, barely able to hear him over the roar of the engine and the screech of tires as I pushed the car harder. I was holding my own for now, but it was a battle. One wrong move, and I could lose multiple positions.

The gap to P14 was close enough for me to taste it, but no matter how hard I pushed, the cars ahead kept pulling away. It was like trying to climb a hill with a constant headwind against you—no matter how much effort I put in, they kept staying just out of reach.

The mirrors were full of pressure from behind. I could see them—every car, every driver—waiting for an opening. I had to defend the inside line every time, protecting my spot, making sure no one could get a clean run on me. My heart raced, my hands gripped the wheel tighter, but I refused to let them pass without a fight.

On the straights, I could see the cars ahead pulling away just a little bit more, but the corners were where I made up time. I had better car control, a better feel for the track than I’d given myself credit for. But the tire wear was beginning to show. The car didn’t feel quite as sharp as it had at the start.

The pace was wearing me down.

“Just hold steady,” Diego urged again. “The pit stop will be key. We’re playing the long game here.”

I clenched my teeth. Long game, sure. But the cars behind me weren’t waiting for the strategy to play out. They were breathing down my neck, trying to force a mistake. I couldn’t afford to give them one.

I defended again, locking up just slightly as I turned into the corner. The car squirmed beneath me, but I corrected, keeping it on track. One slip-up could be disastrous. I was fighting for every inch, every lap.

My eyes flicked to the timing screen in my peripheral vision. P15. Still holding on. But I knew that it wouldn’t last forever. I needed to make a move soon—either to defend or to close the gap in front. There was no in-between.

It was a race of endurance now—both physical and mental. I had to remind myself to breathe, to stay calm, to keep focused. Every lap, I got just a little more tired, but there was no option to let up.

The first round of pit stops would soon be upon us, and I knew that was where things could shift. But until then, I had to hold my ground. And as much as I hated admitting it, Franco had the upper hand. I wasn’t catching him—not yet. But I could still keep my position.

And that was my goal now. Stay in the game. Hold P15. Don’t let anyone pass without a fight.

The pit stop had been quick, and the team had done their job, getting me back out onto the track without losing too much time. My fresh tires gripped the asphalt with the aggression I needed to claw my way back into the race. The positions in front of me were slipping by—drivers I could now see within reach.

I passed two cars and was now chasing down Franco. P15 to P11. My heart rate spiked, and the adrenaline coursed through my veins. I was pushing myself harder than I had all weekend, every ounce of my focus centered on the road ahead. Franco was just a few seconds up, P10. The gap was shrinking.

“Ghost” my radio engineer’s voice came through, calm but with a hint of urgency. “We need you to play the team game now. You’ve got DRS, help Franco defend his position and hold onto those points.”

I clenched my teeth. As much as I hated it, I knew the team’s strategy. I needed to put my personal animosity aside, even if only for this one race. I didn’t like him. I didn’t trust him. But I understood the bigger picture. If I helped him defend his position, he’d be more likely to help me when it was my turn to fight for points. It wasn’t just about today—it was about setting myself up for the future.

“I’m on it,” I muttered to myself as I adjusted my grip on the wheel and prepared to play the role of a supportive teammate, despite everything.

The gap between us continued to close as we rounded the track. With DRS at my disposal, I could see how the team had planned it. Using Franco to pull me forward, I’d get closer to him, and in turn, I’d defend him from the others behind. It felt strange—like I was actively putting myself in the backseat of my own race. But that was the job.

I was getting closer to Franco’s rear wing now, my car slicing through the air as I made full use of the DRS zone to close the gap. For once, I wasn’t concerned about catching the cars in front of him. I was only focused on the battle behind me. They were closing in, but I wouldn’t let them pass without a fight. I’d block, hold, and make sure Franco didn’t lose the position.

“Good job, Ghost,” Diego said through the radio. “Keep this up. Just a few more laps.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what ‘this’ was. Helping Franco or helping myself? Maybe both. The pressure mounted with each passing lap. I could feel the eyes of the other teams, the other drivers, waiting for a mistake. But I didn’t make one. I used every trick in my book—defending the inside line, late braking, holding tight through corners.

By the time the final lap arrived, I was still holding strong, barely a car length behind Franco, who was fighting off the pack. The gap between him and the other drivers was slim, but he had made it to P6. I knew that with my help, he’d stay there.

As the checkered flag waved, I could hardly believe what had just happened. I crossed the finish line, P7, with Franco right in front of me in P6. Points. Points for the team, points for me. It felt surreal.

My heart hammered in my chest as I pulled into the cool-down lap, allowing the exhaustion to flood in. The first points I’d scored in Formula 1. As a rookie. With a new team.

It was overwhelming. The sheer magnitude of it. But it was more than just the points that made me feel elated—it was the fact that I had just proven to myself that I belonged here. No matter how much I hated the circumstances or the tension with Franco, I had delivered.

As I pulled into the parc fermé, the weight of the race was finally hitting me. My body ached from the relentless grip on the wheel, my heartbeat still erratic from the adrenaline, but none of it mattered—not when I had just finished P7 in only my first few races. I climbed out of the car, peeling off my gloves as the heat of the track clung to me. The roar of the crowd was deafening, but my mind was still catching up to everything that had just happened.

I barely had time to process it before two figures approached me—Kimi Antonelli and Oliver Bearman. Both still in their race suits, faces flushed with exertion, but smiling.

“P7 on a new team? Not bad at all,” Oliver said, grinning as he extended a fist for a bump. I knocked my own against his.

Kimi nodded, his expression more reserved but still genuine. “Congrats, Ghost. You deserved that one.”

I blinked, momentarily taken aback by their acknowledgment. I had been so used to keeping to myself, assuming most of the grid barely noticed me. But here they were, offering genuine congratulations.

“Thanks,” I said, shifting slightly on my feet. “You guys did great too—points for all of us.”

Oliver chuckled. “Yeah, barely. Thought I was gonna drop out of the top ten a couple of times.”

“Same,” Kimi added. “But hey, we made it. That’s what matters.”

A comfortable silence settled between us as we started walking toward the paddock together, the three of us moving as one in the sea of team personnel and media waiting to pounce.

“So, what’s your birth date? We wanna know if Kimi is still the youngest on the grid.” Oliver asked out of nowhere, glancing at me curiously.

I furrowed my brow. “August 18th, 2006”

Kimi’s head snapped toward me so fast I almost thought he’d gotten whiplash. “Wait. Seriously?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah?”

“No way,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s my birthday too.”

Oliver let out a laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be chaos. Two rookies on the grid with the same birthday? The media is gonna eat that up.”

I huffed a small laugh, shaking my head. “Great, just what I need—more weird headlines.”

Kimi smirked. “At least we can make it interesting.”

The conversation continued as we neared the garage entrances, the tension that usually weighed on my shoulders feeling a little lighter than before. I have been letting people in so quickly recently, but maybe… maybe this was okay.

“So,” Oliver started, a bit more hesitantly this time, “we were thinking… You should be in the rookie group chat.”

I faltered mid-step, my stomach twisting with nerves. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

I shrugged, suddenly unsure of myself. “Just because you guys are cool with me being there doesn’t mean the others will be.”

Oliver scoffed, waving off my concern. “Oh, trust me, we’ve all been trying to figure out how to talk to you, let alone get your number. You kinda made it impossible by hiding behind that helmet all the time.”

I hesitated, but their expressions were nothing but sincere. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like an outsider.

“…Alright,” I said finally, exhaling as I nodded. “I’ll meet you guys after the media duties and give it to you then.”

Oliver grinned. “Good. Welcome to the rookie squad, Ghost.”

I smirked before we said our goodbyes and left each other for our respective garages. I sighed and let myself relax a bit as I sped up to get to my driver's room. The sooner this helmet was off the better, I needed a good breather and to prep my cool wrap before I had to put it back on and do my post race media duties. 

—

As I made my way into the media area, the constant hum of chatter from the reporters filled the space, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of discomfort creep in. Being in front of a crowd, even in the guise of my helmet and voice changer, always felt like stepping into the lion’s den. Still, I knew the drill. I had to endure the questions, the glare of the cameras, and the long interviews. This time, though, something felt different. Maybe it was the fact that I was finally being seen as more than just the quiet, mysterious driver with a helmet always on. Maybe they were starting to get used to me.

A few reporters caught my attention as they called me over, their microphones extended toward me, their faces a mixture of curiosity and eagerness. One of the journalists, a woman with a bright smile, asked first.

“So, Ghost, we saw you had to play the team game today, defending Franco’s position despite the visible tension between you two. How does that feel for you?”

I straightened up, pulling my shoulders back as I adjusted to the question. It wasn’t a difficult one, but it carried a weight that I wasn’t sure how to fully answer yet.

“Honestly, it’s not easy,” I began, my voice steady, though underneath I could feel the weight of the situation. “Franco and I, we’ve had some tense moments. That’s obvious, I’m not going to deny that. But I think a lot of that comes from both of us being in a new environment. It’s not easy to be thrown together with a new teammate, especially when both of us are still finding our way within the team, one that is so new to the sport as well.”

I paused for a moment, glancing around the room at the faces of the reporters, some scribbling notes, others waiting for my next words. The atmosphere had shifted a little. No longer was I just the mysterious figure they knew little about. Now they were leaning in, hanging on to my words.

“But, just because there’s tension now doesn’t mean it’ll last forever,” I continued, my tone gentle but firm. “It’s easy to let nerves get in the way, especially when everything feels so new and different. We’re still figuring each other out. We’re both trying to understand how to work together in this unfamiliar dynamic. But I believe that tension is part of the process. It’s part of figuring out how to make it work. I’m not saying it’ll happen overnight, but I think in time we’ll both find our rhythm.”

A few reporters nodded, their pens moving faster now, catching the shift in my response. Another journalist asked, “And how do you feel now that we can finally hear you speak for the first time? Does it feel different to have a voice behind the helmet, even if it’s automated?”

I let out a small breath, letting the question settle in. It was something I hadn’t really thought about much until now. It wasn’t just about the voice changer; it was about the connection it gave me to the world.

“It’s... different, in a way. But I think, for me, it’s more about being able to communicate openly with all of you,” I explained. “There’s always been this sense of separation when I couldn’t speak. And now that I can, it’s a way to engage more genuinely. I mean, sure, the voice isn’t mine exactly, but it lets me show a little more of who I am behind all this.” I gestured toward the helmet, feeling the weight of the expression on my face soften as I spoke honestly. “It’s been a long time coming, and I think it helps people understand me a little more. Even if there’s still a lot I want to keep private.”

The room was quiet for a moment before another reporter spoke up. “So, are you saying that the tension with Franco is just temporary, a result of the adjustment period? And you think you’ll be able to work through it?”

I nodded, the exhaustion from the race, from the interviews, slowly creeping in. But I still had more to say. “Yes, absolutely. There’s always going to be some time needed to adjust, especially when you’re new to the team and trying to figure out how to get along with someone you’ve never worked with before. It takes time. I don’t think either of us are set in stone when it comes to how we’ll interact. But if I can be honest, I’m optimistic about where we can go from here. We’ve got a lot of potential, both as teammates and as individuals. We just have to give it time.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I noticed a few reporters nodding, their once skeptical expressions shifting into understanding ones. It felt like they were starting to see more of me—not just the person they thought I was, but the one I was trying to be. The real me, beneath the helmet and behind the voice.

One of the reporters asked, “How do you think your teammates are reacting to you now, now that they’ve finally heard your voice and seen you as more than just the mysterious ‘Ghost’?”

I took a breath, realizing this was more than just about Franco. This was about everyone I have worked with. “I think it’s a process, honestly. I’ve spent so much time being distant, hiding behind the helmet and now the voice changer. With past teams, it was just that—being distant. I couldn’t interact the same way. I could never truly connect with anyone because my identity was hidden, and I had no way to really share who I was. But now, it’s different. With the upgrades I’ve got now, I can finally communicate more openly, even if my identity is still hidden. It’s not about creating a facade or trying to be someone I’m not. It’s about finding a way to be part of the team, to be seen for who I am, even if the world doesn’t know my name yet. And hopefully, that’s what people are starting to see: someone who’s here to be a teammate, not just someone hiding behind a mask.”

A few more questions were asked, but the vibe had shifted. I was starting to get the sense that people were less interested in who I was hiding from, and more curious about who I really was. The weight of it all was still heavy, but at least now, for once, it didn’t feel like I had to do everything alone. I wasn’t just a mystery; I was starting to feel like a person, like someone who mattered.

As the media duties wrapped up, I walked away from the crowd, a small weight lifting off my shoulders. Maybe things with Franco were still a mess, but this—this felt like progress.

It didn’t take long before I spotted Oliver and Kimi, who had just wrapped up their media duties in the press pen. As I approached them, I noticed their PR managers whispering to the boys, probably giving them a heads-up. When they turned around, both of their faces lit up with smiles upon seeing me. I walked up to them, and after a brief glance at my own manager, she handed me the piece of paper I’d written my number on earlier.

“Here’s my number, like you asked,” I said, handing it over.

Oliver’s face immediately broke into a grin as he snatched the paper. “Thank you!” he said eagerly, pulling out his phone and starting to type in my number. Kimi gave a casual nod, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t worry, we won’t bite," Kimi joked, crossing his arms as he leaned back slightly. "But it’s good to have you in the group chat.”

“Yeah, we’ve all been dying to talk to you,” Oliver chimed in, glancing up from his phone. “We know it’s a bit weird, but it’s nice to chat with the other rookies who understand the same struggles.”

I laughed lightly, glancing at both of them. “It’s still a little surreal, to be honest. But yeah, I get what you mean. There’s a lot of newness here, even for me.”

Kimi’s smile widened. “You’re going to fit in fine. We just need to get you laughing more.”

“You definitely have the right energy,” Oliver added. I felt a small sense of ease, knowing that this little conversation had opened up a new door of friendships. Maybe the grid wouldn’t be so lonely after all, if only I could get Franco to feel the same way these two did.

________

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✨Masterlist✨

To Fall for a Friend

Stiles x Reader

Y/N gets incorporated, episode by episode, into Teen Wolf.

Friends to Lovers type beat.

Y/N and Scott McCall have known each other since birth, being as their families were close friends. They did everything together, including meeting and befriending Stiles Stilinski. Y/N only ever knew him as Scott’s good friend. But suddenly, sophomore year changes everything. She now has to juggle everything from newly-found popularity to exposure to the supernatural world and a new romance that she’s been wishing for since she was a child.

Season One -> (COMPLETE)

Season Two -> (ON GOING)

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Tighty Whiteys

TASM!Peter Parker x Y/N

Peter comes back to his universe after helping his other selves defeat the MCU’s newest threats only to be greeted with another enemy. In the depths of his despair, he unexpectedly finds a woman who offers to patch him up from the nasty battle he previously fought. Wondering why he felt so magnetically drawn to her, she later reveals an old nickname; MJ.

Part One ->

Part Two ->